A Christmas Story, for fractured_sun 1/2
title: A Christmas Story (yeah original I know, but accurate)
author: Recursive!Methos (you’ll see why)
recipient: fractured_sun
Disclaimer: Mac, Methos, Joe and Richie are not mine and never will be *sniff*. Neither are Maurice's Bar, the Dark Quickening or the whole Immortality thing. I'm not making any money with this and I don't mean any harm by it.
genre: I guess it depends on which bit you’re reading, so we’ll start with angst and romance and fluff, move on to sap and porn and angst and then finish off with humour and perhaps a touch of meta…
pairings (if any): Duncan/Methos
rating and warnings: NC-17 and probably not for diabetics… though there may be a palate cleanser if you make it to the end…
Summary: Crap. I’m as bad at these as I am at titles - errr, the title says it all - will that do?
Joe Dawson watched the bar fill with the Christmas crowd. Maurice was away with family for the holidays and he had left the place in the capable hands of his business partner. Joe hadn't intended to have a Christmas party this year, after everything that had happened, but then it had occurred to him that perhaps that made it the best time to celebrate. They all needed something to take their minds off their troubles. The Highlander was still coming to terms with his actions under the influence of the Dark Quickening, Adam was mourning Alexa, and Joe himself was becoming increasingly uneasy about things within the Watchers. If they couldn't forget about it all on Christmas Eve then the New Year promised to be a gloomy one.
So the tree was up and decorated; multicoloured tinsel hung from every conceivable, and a few inconceivable, places; holly kept turning up in uncomfortable spots and the Christmas spirits were flowing freely. It wasn't that busy, a few new faces had joined the crowd and perhaps half the regular customers were in, some with dates, some alone. Two of his most frequent customers were demanding his attention right now - not through anything they were doing, but by all the things they weren't.
Mac and Adam were sharing a table and a bottle of good whiskey, but their table was an island amongst the mortals. It radiated none of the cheerful bustle or drunken good humour of the rest of the bar; it was subdued, each man isolating himself from his surroundings and even his tablemate, they spoke now and then but never for long. It didn't seem to be adversely affecting the atmosphere in the rest of the bar, but it caught at Joe. He had been thinking primarily of the pair when he had decided to go ahead with the party and he wasn't prepared to let them put all his effort to waste.
"Hey guys," Joe seated himself at their table without bothering to wait for an invitation.
"Joe," Mac greeted. Adam merely nodded his welcome.
"What do you think?" Joe gestured to the party in full swing.
"Very nice, Joe," Adam's tone had just a hint of tease to it. "Historically inaccurate, but very nice."
"Well, for your information I wasn't trying to be historically accurate," Joe let himself be baited. "What's so inaccurate about it anyway?"
Adam smirked, "Wrong date," he pronounced with all the authority of one who knew first hand. Then he sprawled further into his chair in a clear sign that he wasn't going to elaborate.
Joe sighed and rolled his eyes before turning to Mac. "Don't you just hate it when he does that."
Mac offered a ghost of a smile in response, but didn't say a word. Joe raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic response and turned to Adam. Nodding a head at Mac he asked, "What's with sunshine here?"
Adam smiled almost sympathetically, "Oh, he's just down because he doesn't have some pretty young thing to hang on his arm." It lacked Adam’s usual derisive tone, but Joe had got used to that over the last few weeks.
Distracted by the Highlander's unusual behaviour, Joe spoke without thinking. "What about you, old man? No pretty young thing for you?"
Adam’s smile didn't falter and his voice was the perfect imitation of mock-disgust, "What? With the Highlander here to steal the limelight? I wouldn't stand a chance, Joe."
The words were right, the expression was right, but the eyes were all wrong. The deep, dark green was shadowed with far too many sorrows for so young a face. For a moment Joe was torn between wanting to weep at what he saw and kicking himself for bringing it out. Fortunately he was saved from doing either when Adam turned away from them both, uncomfortably aware of what he had inadvertently revealed, and Joe caught sight of the expression on the Highlander's face.
Mac had never been the most able when it came to hiding his feelings and right now what was written on his face made Joe wonder if he hadn’t been wrong all along about what had been troubling Mac lately. Whatever was causing this brood was ongoing, not the months-past Dark Quickening.
Joe made a show of consulting his watch, "Well guys, time for my set. Enjoy yourselves." He needed time to think about this.
Joe played the set mechanically though no less well for all that, but he couldn't stop his eyes from straying to his friends' table. At least they appeared to be enjoying the music, Adam certainly was at any rate. Mac, on the other hand, seemed to be dividing his attention between the stage and his friend whenever it appeared that Adam wasn't looking. Like any good Watcher, Joe observed and mentally noted the Highlander's rather odd behaviour, unlike any good Watcher though, he drew conclusions and decided on a course of action.
*****
When the set ended, Joe was needed back at the bar and as he poured yet another drink he couldn't help but think that, even though he would be making a tidy profit this evening, it wouldn't have been worth the effort if he couldn't at least do something to help his friends. So when Mac came to the bar for a fresh bottle, Joe enlisted his aid in fetching a box from the storeroom and in the privacy it granted, he decided to take a chance.
"So Mac, are you going to tell him?"
"Joe!" Mac almost dropped the box he was moving in shock - shock, but not surprise.
Joe watched amused as Mac replaced the box with exaggerated care and then proceeded to sit on it. He looked rather guiltily at Joe and then at his hands, surprisingly unsurprised that Joe had worked it out. Either his estimation of Joe's observational skills was higher than the Watcher expected or the Highlander was just grateful to finally have *someone* to talk to about it.
"Well?" Joe prompted.
"I can't Joe, I mean he's... he's *Methos*, Joe."
As arguments went Joe had seen more coherent examples, "So?"
Mac sighed and began to study his hands in detail.
"I mean, pardon me, but I fail to see the problem here, Mac," Joe needed a good reason before he'd be persuaded to let this one go and Mac's uncharacteristic uncertainty had to have a reason. A thought occurred, "It's not the gender thing is it?"
Mac looked surprised, "No. I mean it's been a long time, but... No, it's not that. Maybe... I don't know. It's just... he's *Methos*."
Joe shook his head, "I know he's Methos, Mac, even if it is one of the better kept secrets in the world. I still don't see what it is that's stopping you."
Mac sighed and looked away for a long minute, when he finally met Joe's eyes he appeared to have resolved something. "Joe," he began seriously. "Immortals don't have many myths and legends of our own - we know where too many of yours come from. Of the few we do have, who do you think features prominently in most of them? Most Immortals I've met think Methos is the creation of an Immortal who got bored one day and decided to create a little history for us. Some of us believe Methos actually did exist once upon a time, but died millennia ago. How many of us do you think know that not only did he exist once upon a time, but that he still does? Never mind that he prefers pizza to pasta and has a bad habit of putting his feet on the furniture?" Mac paused and consciously brought his voice back down to a more conversational tone. "More than 5,000 years of history, Joe - he’s seen and done so much, been so many things - *why* would he be interested in me?"
