Happy Holidays, reviewers!
Mod Note: This is the last story.
Title: Wassail, Eggnog & Athel Brose
Author: lferion aka A Scampering Mouse with Computer Access
Written for: Our top reader/reviewers-- pat_t, bugeyedmonster, anya2112, bleukitty, jotribe, and reshcat!
Characters/Pairings: Methos, Duncan, Joe - Methos/Duncan
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: All of the drinks are real - see the end-note for specifics. This story would not be what it is without the encouragement, brainstorming, hand-holding, commentary and detailed nit-picking of reshcat and auberus. temve provided a very useful outside the fandom point of view and caught all of the double spaces. Thank you so much, ladies. I could not have done it without you. Any remaining infelicities are all my own.
Summary: Holiday cheer comes in several forms.
Wassail, Eggnog & Athel Brose
*** *** *** *** ***
"Wassail," said Joe.
"Eggnog," replied Methos.
"Spiced cider," contributed Mike, wiping down the bar.
"No no no. That's just wassail without the beer. Doesn't count." Methos lounged back in his chair, polishing off the last swallow of the beer he was holding. Duncan watched him swallow, feeling warm.
Candace came in from the back with the broom. "A hot nut, then, or hot buttered rum. No, a peppermint patty. Any of those would be good." She was studying for her bartender's license.
"I wouldn't call any of those traditional, though. Rum-punch might qualify." Joe mused, putting away the last of the clean glasses and snagging three more beers from the cooler.
Without seeming to move, Methos had the beers on the table and was holding a chair out for Joe as he made his way around the end of the bar. "Best table in the house, Mr Dawson." He gestured theatrically, a perfect imitation of Maurice. "If you'd care to have a seat?"
Joe gave him half a glare as he lowered himself down. Methos grinned back unrepentantly. Joe just shook his head and continued with what he had been saying. "Though rum-punch isn't particularly seasonal, spiced or otherwise." He gave Methos and Duncan a little salute with one of the beers and savored a mouthful.
Duncan was again caught by the sight of Methos' long fingers on the brown glass, the line of his throat as he tipped the bottle back. Sometimes Duncan thought the old man did it deliberately. Sometimes he knew full well it was on purpose. He turned his own bottle idly. There was a tree on the label, a green and red font; even the beer was in keeping with the season. He took a sip, tasting the chime of bells, the crisp scent of snow and the heady spice of pine boughs wreathing the steaming bowl, warm notes like chestnuts in the fire. 'Christmas Ale' indeed.
Candace had come back around with the broom, sweeping efficiently. "What's the question, then? 'Holiday beverage with the worst reputation?'"
Mike answered her. "I think it's 'Holiday Cheer for $200: what is the seasonal potation that can best double as food?'" He laughed.
"Eggnog."
"Wassail."
"Athel brose," Duncan muttered under his breath.
Both Joe and Methos looked at him, brows raised. Mike started to snicker, but stopped at Candace's look.
"What? What's wrong with athel brose? It's alcoholic oatmeal. It is certainly no stranger than that beer with saffron in it that you brought in the other week. And I use the term 'beer' generously here."
"I'll have you know that was a remarkably close reproduction of one of the Phrygian royal brewmaster's finest efforts." For a moment Methos' eyes were old and deep, dark with time and memory, but his smile never faltered. Then the sparkle returned full force. "I notice that it didn't stop you from drinking. Barbarian," he said affectionately.
"I'll have you know I shaved twice today." Duncan let a little brogue lengthen his vowels. Methos' eyes darkened again, and Duncan could feel his gaze like a caress on his smooth-shaven cheek. His jeans felt very snug all of a sudden. He could only hope that Methos was feeling similarly constricted. Methos slouched a little deeper in his chair. Duncan forbore from grinning. Or shifting his own hips.
This time it was Candace fighting back a snicker and Mike giving her a look as he started to count out the till. She concentrated on very meticulously sweeping behind the bar.
Joe snorted. "Guys, we're having a serious discussion here." The knowing twinkle in his own eye banished any actual gravity. "Now, athel brose would certainly count as traditional and as having food-value. But does it fit the 'seasonal' bill?"
They argued companionably as Mike and Candace finished closing and left, calling cheerful good nights. The beer level sank in the bottles. Duncan was very aware of Methos, the vibration of him in the air, heat and scent and suppleness sheathed in mild seeming. He knew Methos was just as aware of him. Desire simmered between them.
