Don't Dream it, Write it...
Summary: I’m on the crack folks, this little bunny just kept nibbling at me and making me giggle so I had to write it. What if Methos were driving to a little town called Denton when he had a flat? And what if he needed to ask for help at the only house on the road? The chaos begins…
When Methos met Frank
1952, somewhere in America
How Methos had ended up taking a teaching job in the arse-end of nowhere, he wasn’t entirely sure, but the university would pay the bills for a while and he could more or less guarantee that he would stay off the Immortal collective radar for a few years. No Immortal would ever find Denton. Come to think of it, he was having a little difficulty finding it himself.
The rain was coming down in torrents, and the occasional flash of lightning was the only light other than Methos’ headlights on the dark country road. The radio was playing some more of that mindless ‘rock and roll’ so Methos switched it off to concentrate on the road ahead.
A few seconds later he came to a sign that read Road Closed. “Bloody marvellous” muttered Methos as he threw the car into reverse and started to perform a three point turn. But he hadn’t got to point one when there was a loud bang and a sudden jolt. “Bugger!” Methos exclaimed and he got out into the wet night. He went to the back of the car and saw that he had a flat, then went to the trunk to get the spare and saw that it too was flat. “Double bugger!” he exclaimed. Now he would have to walk the half mile or so back to the last house he saw and ask for help. This was not turning into a great evening.
He approached the large house, despite the sign on the gate advising Enter at your own Risk!, and thought to himself that this was the kind of place that Americans referred to as a castle. Nothing like a real castle, he thought, I’ve lived in a real castle, and you don’t get glass windows and carpets in real castles. Cold, nasty places that you wouldn’t choose to live in, real castles. He went up to the door and rang the bell.
After a very short amount of time, a little too short, as if they had been watching his approach, the door was opened by a man. At least Methos thought it was a man, it was hard to tell. He was dressed as a butler, but he was moth-eaten and had long blonde hair that straggled down his back.
“Hello.” The man said. His voice reminded Methos of cold, dank, mildew-infested dungeons.
“Hello.” Methos said. There was a long silence so Methos spoke again, “I had a flat tyre, might I come in?”
“You’re wet.”
“It’s raining.”
“You’d better come inside.” He stood back and allowed Methos to cross the threshold before abruptly slamming the door shut and bolting it. “I am the butler, my name is Riff Raff.” Methos sniggered.
“No, what is it really?” Riff Raff just stared at him before pointing to a maid standing in the hallway.
“That is my sister, Magenta. Ignore her.”
“Okaaaay then. Do you have a telephone I might use?”
“No, the master has no need for telephones.”
“Okay. Then might I speak with your master? I need help to fix my car.”
“Walk this way.” Riff Raff said before sloping off towards an elevator car. If I walk that way, thought Methos, I’ll do myself a permanent mischief, Immortal or not.
He followed Riff Raff into the elevator and they rose up through the floors into a large, white-tiled room. Standing in the middle of this room was one of the most striking people that Methos had ever clapped eyes on.
He stood about six-two in heels and wore fish-net stockings, a black basque and women’s knickers and a leather motorcycle jacket. His dark hair bounded from his head in loose curls, and Methos was reminded of Medusa’s snakes. He turned to face Methos, his large mouth extending in a warm smile and extended his hand, which Methos shook.
“Oh goody, a guest! I’m Doctor Frank N Furter.” Methos smirked; surely these people had to be winding him up? He bit back the jibe on his lips, instead replying cordially,
“Hello. I’m Doctor Benjamin Adams.”
“A fellow doctor! Excellent! I’d like to pick your brains later. But first, dinner!” He grabbed Methos by the arm and escorted him up a ramp towards a door, Methos all the while protesting,
“No, really, please, I just want to get my car fixed.”
They enjoyed a fine repast, although Methos was slightly concerned that he couldn’t identify the meat. There was something worryingly familiar about the taste and texture that recalled his Horseman days, but he couldn’t quite place it. He didn’t wish to offend his host before he got what he wanted so he didn’t ask what it was.
“You’re quite handsome.” Methos started at the sudden declaration from the host.
“Why, thank you Dr. Furter, you’re pretty good looking yourself.”
“Oh, please. Call me Frank.”
“Okay, Frank. You can call me Benjamin.”
“Well, Benjamin. You have both looks and brains. God was having a good day when he made you.” Methos smirked. Frank was clearly trying to chat him up, and Methos had to admit that he found this unique individual somewhat arousing, in a disturbing way. He hadn’t swung that way in a very long time, but he thought he might be amenable.
He suddenly realised that he was feeling very amenable to any suggestion and more than a little warm and drowsy. He looked down at the glass in his hand then up at his host.
“Drugged?” he slurred, before slumping down on the table.
He awoke to find himself chained naked to a four poster bed, with Frank straddling him.
“Not that I’m saying I mind, Dr. Furter, but some might consider this kidnap.”
“Oh it isn’t all that bad, not even half bad. You might even find you enjoy it.”
“This isn’t exactly my first tea-party you know. You didn’t need the dramatics to seduce me. I would probably have come quite willingly.”
“Well, there’s still time for that.” Frank said with a sly smile, and he began to kiss Methos’ chest, working his way downwards. Methos let out a gasp of pleasure, and allowed Frank to wrap his lips around Methos’ hardening cock. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes Methos was thrilled to receive the best blow job he’d had in a good few millennia. He cried out in pleasure before the physical release, then lay back, a smug smile upon his face. He felt Frank shift his weight and so he slowly opened his eyes.
The last thing he saw was the knife before Frank plunged it into his chest and everything went black.
It would be hard to describe exactly who was more shocked, Methos on finding that Frank was trying to cut his skull open, or Frank on discovering that Methos wasn’t dead after all. Screams were heard from the laboratory, and a few minutes later Methos came belting out of the castle at full tilt, still half-dressed. He ran back to his car, started the engine and floored it, ignoring the complaining squeals from the flat tyre as he headed back to the main road as fast as possible.