"What makes you think he wouldn't be interested?" Joe argued. "I mean, no disrespect to the dead, but why did he fall for Alexa? You and I both know she was neither especially pretty nor especially bright. She didn't have money or contacts, Hell, she didn't even have her health, but none of that mattered one bit to him. You must have seen that."
Mac's silent nod made Joe pause as another thought struck him. "Just how long have you been sitting on this, Mac?"
Mac shifted uncomfortably and picked up a napkin from a nearby box. "Since I met him I think."
"You think?"
"Well, I liked him immediately - trusted him - it never even occurred to me that he might want *my* head. Then when he turned up because of Kristen and stayed at the loft it was just easy having him around. And then Alexa came along and... I realised why I'd always been so comfortable with him... and I couldn't say anything because he loved her." He sighed sadly, "She had so little time, Joe - I could afford to wait - she couldn't."
Joe felt a pang of sorrow; he had liked Alexa and the old man had certainly fallen hard and fast for her. Mac being Mac couldn't have acted any other way given the situation - it simply wasn't in his nature. But now that Alexa was gone…
"How selfish is it Joe? To move in when Alexa's only been gone a month? To want him to get over her quickly so I have a better chance of making him happy," Mac asked miserably.
Joe shook his head, "Mac, if you're looking for permission from a ghost - I hate to tell you this, but you're going to be a long time waiting." Mac just looked more miserable and Joe tried again. "Look at it this way, Mac. If you were Alexa would you want Methos to be miserable or would you want him to have a chance at happiness again?"
Mac put aside the napkin he had been patiently shredding, "But that's just it, Joe - what if I can't make him happy? What if I try and he isn't interested? What if I offend him? I can't lose him completely, Joe. He's so cautious about everything and if he thinks you're prying he shuts up tight and leaves. I'd rather keep his friendship than gamble and lose it all."
Joe was starting to get exasperated now. "Well for a start I don't think it's that faint a possibility. But do you really think the man who's survived 5,000 years is so fragile that the thought of a friend caring a bit more deeply for him is going to scare him away forever? Given how long he's lived I very much doubt he'll go all Victorian on you if you make a pass at him and I don't think he'd let it wreck the friendship. You said it yourself Mac, there was a connection between the two of you from the moment you met - a trust - and you know how rare that is, even among people who don't have to fear for their heads on a daily basis. You may have failed to notice it, but the man doesn't seem to have that many friends; he's not going to throw them away over something like this."
Mac looked like he sincerely wanted to believe, "I don't know, Joe."
"Well I do," Joe said shortly, giving up on reasoned argument. "Have a little faith in my powers of perception - I have known him longer than you after all."
Mac took a deep breath and forced a smile, "Okay."
Joe smiled as the Highlander picked up the box they'd come in for and headed out into the bar, even with a pep talk from his Watcher he was betting Mac would be having a good few shots of Scottish courage before he had that talk with the old Immortal. Now all Joe had to worry about was that he was right in his own assessment of the Ancient.
*****
The night wore on pleasantly enough and while Mac had plenty of Scottish courage, he still seemed no closer to talking to Methos, and the unexpected arrival of Richie was a mixed blessing. Joe was glad to see the young Immortal had forgiven Mac his actions under the influence of the Dark Quickening. It was obvious too that Mac was glad to see his almost-son and the mood around the table lightened considerably as Richie told tales of his travels. But it bothered Joe that with Richie present the chances of Mac having that talk with the old man were drastically reduced. Still, the alcohol was flowing freely and the mood had improved so maybe the evening wasn't a total loss.
At the moment, Richie, being just a tad drunk, was helpfully offering Adam tips on picking up women and Mac, who probably wasn’t quite as sober as he thought, was doing his best to mitigate it. Adam, who was as sober as the other two weren't, was taking it all in good humour, though Joe was sure there was an undercurrent of sadness to the old man's tone that wasn't just his imagination.
"Is that a sword in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Richie giggled drunkenly.
"Dinner and dancing," Mac corrected unequivocally, ignoring Richie's bad jokes as best he could.
"What's wrong with pizza and a movie?" Adam protested, comfortably into his bookworm, grad student persona by now.
"Nothing, nothing," said Mac in a tone that suggested the exact opposite. "It's just no guarantee."
Adam shook his head, "And dinner and dancing is?"
"Of course, no woman can resist - even if they're not romantic the thought that you are is enough to get them lining up." Mac announced confidently and Joe wondered if his friend had any idea how many women were actually within earshot. It didn’t speak well of his survival instinct that he didn’t seem to have noticed how many daggers were being looked at his back. "Try it sometime Adam, you'd be amazed."
Adam's expression told Joe he *was* aware of how many women were listening in, "No thanks, Mac, I think I'll give it a miss."
Mac shook his head in dismay and seemed about to try to further persuade Adam when Richie suddenly interrupted. "He can't dance!" Richie howled, laughing so hard he was in danger of sliding right off his chair.
Joe looked at the gleeful Immortal and shook his head, maybe he ought to avoid serving Richie whiskey in future. Mac and Adam looked equally bemused as to where that particular outburst had sprung from, but when Adam didn't deign to deny the statement Mac latched onto it too. Joe watched in amusement as Mac leaned drunkenly over the table and patted the old Immortal's arm sympathetically.
"It's alright, Adam, it's nothing to be ashamed of."
Joe was beginning to think he should keep the Highlander clear of the good stuff too.
"Anyway, I can teach you," Mac announced confidently and without waiting for a reply, he dragged the startled oldest Immortal out of his chair and propelled him towards the dance floor.
Joe watched amazed as 200 pounds of drunken Highlander began to instruct the rather bemused eldest Immortal in all seriousness. He could practically hear the old man deciding to put up with this lunacy, just for the pleasure of reminding Mac of it tomorrow and probably for many days to come, so he could watch the Highlander cringe in embarrassment. Joe had to admit that he had no plans to be the voice of reason either, it was far too entertaining, and besides, they looked surprisingly good together.
*****
Duncan manoeuvred the unresisting older man away from the tables and positioned him with exaggerated care then he picked up the tune and began to guide his increasingly amused partner around the dance floor. Several turns later though, the awareness began to creep up on Duncan that he had actually stopped guiding almost as soon as he had begun to move. Duncan abruptly sobered with the sort of sickening speed that only a combination of Immortal healing and sheer panic could accomplish.
He was dancing with *Methos*! What was he *thinking*!?!