Finally Joe pushed himself to his feet and gathered the last of the empties before Methos unslouched. "I'm calling it a night, guys." The bottles went into the empty recycle bin. "We'll just have to have a Twelfth Night party with a bowl of each, do a direct comparison." Joe shrugged into his coat. "That'll give your 'alcoholic oatmeal' enough time to soak."
"Sounds good to me," Duncan answered as they made their way out into the cold night and Joe locked the door behind them. There was frost on the edges of the pavement, sparkling under the streetlights. Joe's car was close, parked under the overhang by the side of the building. Duncan was parked out on the street. "Night, Joe. Come on, M-Adam."
Methos was holding Joe's door open with much the same theatrical courtesy as he had held the chair earlier. Joe raised his eyebrows at him as he settled himself behind the wheel, cane to hand on the passenger seat. Methos closed the door and Joe lowered the window. "My money's still on the wassail," he called out as Methos started toward Duncan's car.
"Eggnog!" Methos caroled back. "Night, Joe!"
"Good night, you two. Watch your heads."
***
Later, warm and comfortable in a nest of down and wool, limbs twined and hands sliding soft on heated skin, Methos looked up at him, desire lambent in his eyes and mischief curling the corners of his mouth. "Eggn..."
Before he could get the whole word out, Duncan leaned down and swallowed it, devouring Methos' lips with his own, delving deep into the sweet cavern of his mouth. Methos moaned and arched under him, all spice and fire and liquid grace, hidden strength. Duncan had him right where he wanted him, pale and beautiful as birchwood on the dark green sheets, nothing cold about him.
"You can make eggnog another day, and I'll even drink it and enjoy it. But right now it's wassail: beer," the gel was warm in his hand as he found the opening he sought, stroked around and in as Methos writhed on his fingers "and apples." Duncan's oiled hand cupped and squeezed Methos' sac; he breathed on Methos' red and weeping shaft and watched it twitch, stiff in its wreathing curls. His own was hard, hot and eager. He could feel Methos' thighs trembling against his own as he positioned himself. "And a poker, fresh from the fire to bring you to boil.
Methos let out a bark of laughter that turned into a broken gasp as Duncan slid into him, hard heat into welcoming tightness, fire meeting fire. Their bodies strove together, rhythm and friction and need driving them onward toward ecstasy. They came, one after the other, shuddering in completion, Duncan with a deep groan, Methos with a silent, breathless cry as, spent, Duncan's shaft slipped free and he collapsed down on top of his trembling lover.
For a long moment they lay together, aftershocks running under the skin like sparks, gathering breath and sense and self. Then Methos shifted against him, a languorous movement that eased them over on their sides, legs still tangled together, and Duncan opened his eyes to the touch of Methos' fingers tracing the line of his brow and cheekbone.
"Was hael, Duncan." There was a soft light in Methos' expression that Duncan rarely saw.
"Drink hail, Methos," Duncan replied equally softly, as he caught the wandering fingertips and kissed them. "A bowl of the best."
Methos leaned up to catch Duncan's lips with his own, eyes lit again with playful brightness. "Certainly not a bowl of the small." A clever hand ghosted down his length, cupping and curling around him with firm delicacy. "And a very satisfying brew it is, indeed."
And after that, they had no need of words.
*** *** *** *** ***
End Note:
The Wassail recipe Joe has in mind is this one:
Apple/Ale Wassail - A general recipe.
1 1/2 pounds apples, cored
1 quart ale
1 tablespoon (or more) sugar
1/8 teaspoon each, ground ginger and nutmeg
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Bake the apples in a large dish for 45 minutes, or until they burst. Set them aside to cool. When the apples are cool enough to handle, remove the peel and mash the pulp. You should have about 1 1/2 cups. In a large pot, heat the ale. With a whisk, blend the apple pulp, sugar and spices. Adjust the seasonings to taste. Place the mixture in a heat proof bowl and sprinkle the top with some additional nutmeg.
Found on this very cool site with lots of information on wassail & wassailing: http://www.geocities.com/CapitolHill/5567/wasdrink.html
The Eggnog recipe that Methos is thinking of is Jennifer's Killer Eggnog. An excellent (though labor-intensive) cooked recipe is reshcat's, found further down the page.
Duncan's Athel Brose recipe resembles this one, steeped on the shorter end of the recommended time:
1 lb honey
2 1/2 c steel cut oats (NOT rolled)
2 c. water
1/2 gallon scotch
Mix honey, oats and water, warm gently on low heat only until blended. Remove from heat, let cool and stir in scotch. Allow mixture to soak overnight w/ secure cover. Strain oat mixture from liquid and discard (or use for bread). Place liquid in glass jar and swirl (or roll) daily for 2-4 weeks. Several months if you can stand it. Try not to open the container as you go to keep contaminants out. The longer you wait the smoother it gets. Strain one last time and serve to all.
Found here: http://arizonahuntingtoday.com/desertrat/2007/12/13/holiday-libations/
Mike's Spiced Cider:
An amusing site: http://www.cookingforengineers.com/recipe/151/Mulled-Cider-Spiced-Apple-Cider
A straightforward mulled cider with brandy:
1 tablespoon allspice whole
1 each cinnamon stick about three inches
3 cups apple cider
1 cup orange juice
1/2 each lemon sliced
1 teaspoon honey
1/4 cup brandy
Tie allspice in a piece of cheesecloth. Place in a medium saucepan along with cinnamon stick, cider, orange juice, lemon slices and honey. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, covered, 5 minutes. Remove spice bag. Stir in brandy. Serve with a cinnamon stick in each cup, if desired. Makes 6 servings.
Found here: http://recipes.recipeland.com/recipes/recipe/show/Allspiced_Cider_419
Candace's suggestions are these:
HOT NUT
1oz Frangelico
1oz hot coffee
PEPPERMINT PATTY
Serves: 1
3/4 ounce peppermint schnapps
3/4 ounce Bailey's Irish Cream
1 package hot cocoa
Whipped cream
Prepare package of hot cocoa. In a latte mug, add peppermint schnapps and Bailey's, then the hot cocoa. Garnish with whipped cream and peppermint bark. - Union Square Grill
Found here: http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/food/345745_staydrink03.html
The seasonal beer in the story is Anchor Steam Christmas Ale.
The Phrygian beer that Methos brought in is Midas Touch Saffron Beer.
Title: Wassail, Eggnog & Athel Brose
Author: lferion aka A Scampering Mouse with Computer Access
Written for: Our top reader/reviewers-- pat_t, bugeyedmonster, anya2112, bleukitty, jotribe, and reshcat!
Characters/Pairings: Methos, Duncan, Joe - Methos/Duncan
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: All of the drinks are real - see the end-note for specifics. This story would not be what it is without the encouragement, brainstorming, hand-holding, commentary and detailed nit-picking of reshcat and auberus. temve provided a very useful outside the fandom point of view and caught all of the double spaces. Thank you so much, ladies. I could not have done it without you. Any remaining infelicities are all my own.
Summary: Holiday cheer comes in several forms.
Wassail, Eggnog & Athel Brose
*** *** *** *** ***
"Wassail," said Joe.
"Eggnog," replied Methos.
"Spiced cider," contributed Mike, wiping down the bar.
"No no no. That's just wassail without the beer. Doesn't count." Methos lounged back in his chair, polishing off the last swallow of the beer he was holding. Duncan watched him swallow, feeling warm.
Candace came in from the back with the broom. "A hot nut, then, or hot buttered rum. No, a peppermint patty. Any of those would be good." She was studying for her bartender's license.
"I wouldn't call any of those traditional, though. Rum-punch might qualify." Joe mused, putting away the last of the clean glasses and snagging three more beers from the cooler.
Without seeming to move, Methos had the beers on the table and was holding a chair out for Joe as he made his way around the end of the bar. "Best table in the house, Mr Dawson." He gestured theatrically, a perfect imitation of Maurice. "If you'd care to have a seat?"
Joe gave him half a glare as he lowered himself down. Methos grinned back unrepentantly. Joe just shook his head and continued with what he had been saying. "Though rum-punch isn't particularly seasonal, spiced or otherwise." He gave Methos and Duncan a little salute with one of the beers and savored a mouthful.