The remnants of the drunken fog evaporated and with it went the assumptions Duncan had made. Methos was actually a very good dancer, graceful, and next to his slender build the Highlander felt like a clumsy oaf. With an impressive display of willpower Duncan forced his mind away from its panic and concentrated on not tripping over his own feet. A minute or two later he had calmed enough to be out of danger of falling on his ass in front of everyone and he began to relax again. If Methos had noticed the way he had tensed up, he gave no sign, for which Duncan was absurdly grateful.
Duncan's calm didn't last long though, since he was no longer focused on his own movements his attention naturally drifted to those of his partner and it didn't help that his partner was the object of more than a few of Duncan's fantasies. He was terribly aware of the space between his body and the slender form opposite, matching him step for step. He didn't dare look at Methos' face, but he was having severe difficulty finding a neutral spot on which to focus. His hands itched to shift their carefully impersonal grip on Methos' narrow waist. He wanted to pull the ancient Immortal closer and eliminate that small safe space between them, to feel Methos pressed tight against him, preferably without clothing. He wanted to let his hands wander and give them free reign to explore that strong body and seek out all its secrets.
It was an unbearably sweet torment to have Methos so close and not be able to draw him closer. And what would Methos do if he did give into that urge? Run? Brush it off? Welcome it? Duncan was too much the coward to take the chance and find out. Still, if he did nothing, or even if he succumbed to temptation and ruined everything, at least he would have had this - Methos in his arms - and that alone would fuel his fantasies for years to come.
Duncan had wanted to do this after Alexa had died, not for himself, but for his friend. He had wanted to offer the comfort and the warmth of physical contact, but there had been some intangible barrier stopping him. Methos hadn't left town, or even avoided him, but there had been a sense of his being unapproachable. Methos had shut the world out and done his grieving alone, as he had probably done hundreds of times before. Over the month since Alexa's death, those barriers had slowly lowered, but the air of wounded sorrow that Methos carried with him had remained virtually undiminished.
Did Duncan have the right to change that? He didn't know; he just knew he wanted desperately to try, but even with Joe's encouragement, he couldn't quite bring himself to take that step. So the careful distance, both physical and emotional, remained and painful as it was, it was somehow less painful than the thought of reaching out to the old Immortal only to be turned away.
*****
Finally the song began to wind down and Duncan found himself loath to end the perfect torment he had created for himself, but he was determined not to try to hold onto Methos any longer than friendship would allow. One dance, especially given the circumstances of its beginning, could be laughed off, explained away as drunkenness; to ask for another now though would reveal a deeper intent. He could be satisfied with this, even if it were all he would ever have.
So when the song ended and Methos moved to resume his seat at the table, it was as much of a surprise to Duncan as it was to his friend when his hand closed around Methos' wrist and stopped him. Duncan swallowed anxiously, horrified that he had betrayed himself so, but knowing that he was now committed, he had no option but to take the plunge.
Given the amount of experience he had at romancing, his store of courage was pitifully small when it came to dealing with this one man. "Adam," Duncan was dismayed by the hoarseness of his voice. It wasn't the name he wanted to use either, but in such a public place he had no other option. "Dance with me?" How different it was to ask instead of just drunkenly demanding.
Methos regarded the Highlander through narrowed eyes, his expression unreadable, but he didn't pull his hand free. Daringly, Duncan took the few steps needed to bring them face to face again; his throat felt constricted, he'd said everything he knew to say, nothing more would affect Methos' decision.
Duncan almost breathed a sigh of relief when that piercing gaze shifted from his face to the hand trapping Methos' slender wrist - tanned skin against pale. Reluctantly Duncan loosened his grip, regretting now that he'd pushed as far as he had, however unintentional it had been. Especially since that touch, with its lingering warmth, was in all likelihood the last he would be allowed for a very long time.
The weight of Methos' hands as they came to rest on Duncan's shoulders nearly made him flinch, which he realised belatedly would have been a very bad idea. Methos' expression was still unreadable when Duncan ventured to look, but his hands moved to rest at Methos' waist almost of their own volition and when they began to move together it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
Duncan barely heard the band, his brain seemed to have fused solid, but his body seemed to know exactly what it was doing as it moved with the music and the far more compelling shift and sway of his partner's body. Then all at once his mental faculties came back online, multi-tasking busily in case this was a once-in-a-lifetime, never-to-be-repeated flight of fantasy.
Methos was close - so close. Not as close as Duncan would have liked, but more than close enough to have his body reacting predictably. The occasional brush of their bodies as they moved was tantalising, slow and so very sensual. Duncan couldn't help but wonder if Methos was actually aware of the casual grace he possessed. He supposed after 5,000 years he must be, but Duncan still believed the display was unconscious.
Duncan found himself looking into Methos' face, hoping to see his friend's thoughts there - he had to know what Duncan's request meant - he wasn't blind or stupid by any stretch of the imagination. But Methos' eyes were closed, long lashes shadowing the pale skin, making the World's Oldest Immortal seem ridiculously young. The hint of a smile played on his lips, but with Methos that could mean anything. Only the faint dark smudges beneath his eyes revealed the effect of his most recent loss and even they failed to mar the beauty Duncan saw in his friend.
"Methos?" Duncan kept his voice so low he was almost surprised when Methos heard it. Dark eyes flecked with gold opened to meet his own and Duncan could feel their gaze gently strip him bare, seeing everything he had been hiding in his heart since the day they first met. He tried to steel himself against the prospect of imminent rejection, but felt something hot and bright unfurl inside him when instead of letting go, the arms resting on his shoulders tightened, long fingers brushing the nape of his neck and sliding into his hair. The smile on Methos' lips deepened at Duncan's reaction and with the next pulse of the music Methos shifted closer to Duncan.
Duncan felt his knees threaten to give way, though whether in relief or because of the incredible heat of Methos' body, he couldn't say. Warm breath teased his skin as Methos leaned in closer still, "Dance with me, Duncan."
The whispered request sent shivers down Duncan's spine and the rare use of his given name caused a warmth to bloom deep in his chest; the slight erection he'd been fighting since they had first begun to dance suddenly wasn't so slight anymore. With Methos pressed so close it was laughably difficult to remember what was and wasn't acceptable behaviour in a public place. The tip of a tongue slipped out to moisten dry lips and Duncan caught himself on the verge of following it back into the inviting haven of Methos' mouth. A little voice warned him that a kiss was probably a bit further than he wanted to go in public, since he knew he'd never be able to stop with just that. But he bowed to his baser instincts and let his hands slide around Methos' waist and slip lower to cup his ass, pulling him just that fraction closer. Methos' gentle smile altered imperceptibly and now it was doing dangerous things to Duncan's sense of balance, not to mention propriety. God, at this rate he'd never make it to the end of the song, never mind getting home.