Duncan was again caught by the sight of Methos' long fingers on the brown glass, the line of his throat as he tipped the bottle back. Sometimes Duncan thought the old man did it deliberately. Sometimes he knew full well it was on purpose. He turned his own bottle idly. There was a tree on the label, a green and red font; even the beer was in keeping with the season. He took a sip, tasting the chime of bells, the crisp scent of snow and the heady spice of pine boughs wreathing the steaming bowl, warm notes like chestnuts in the fire. 'Christmas Ale' indeed.
Candace had come back around with the broom, sweeping efficiently. "What's the question, then? 'Holiday beverage with the worst reputation?'"
Mike answered her. "I think it's 'Holiday Cheer for $200: what is the seasonal potation that can best double as food?'" He laughed.
"Eggnog."
"Wassail."
"Athel brose," Duncan muttered under his breath.
Both Joe and Methos looked at him, brows raised. Mike started to snicker, but stopped at Candace's look.
"What? What's wrong with athel brose? It's alcoholic oatmeal. It is certainly no stranger than that beer with saffron in it that you brought in the other week. And I use the term 'beer' generously here."
"I'll have you know that was a remarkably close reproduction of one of the Phrygian royal brewmaster's finest efforts." For a moment Methos' eyes were old and deep, dark with time and memory, but his smile never faltered. Then the sparkle returned full force. "I notice that it didn't stop you from drinking. Barbarian," he said affectionately.
"I'll have you know I shaved twice today." Duncan let a little brogue lengthen his vowels. Methos' eyes darkened again, and Duncan could feel his gaze like a caress on his smooth-shaven cheek. His jeans felt very snug all of a sudden. He could only hope that Methos was feeling similarly constricted. Methos slouched a little deeper in his chair. Duncan forbore from grinning. Or shifting his own hips.
This time it was Candace fighting back a snicker and Mike giving her a look as he started to count out the till. She concentrated on very meticulously sweeping behind the bar.
Joe snorted. "Guys, we're having a serious discussion here." The knowing twinkle in his own eye banished any actual gravity. "Now, athel brose would certainly count as traditional and as having food-value. But does it fit the 'seasonal' bill?"
They argued companionably as Mike and Candace finished closing and left, calling cheerful good nights. The beer level sank in the bottles. Duncan was very aware of Methos, the vibration of him in the air, heat and scent and suppleness sheathed in mild seeming. He knew Methos was just as aware of him. Desire simmered between them.
Finally Joe pushed himself to his feet and gathered the last of the empties before Methos unslouched. "I'm calling it a night, guys." The bottles went into the empty recycle bin. "We'll just have to have a Twelfth Night party with a bowl of each, do a direct comparison." Joe shrugged into his coat. "That'll give your 'alcoholic oatmeal' enough time to soak."
"Sounds good to me," Duncan answered as they made their way out into the cold night and Joe locked the door behind them. There was frost on the edges of the pavement, sparkling under the streetlights. Joe's car was close, parked under the overhang by the side of the building. Duncan was parked out on the street. "Night, Joe. Come on, M-Adam."
Methos was holding Joe's door open with much the same theatrical courtesy as he had held the chair earlier. Joe raised his eyebrows at him as he settled himself behind the wheel, cane to hand on the passenger seat. Methos closed the door and Joe lowered the window. "My money's still on the wassail," he called out as Methos started toward Duncan's car.
"Eggnog!" Methos caroled back. "Night, Joe!"
"Good night, you two. Watch your heads."
***
Later, warm and comfortable in a nest of down and wool, limbs twined and hands sliding soft on heated skin, Methos looked up at him, desire lambent in his eyes and mischief curling the corners of his mouth. "Eggn..."
Before he could get the whole word out, Duncan leaned down and swallowed it, devouring Methos' lips with his own, delving deep into the sweet cavern of his mouth. Methos moaned and arched under him, all spice and fire and liquid grace, hidden strength. Duncan had him right where he wanted him, pale and beautiful as birchwood on the dark green sheets, nothing cold about him.
"You can make eggnog another day, and I'll even drink it and enjoy it. But right now it's wassail: beer," the gel was warm in his hand as he found the opening he sought, stroked around and in as Methos writhed on his fingers "and apples." Duncan's oiled hand cupped and squeezed Methos' sac; he breathed on Methos' red and weeping shaft and watched it twitch, stiff in its wreathing curls. His own was hard, hot and eager. He could feel Methos' thighs trembling against his own as he positioned himself. "And a poker, fresh from the fire to bring you to boil.
Methos let out a bark of laughter that turned into a broken gasp as Duncan slid into him, hard heat into welcoming tightness, fire meeting fire. Their bodies strove together, rhythm and friction and need driving them onward toward ecstasy. They came, one after the other, shuddering in completion, Duncan with a deep groan, Methos with a silent, breathless cry as, spent, Duncan's shaft slipped free and he collapsed down on top of his trembling lover.
For a long moment they lay together, aftershocks running under the skin like sparks, gathering breath and sense and self. Then Methos shifted against him, a languorous movement that eased them over on their sides, legs still tangled together, and Duncan opened his eyes to the touch of Methos' fingers tracing the line of his brow and cheekbone.
"Was hael, Duncan." There was a soft light in Methos' expression that Duncan rarely saw.
"Drink hail, Methos," Duncan replied equally softly, as he caught the wandering fingertips and kissed them. "A bowl of the best."
Methos leaned up to catch Duncan's lips with his own, eyes lit again with playful brightness. "Certainly not a bowl of the small." A clever hand ghosted down his length, cupping and curling around him with firm delicacy. "And a very satisfying brew it is, indeed."
And after that, they had no need of words.
*** *** *** *** ***
End Note:
The Wassail recipe Joe has in mind is this one:
Apple/Ale Wassail - A general recipe.
1 1/2 pounds apples, cored
1 quart ale
1 tablespoon (or more) sugar
1/8 teaspoon each, ground ginger and nutmeg
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Bake the apples in a large dish for 45 minutes, or until they burst. Set them aside to cool. When the apples are cool enough to handle, remove the peel and mash the pulp. You should have about 1 1/2 cups. In a large pot, heat the ale. With a whisk, blend the apple pulp, sugar and spices. Adjust the seasonings to taste. Place the mixture in a heat proof bowl and sprinkle the top with some additional nutmeg.
Found on this very cool site with lots of information on wassail & wassailing: http://www.geocities.com/CapitolHill/5567/wasdrink.html
The Eggnog recipe that Methos is thinking of is Jennifer's Killer Eggnog. An excellent (though labor-intensive) cooked recipe is reshcat's, found further down the page.
Duncan's Athel Brose recipe resembles this one, steeped on the shorter end of the recommended time:
1 lb honey
2 1/2 c steel cut oats (NOT rolled)
2 c. water
1/2 gallon scotch
Mix honey, oats and water, warm gently on low heat only until blended. Remove from heat, let cool and stir in scotch. Allow mixture to soak overnight w/ secure cover. Strain oat mixture from liquid and discard (or use for bread). Place liquid in glass jar and swirl (or roll) daily for 2-4 weeks. Several months if you can stand it. Try not to open the container as you go to keep contaminants out. The longer you wait the smoother it gets. Strain one last time and serve to all.
Found here: http://arizonahuntingtoday.com/desertrat/2007/12/13/holiday-libations/
Mike's Spiced Cider:
An amusing site: http://www.cookingforengineers.com/recipe/151/Mulled-Cider-Spiced-Apple-Cider
A straightforward mulled cider with brandy:
1 tablespoon allspice whole
1 each cinnamon stick about three inches
3 cups apple cider
1 cup orange juice
1/2 each lemon sliced
1 teaspoon honey
1/4 cup brandy
Tie allspice in a piece of cheesecloth. Place in a medium saucepan along with cinnamon stick, cider, orange juice, lemon slices and honey. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, covered, 5 minutes. Remove spice bag. Stir in brandy. Serve with a cinnamon stick in each cup, if desired. Makes 6 servings.
Found here: http://recipes.recipeland.com/recipes/recipe/show/Allspiced_Cider_419
Candace's suggestions are these:
HOT NUT
1oz Frangelico
1oz hot coffee
PEPPERMINT PATTY
Serves: 1
3/4 ounce peppermint schnapps
3/4 ounce Bailey's Irish Cream
1 package hot cocoa
Whipped cream
Prepare package of hot cocoa. In a latte mug, add peppermint schnapps and Bailey's, then the hot cocoa. Garnish with whipped cream and peppermint bark. - Union Square Grill
Found here: http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/food/345745_staydrink03.html
The seasonal beer in the story is Anchor Steam Christmas Ale.
The Phrygian beer that Methos brought in is Midas Touch Saffron Beer.