*****
Joe leaned back in his chair and raised his glass to the oblivious pair of Immortals on the dance floor. He heard Richie put his own glass on the table and didn't need to look to know he was watching the same thing as Joe himself.
"I hope it works," Richie said as he turned to Joe, blue eyes surprisingly sober.
Joe smiled an indulgent bluesman's smile, "Oh I think it will - if not for Alexa I think it would have happened months ago."
Richie smiled in agreement. Yeah. When Adam had first turned up because of Kristen he'd noticed the change in Mac. The Highlander had been happier than he'd been at any other time since Tessa's death, more comfortable, as though some unacknowledged tension had eased. Richie felt a momentary pang for the loss, but he knew Tessa would have wanted Mac to be happy... and this stood a good chance of doing that if the chemistry between Mac and Adam was anything at all to go by.
Richie looked out across the dance floor in time to see Adam insinuate one long leg between Mac's, bringing the dancers' bodies into constant light contact. He could see the way they moved, so easily in tune with each other, and a blind man could see where they were heading tonight.
Richie stood and grabbed his leather jacket from the back of his chair.
Joe looked up, "You heading off now?"
Richie nodded with a smile, "Yeah, Maria's on a shoot here and I promised her I'd pick her up early tomorrow - and if I don't get some sleep soon I'll never make it."
Joe smiled and nodded, "Merry Christmas, Richie."
"Merry Christmas, Joe," Richie nodded his head towards the almost empty dance floor and the two Immortals there. "Say bye to the guys for me will you?"
Joe cast a glance in the same direction, "Will do, but I doubt they'll notice."
Richie laughed and gave a final wave as he headed for the door.
Joe returned his gaze to the dancers; they did move well, the pair of them. There was nothing too overt in their movements, but they exuded a subtle eroticism. Sometimes Joe hated his job, watching and recording who killed who, at times like this though watching was a pleasure, even if he would never record it, at least not officially anyway. He shook his head and returned his attention to the bar; there weren't that many people left now and it was time to start closing up.
*****
The last chords of the song faded and died and the lights came up. Duncan reluctantly took his eyes from his partner's face and glanced around the bar, surprised to see it virtually empty. They couldn't have been dancing that long surely.
"I think Joe's trying to tell us something," Methos' voice was comfortably close to his ear and Duncan turned back to his hopefully soon-to-be lover's face and smiled. Methos' pale skin was flushed lightly in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with the minimal exertion of dancing. Duncan suspected his own face wore a similar colour; the urgent arousal he had felt earlier had eased as the dance had continued, exchanged without loss for a slowly building anticipation. With the end of the dance and the loss of that lithe body against him, his arousal surged again as if to remind him of his priorities.
"I think you're right," Duncan grinned, "Care to join me for a night-cap?"
Methos grinned, a lazy grin full of promise, "You know, I think I just might."
Duncan gestured grandly towards their table and their coats and the two Immortals gathered up their belongings.
"Goodnight Joe," they chorused in unison to the Watcher behind the bar, who grinned tolerantly in return.
"'Night guys," Joe replied and their nod to formality complete, Duncan and Methos made their way to the door with perhaps just a little more speed than usual.
"Hey, Mac!" Joe called as they were almost there and both Immortals turned in response. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Joe tossed something small and white their way and the Highlander caught it with a laugh. Mistletoe.
Duncan looked at his Watcher; he supposed he did owe the man something since he appeared to have been right. He looked at Methos, but the old man seemed much too relaxed and amused to take offence at this. Still... Duncan held out his hand to Methos who narrowed his eyes and glanced from Duncan to Joe and back again.
"Why do I get the feeling this was a setup?" the ancient Immortal asked of no-one in particular.
Duncan let out the breath he'd been holding, momentarily dreading Methos balking, and smiled sweetly. "Because you're paranoid?" he offered.
Methos pulled a face, "Doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you," he retorted
Duncan grinned, acknowledging the point and glad to see the old Immortal was willing to play along. He flexed his hand, renewing his offer.
Methos' smile turned mischievous in the moment before he took Duncan's hand and that was all the warning the Highlander got. A sharp tug caught him off-balance and before he quite knew what was happening he was spun into a pair of surprisingly strong arms and dipped back. Methos leaned over him, hazel eyes twinkling with great amusement, and then he captured the mouth that hung open mid-gasp.
Oh.
My.
God.
Methos was kissing him. He was being kissed by *Methos*. Not the tentative, half-embarrassed touch of lips that he'd expected when he made the offer; this kiss was strong, confident and unbelievably arousing. Methos' tongue slipped between lips that parted in invitation and proceeded to make itself at home, utterly assured of its welcome. Much like Methos himself: moving into Mac's home, his life, and ultimately his heart, with an ease that defied belief. The arousal that had been steadily simmering all evening reached boiling point with alarming speed and all coherent thought evaporated under its intense heat.
Eventually Duncan realised Methos was pulling away and he struggled to recapture that clever mouth. He was Immortal, damn it! He didn’t need air!
Duncan opened eyes he didn't remember closing to see Methos' face mere inches from his own, hazel eyes bright with amusement, affection and, unless he was much mistaken, arousal. His arms were wrapped around the old Immortal's neck, mistletoe still clutched tightly in one fist. For one hopeful moment he almost thought Methos was going to kiss him again and he felt renewed heat rush through his body to his already aching groin. But instead Methos merely raised his head and grinned up at the surprised but smiling Watcher, "Happy now?" Then he hauled Duncan upright, wrapping a steadying arm around the Highlander's waist when he proved a touch unsteady on his feet.
"Time to go, Mac?" he inquired.
Duncan was intensely aware of the heat Methos radiated even through the layers of clothing that separated them. He leaned a little closer to Methos and spoke in a rather hoarse whisper, "Definitely, but I don't think I can walk."
Methos turned to him with another grin, but it was the glitter of uncomplicated delight in those hazel eyes that made Duncan really, really wish they didn't have an audience, minimal as it was.
"I could carry you," Methos offered with a smirk, but the arm wrapped around Duncan's waist gave a gentle squeeze.
Duncan chuckled, not a little embarrassed by how much the idea actually appealed to him, "You are a mean old man, Adam."
Methos' smirk broadened, impossible as it seemed, "Yeah, but you love me anyway."
Somehow it didn't come out quite as flippantly as Duncan thought it had probably been supposed to. He caught hold of Methos' free hand and brought it to his lips for a light kiss. "Yeah, I do," he said quietly.
Methos' eyes widened as he met Duncan's and for that one moment he looked far more vulnerable than a 5,000 year old man had any right to be. Then the look was gone and the Methos he knew was back, but the moment stretched on. Methos still hadn't broken eye contact with Duncan when he finally spoke, "Bye Joe."
Duncan only distantly heard Joe's "Merry Christmas you two!" as he was dragged out the door.
*****
Part 2
author: Recursive!Methos (you’ll see why)
recipient: fractured_sun
Disclaimer: Mac, Methos, Joe and Richie are not mine and never will be *sniff*. Neither are Maurice's Bar, the Dark Quickening or the whole Immortality thing. I'm not making any money with this and I don't mean any harm by it.
genre: I guess it depends on which bit you’re reading, so we’ll start with angst and romance and fluff, move on to sap and porn and angst and then finish off with humour and perhaps a touch of meta…
pairings (if any): Duncan/Methos
rating and warnings: NC-17 and probably not for diabetics… though there may be a palate cleanser if you make it to the end…
Summary: Crap. I’m as bad at these as I am at titles - errr, the title says it all - will that do?
Joe Dawson watched the bar fill with the Christmas crowd. Maurice was away with family for the holidays and he had left the place in the capable hands of his business partner. Joe hadn't intended to have a Christmas party this year, after everything that had happened, but then it had occurred to him that perhaps that made it the best time to celebrate. They all needed something to take their minds off their troubles. The Highlander was still coming to terms with his actions under the influence of the Dark Quickening, Adam was mourning Alexa, and Joe himself was becoming increasingly uneasy about things within the Watchers. If they couldn't forget about it all on Christmas Eve then the New Year promised to be a gloomy one.
So the tree was up and decorated; multicoloured tinsel hung from every conceivable, and a few inconceivable, places; holly kept turning up in uncomfortable spots and the Christmas spirits were flowing freely. It wasn't that busy, a few new faces had joined the crowd and perhaps half the regular customers were in, some with dates, some alone. Two of his most frequent customers were demanding his attention right now - not through anything they were doing, but by all the things they weren't.
Mac and Adam were sharing a table and a bottle of good whiskey, but their table was an island amongst the mortals. It radiated none of the cheerful bustle or drunken good humour of the rest of the bar; it was subdued, each man isolating himself from his surroundings and even his tablemate, they spoke now and then but never for long. It didn't seem to be adversely affecting the atmosphere in the rest of the bar, but it caught at Joe. He had been thinking primarily of the pair when he had decided to go ahead with the party and he wasn't prepared to let them put all his effort to waste.
"Hey guys," Joe seated himself at their table without bothering to wait for an invitation.
"Joe," Mac greeted. Adam merely nodded his welcome.
"What do you think?" Joe gestured to the party in full swing.
"Very nice, Joe," Adam's tone had just a hint of tease to it. "Historically inaccurate, but very nice."
"Well, for your information I wasn't trying to be historically accurate," Joe let himself be baited. "What's so inaccurate about it anyway?"
Adam smirked, "Wrong date," he pronounced with all the authority of one who knew first hand. Then he sprawled further into his chair in a clear sign that he wasn't going to elaborate.
Joe sighed and rolled his eyes before turning to Mac. "Don't you just hate it when he does that."
Mac offered a ghost of a smile in response, but didn't say a word. Joe raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic response and turned to Adam. Nodding a head at Mac he asked, "What's with sunshine here?"
Adam smiled almost sympathetically, "Oh, he's just down because he doesn't have some pretty young thing to hang on his arm." It lacked Adam’s usual derisive tone, but Joe had got used to that over the last few weeks.
Distracted by the Highlander's unusual behaviour, Joe spoke without thinking. "What about you, old man? No pretty young thing for you?"
Adam’s smile didn't falter and his voice was the perfect imitation of mock-disgust, "What? With the Highlander here to steal the limelight? I wouldn't stand a chance, Joe."
The words were right, the expression was right, but the eyes were all wrong. The deep, dark green was shadowed with far too many sorrows for so young a face. For a moment Joe was torn between wanting to weep at what he saw and kicking himself for bringing it out. Fortunately he was saved from doing either when Adam turned away from them both, uncomfortably aware of what he had inadvertently revealed, and Joe caught sight of the expression on the Highlander's face.
Mac had never been the most able when it came to hiding his feelings and right now what was written on his face made Joe wonder if he hadn’t been wrong all along about what had been troubling Mac lately. Whatever was causing this brood was ongoing, not the months-past Dark Quickening.
Joe made a show of consulting his watch, "Well guys, time for my set. Enjoy yourselves." He needed time to think about this.
Joe played the set mechanically though no less well for all that, but he couldn't stop his eyes from straying to his friends' table. At least they appeared to be enjoying the music, Adam certainly was at any rate. Mac, on the other hand, seemed to be dividing his attention between the stage and his friend whenever it appeared that Adam wasn't looking. Like any good Watcher, Joe observed and mentally noted the Highlander's rather odd behaviour, unlike any good Watcher though, he drew conclusions and decided on a course of action.
*****
When the set ended, Joe was needed back at the bar and as he poured yet another drink he couldn't help but think that, even though he would be making a tidy profit this evening, it wouldn't have been worth the effort if he couldn't at least do something to help his friends. So when Mac came to the bar for a fresh bottle, Joe enlisted his aid in fetching a box from the storeroom and in the privacy it granted, he decided to take a chance.
"So Mac, are you going to tell him?"
"Joe!" Mac almost dropped the box he was moving in shock - shock, but not surprise.
Joe watched amused as Mac replaced the box with exaggerated care and then proceeded to sit on it. He looked rather guiltily at Joe and then at his hands, surprisingly unsurprised that Joe had worked it out. Either his estimation of Joe's observational skills was higher than the Watcher expected or the Highlander was just grateful to finally have *someone* to talk to about it.
"Well?" Joe prompted.
"I can't Joe, I mean he's... he's *Methos*, Joe."
As arguments went Joe had seen more coherent examples, "So?"
Mac sighed and began to study his hands in detail.
"I mean, pardon me, but I fail to see the problem here, Mac," Joe needed a good reason before he'd be persuaded to let this one go and Mac's uncharacteristic uncertainty had to have a reason. A thought occurred, "It's not the gender thing is it?"
Mac looked surprised, "No. I mean it's been a long time, but... No, it's not that. Maybe... I don't know. It's just... he's *Methos*."
Joe shook his head, "I know he's Methos, Mac, even if it is one of the better kept secrets in the world. I still don't see what it is that's stopping you."
Mac sighed and looked away for a long minute, when he finally met Joe's eyes he appeared to have resolved something. "Joe," he began seriously. "Immortals don't have many myths and legends of our own - we know where too many of yours come from. Of the few we do have, who do you think features prominently in most of them? Most Immortals I've met think Methos is the creation of an Immortal who got bored one day and decided to create a little history for us. Some of us believe Methos actually did exist once upon a time, but died millennia ago. How many of us do you think know that not only did he exist once upon a time, but that he still does? Never mind that he prefers pizza to pasta and has a bad habit of putting his feet on the furniture?" Mac paused and consciously brought his voice back down to a more conversational tone. "More than 5,000 years of history, Joe - he’s seen and done so much, been so many things - *why* would he be interested in me?"
"What makes you think he wouldn't be interested?" Joe argued. "I mean, no disrespect to the dead, but why did he fall for Alexa? You and I both know she was neither especially pretty nor especially bright. She didn't have money or contacts, Hell, she didn't even have her health, but none of that mattered one bit to him. You must have seen that."
Mac's silent nod made Joe pause as another thought struck him. "Just how long have you been sitting on this, Mac?"
Mac shifted uncomfortably and picked up a napkin from a nearby box. "Since I met him I think."
"You think?"
"Well, I liked him immediately - trusted him - it never even occurred to me that he might want *my* head. Then when he turned up because of Kristen and stayed at the loft it was just easy having him around. And then Alexa came along and... I realised why I'd always been so comfortable with him... and I couldn't say anything because he loved her." He sighed sadly, "She had so little time, Joe - I could afford to wait - she couldn't."
Joe felt a pang of sorrow; he had liked Alexa and the old man had certainly fallen hard and fast for her. Mac being Mac couldn't have acted any other way given the situation - it simply wasn't in his nature. But now that Alexa was gone…
"How selfish is it Joe? To move in when Alexa's only been gone a month? To want him to get over her quickly so I have a better chance of making him happy," Mac asked miserably.
Joe shook his head, "Mac, if you're looking for permission from a ghost - I hate to tell you this, but you're going to be a long time waiting." Mac just looked more miserable and Joe tried again. "Look at it this way, Mac. If you were Alexa would you want Methos to be miserable or would you want him to have a chance at happiness again?"
Mac put aside the napkin he had been patiently shredding, "But that's just it, Joe - what if I can't make him happy? What if I try and he isn't interested? What if I offend him? I can't lose him completely, Joe. He's so cautious about everything and if he thinks you're prying he shuts up tight and leaves. I'd rather keep his friendship than gamble and lose it all."
Joe was starting to get exasperated now. "Well for a start I don't think it's that faint a possibility. But do you really think the man who's survived 5,000 years is so fragile that the thought of a friend caring a bit more deeply for him is going to scare him away forever? Given how long he's lived I very much doubt he'll go all Victorian on you if you make a pass at him and I don't think he'd let it wreck the friendship. You said it yourself Mac, there was a connection between the two of you from the moment you met - a trust - and you know how rare that is, even among people who don't have to fear for their heads on a daily basis. You may have failed to notice it, but the man doesn't seem to have that many friends; he's not going to throw them away over something like this."
Mac looked like he sincerely wanted to believe, "I don't know, Joe."
"Well I do," Joe said shortly, giving up on reasoned argument. "Have a little faith in my powers of perception - I have known him longer than you after all."
Mac took a deep breath and forced a smile, "Okay."
Joe smiled as the Highlander picked up the box they'd come in for and headed out into the bar, even with a pep talk from his Watcher he was betting Mac would be having a good few shots of Scottish courage before he had that talk with the old Immortal. Now all Joe had to worry about was that he was right in his own assessment of the Ancient.
*****
The night wore on pleasantly enough and while Mac had plenty of Scottish courage, he still seemed no closer to talking to Methos, and the unexpected arrival of Richie was a mixed blessing. Joe was glad to see the young Immortal had forgiven Mac his actions under the influence of the Dark Quickening. It was obvious too that Mac was glad to see his almost-son and the mood around the table lightened considerably as Richie told tales of his travels. But it bothered Joe that with Richie present the chances of Mac having that talk with the old man were drastically reduced. Still, the alcohol was flowing freely and the mood had improved so maybe the evening wasn't a total loss.
At the moment, Richie, being just a tad drunk, was helpfully offering Adam tips on picking up women and Mac, who probably wasn’t quite as sober as he thought, was doing his best to mitigate it. Adam, who was as sober as the other two weren't, was taking it all in good humour, though Joe was sure there was an undercurrent of sadness to the old man's tone that wasn't just his imagination.
"Is that a sword in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Richie giggled drunkenly.
"Dinner and dancing," Mac corrected unequivocally, ignoring Richie's bad jokes as best he could.
"What's wrong with pizza and a movie?" Adam protested, comfortably into his bookworm, grad student persona by now.
"Nothing, nothing," said Mac in a tone that suggested the exact opposite. "It's just no guarantee."
Adam shook his head, "And dinner and dancing is?"
"Of course, no woman can resist - even if they're not romantic the thought that you are is enough to get them lining up." Mac announced confidently and Joe wondered if his friend had any idea how many women were actually within earshot. It didn’t speak well of his survival instinct that he didn’t seem to have noticed how many daggers were being looked at his back. "Try it sometime Adam, you'd be amazed."
Adam's expression told Joe he *was* aware of how many women were listening in, "No thanks, Mac, I think I'll give it a miss."
Mac shook his head in dismay and seemed about to try to further persuade Adam when Richie suddenly interrupted. "He can't dance!" Richie howled, laughing so hard he was in danger of sliding right off his chair.
Joe looked at the gleeful Immortal and shook his head, maybe he ought to avoid serving Richie whiskey in future. Mac and Adam looked equally bemused as to where that particular outburst had sprung from, but when Adam didn't deign to deny the statement Mac latched onto it too. Joe watched in amusement as Mac leaned drunkenly over the table and patted the old Immortal's arm sympathetically.
"It's alright, Adam, it's nothing to be ashamed of."
Joe was beginning to think he should keep the Highlander clear of the good stuff too.
"Anyway, I can teach you," Mac announced confidently and without waiting for a reply, he dragged the startled oldest Immortal out of his chair and propelled him towards the dance floor.
Joe watched amazed as 200 pounds of drunken Highlander began to instruct the rather bemused eldest Immortal in all seriousness. He could practically hear the old man deciding to put up with this lunacy, just for the pleasure of reminding Mac of it tomorrow and probably for many days to come, so he could watch the Highlander cringe in embarrassment. Joe had to admit that he had no plans to be the voice of reason either, it was far too entertaining, and besides, they looked surprisingly good together.
*****
Duncan manoeuvred the unresisting older man away from the tables and positioned him with exaggerated care then he picked up the tune and began to guide his increasingly amused partner around the dance floor. Several turns later though, the awareness began to creep up on Duncan that he had actually stopped guiding almost as soon as he had begun to move. Duncan abruptly sobered with the sort of sickening speed that only a combination of Immortal healing and sheer panic could accomplish.
He was dancing with *Methos*! What was he *thinking*!?!
The remnants of the drunken fog evaporated and with it went the assumptions Duncan had made. Methos was actually a very good dancer, graceful, and next to his slender build the Highlander felt like a clumsy oaf. With an impressive display of willpower Duncan forced his mind away from its panic and concentrated on not tripping over his own feet. A minute or two later he had calmed enough to be out of danger of falling on his ass in front of everyone and he began to relax again. If Methos had noticed the way he had tensed up, he gave no sign, for which Duncan was absurdly grateful.
Duncan's calm didn't last long though, since he was no longer focused on his own movements his attention naturally drifted to those of his partner and it didn't help that his partner was the object of more than a few of Duncan's fantasies. He was terribly aware of the space between his body and the slender form opposite, matching him step for step. He didn't dare look at Methos' face, but he was having severe difficulty finding a neutral spot on which to focus. His hands itched to shift their carefully impersonal grip on Methos' narrow waist. He wanted to pull the ancient Immortal closer and eliminate that small safe space between them, to feel Methos pressed tight against him, preferably without clothing. He wanted to let his hands wander and give them free reign to explore that strong body and seek out all its secrets.
It was an unbearably sweet torment to have Methos so close and not be able to draw him closer. And what would Methos do if he did give into that urge? Run? Brush it off? Welcome it? Duncan was too much the coward to take the chance and find out. Still, if he did nothing, or even if he succumbed to temptation and ruined everything, at least he would have had this - Methos in his arms - and that alone would fuel his fantasies for years to come.
Duncan had wanted to do this after Alexa had died, not for himself, but for his friend. He had wanted to offer the comfort and the warmth of physical contact, but there had been some intangible barrier stopping him. Methos hadn't left town, or even avoided him, but there had been a sense of his being unapproachable. Methos had shut the world out and done his grieving alone, as he had probably done hundreds of times before. Over the month since Alexa's death, those barriers had slowly lowered, but the air of wounded sorrow that Methos carried with him had remained virtually undiminished.
Did Duncan have the right to change that? He didn't know; he just knew he wanted desperately to try, but even with Joe's encouragement, he couldn't quite bring himself to take that step. So the careful distance, both physical and emotional, remained and painful as it was, it was somehow less painful than the thought of reaching out to the old Immortal only to be turned away.
*****
Finally the song began to wind down and Duncan found himself loath to end the perfect torment he had created for himself, but he was determined not to try to hold onto Methos any longer than friendship would allow. One dance, especially given the circumstances of its beginning, could be laughed off, explained away as drunkenness; to ask for another now though would reveal a deeper intent. He could be satisfied with this, even if it were all he would ever have.
So when the song ended and Methos moved to resume his seat at the table, it was as much of a surprise to Duncan as it was to his friend when his hand closed around Methos' wrist and stopped him. Duncan swallowed anxiously, horrified that he had betrayed himself so, but knowing that he was now committed, he had no option but to take the plunge.
Given the amount of experience he had at romancing, his store of courage was pitifully small when it came to dealing with this one man. "Adam," Duncan was dismayed by the hoarseness of his voice. It wasn't the name he wanted to use either, but in such a public place he had no other option. "Dance with me?" How different it was to ask instead of just drunkenly demanding.
Methos regarded the Highlander through narrowed eyes, his expression unreadable, but he didn't pull his hand free. Daringly, Duncan took the few steps needed to bring them face to face again; his throat felt constricted, he'd said everything he knew to say, nothing more would affect Methos' decision.
Duncan almost breathed a sigh of relief when that piercing gaze shifted from his face to the hand trapping Methos' slender wrist - tanned skin against pale. Reluctantly Duncan loosened his grip, regretting now that he'd pushed as far as he had, however unintentional it had been. Especially since that touch, with its lingering warmth, was in all likelihood the last he would be allowed for a very long time.
The weight of Methos' hands as they came to rest on Duncan's shoulders nearly made him flinch, which he realised belatedly would have been a very bad idea. Methos' expression was still unreadable when Duncan ventured to look, but his hands moved to rest at Methos' waist almost of their own volition and when they began to move together it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
Duncan barely heard the band, his brain seemed to have fused solid, but his body seemed to know exactly what it was doing as it moved with the music and the far more compelling shift and sway of his partner's body. Then all at once his mental faculties came back online, multi-tasking busily in case this was a once-in-a-lifetime, never-to-be-repeated flight of fantasy.
Methos was close - so close. Not as close as Duncan would have liked, but more than close enough to have his body reacting predictably. The occasional brush of their bodies as they moved was tantalising, slow and so very sensual. Duncan couldn't help but wonder if Methos was actually aware of the casual grace he possessed. He supposed after 5,000 years he must be, but Duncan still believed the display was unconscious.
Duncan found himself looking into Methos' face, hoping to see his friend's thoughts there - he had to know what Duncan's request meant - he wasn't blind or stupid by any stretch of the imagination. But Methos' eyes were closed, long lashes shadowing the pale skin, making the World's Oldest Immortal seem ridiculously young. The hint of a smile played on his lips, but with Methos that could mean anything. Only the faint dark smudges beneath his eyes revealed the effect of his most recent loss and even they failed to mar the beauty Duncan saw in his friend.
"Methos?" Duncan kept his voice so low he was almost surprised when Methos heard it. Dark eyes flecked with gold opened to meet his own and Duncan could feel their gaze gently strip him bare, seeing everything he had been hiding in his heart since the day they first met. He tried to steel himself against the prospect of imminent rejection, but felt something hot and bright unfurl inside him when instead of letting go, the arms resting on his shoulders tightened, long fingers brushing the nape of his neck and sliding into his hair. The smile on Methos' lips deepened at Duncan's reaction and with the next pulse of the music Methos shifted closer to Duncan.
Duncan felt his knees threaten to give way, though whether in relief or because of the incredible heat of Methos' body, he couldn't say. Warm breath teased his skin as Methos leaned in closer still, "Dance with me, Duncan."
The whispered request sent shivers down Duncan's spine and the rare use of his given name caused a warmth to bloom deep in his chest; the slight erection he'd been fighting since they had first begun to dance suddenly wasn't so slight anymore. With Methos pressed so close it was laughably difficult to remember what was and wasn't acceptable behaviour in a public place. The tip of a tongue slipped out to moisten dry lips and Duncan caught himself on the verge of following it back into the inviting haven of Methos' mouth. A little voice warned him that a kiss was probably a bit further than he wanted to go in public, since he knew he'd never be able to stop with just that. But he bowed to his baser instincts and let his hands slide around Methos' waist and slip lower to cup his ass, pulling him just that fraction closer. Methos' gentle smile altered imperceptibly and now it was doing dangerous things to Duncan's sense of balance, not to mention propriety. God, at this rate he'd never make it to the end of the song, never mind getting home.
*****
Joe leaned back in his chair and raised his glass to the oblivious pair of Immortals on the dance floor. He heard Richie put his own glass on the table and didn't need to look to know he was watching the same thing as Joe himself.
"I hope it works," Richie said as he turned to Joe, blue eyes surprisingly sober.
Joe smiled an indulgent bluesman's smile, "Oh I think it will - if not for Alexa I think it would have happened months ago."
Richie smiled in agreement. Yeah. When Adam had first turned up because of Kristen he'd noticed the change in Mac. The Highlander had been happier than he'd been at any other time since Tessa's death, more comfortable, as though some unacknowledged tension had eased. Richie felt a momentary pang for the loss, but he knew Tessa would have wanted Mac to be happy... and this stood a good chance of doing that if the chemistry between Mac and Adam was anything at all to go by.
Richie looked out across the dance floor in time to see Adam insinuate one long leg between Mac's, bringing the dancers' bodies into constant light contact. He could see the way they moved, so easily in tune with each other, and a blind man could see where they were heading tonight.
Richie stood and grabbed his leather jacket from the back of his chair.
Joe looked up, "You heading off now?"
Richie nodded with a smile, "Yeah, Maria's on a shoot here and I promised her I'd pick her up early tomorrow - and if I don't get some sleep soon I'll never make it."
Joe smiled and nodded, "Merry Christmas, Richie."
"Merry Christmas, Joe," Richie nodded his head towards the almost empty dance floor and the two Immortals there. "Say bye to the guys for me will you?"
Joe cast a glance in the same direction, "Will do, but I doubt they'll notice."
Richie laughed and gave a final wave as he headed for the door.
Joe returned his gaze to the dancers; they did move well, the pair of them. There was nothing too overt in their movements, but they exuded a subtle eroticism. Sometimes Joe hated his job, watching and recording who killed who, at times like this though watching was a pleasure, even if he would never record it, at least not officially anyway. He shook his head and returned his attention to the bar; there weren't that many people left now and it was time to start closing up.
*****
The last chords of the song faded and died and the lights came up. Duncan reluctantly took his eyes from his partner's face and glanced around the bar, surprised to see it virtually empty. They couldn't have been dancing that long surely.
"I think Joe's trying to tell us something," Methos' voice was comfortably close to his ear and Duncan turned back to his hopefully soon-to-be lover's face and smiled. Methos' pale skin was flushed lightly in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with the minimal exertion of dancing. Duncan suspected his own face wore a similar colour; the urgent arousal he had felt earlier had eased as the dance had continued, exchanged without loss for a slowly building anticipation. With the end of the dance and the loss of that lithe body against him, his arousal surged again as if to remind him of his priorities.
"I think you're right," Duncan grinned, "Care to join me for a night-cap?"
Methos grinned, a lazy grin full of promise, "You know, I think I just might."
Duncan gestured grandly towards their table and their coats and the two Immortals gathered up their belongings.
"Goodnight Joe," they chorused in unison to the Watcher behind the bar, who grinned tolerantly in return.
"'Night guys," Joe replied and their nod to formality complete, Duncan and Methos made their way to the door with perhaps just a little more speed than usual.
"Hey, Mac!" Joe called as they were almost there and both Immortals turned in response. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Joe tossed something small and white their way and the Highlander caught it with a laugh. Mistletoe.
Duncan looked at his Watcher; he supposed he did owe the man something since he appeared to have been right. He looked at Methos, but the old man seemed much too relaxed and amused to take offence at this. Still... Duncan held out his hand to Methos who narrowed his eyes and glanced from Duncan to Joe and back again.
"Why do I get the feeling this was a setup?" the ancient Immortal asked of no-one in particular.
Duncan let out the breath he'd been holding, momentarily dreading Methos balking, and smiled sweetly. "Because you're paranoid?" he offered.
Methos pulled a face, "Doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you," he retorted
Duncan grinned, acknowledging the point and glad to see the old Immortal was willing to play along. He flexed his hand, renewing his offer.
Methos' smile turned mischievous in the moment before he took Duncan's hand and that was all the warning the Highlander got. A sharp tug caught him off-balance and before he quite knew what was happening he was spun into a pair of surprisingly strong arms and dipped back. Methos leaned over him, hazel eyes twinkling with great amusement, and then he captured the mouth that hung open mid-gasp.
Oh.
My.
God.
Methos was kissing him. He was being kissed by *Methos*. Not the tentative, half-embarrassed touch of lips that he'd expected when he made the offer; this kiss was strong, confident and unbelievably arousing. Methos' tongue slipped between lips that parted in invitation and proceeded to make itself at home, utterly assured of its welcome. Much like Methos himself: moving into Mac's home, his life, and ultimately his heart, with an ease that defied belief. The arousal that had been steadily simmering all evening reached boiling point with alarming speed and all coherent thought evaporated under its intense heat.
Eventually Duncan realised Methos was pulling away and he struggled to recapture that clever mouth. He was Immortal, damn it! He didn’t need air!
Duncan opened eyes he didn't remember closing to see Methos' face mere inches from his own, hazel eyes bright with amusement, affection and, unless he was much mistaken, arousal. His arms were wrapped around the old Immortal's neck, mistletoe still clutched tightly in one fist. For one hopeful moment he almost thought Methos was going to kiss him again and he felt renewed heat rush through his body to his already aching groin. But instead Methos merely raised his head and grinned up at the surprised but smiling Watcher, "Happy now?" Then he hauled Duncan upright, wrapping a steadying arm around the Highlander's waist when he proved a touch unsteady on his feet.
"Time to go, Mac?" he inquired.
Duncan was intensely aware of the heat Methos radiated even through the layers of clothing that separated them. He leaned a little closer to Methos and spoke in a rather hoarse whisper, "Definitely, but I don't think I can walk."
Methos turned to him with another grin, but it was the glitter of uncomplicated delight in those hazel eyes that made Duncan really, really wish they didn't have an audience, minimal as it was.
"I could carry you," Methos offered with a smirk, but the arm wrapped around Duncan's waist gave a gentle squeeze.
Duncan chuckled, not a little embarrassed by how much the idea actually appealed to him, "You are a mean old man, Adam."
Methos' smirk broadened, impossible as it seemed, "Yeah, but you love me anyway."
Somehow it didn't come out quite as flippantly as Duncan thought it had probably been supposed to. He caught hold of Methos' free hand and brought it to his lips for a light kiss. "Yeah, I do," he said quietly.
Methos' eyes widened as he met Duncan's and for that one moment he looked far more vulnerable than a 5,000 year old man had any right to be. Then the look was gone and the Methos he knew was back, but the moment stretched on. Methos still hadn't broken eye contact with Duncan when he finally spoke, "Bye Joe."
Duncan only distantly heard Joe's "Merry Christmas you two!" as he was dragged out the door.
*****
Part 2