HL FIC: Kissed by Immortality
Kissed by Immortality
by Sapphire
Summary: “Joe, you’re amazing!”
Archive: Only in my LJ and on my website.
Beta: Unbetaed ‘cause my Beta is in bed fast asleep and it’s just a short little itty bitty thing. How badly could I muck it up anyway? ;)
Characters: Joe Dawson, Methos.
Fandom: Highlander the Series
Genre: Humor and those mysterious Immortals.
Author's Notes: I dunno where this came from. To be honest, I’d about given up on being called a fanfic writer any longer. The urge just hasn’t been there. Maybe all my creativeness is flowing into renovating parts of my house , who knows. All I know is nothing has been written in forever and I haven’t even made any attempts to update my webpage in forever even though I have a couple of short fics and a few drabbles that could go there. In fact, I’m not sure I remember my own password to gain access to my webpage. Hmmm. Anyway, Peter Wingfield has been haunting my thoughts as of late. I have no idea why. Haven’t watched anything with him in it in ages. Haven’t even been on LJ, until tonight, since last Sunday. And mind that I said PW, not Methos. But somehow, here’s a little, well, actually Joe fic with some Methos tossed in. And I did say some time ago I knew I wasn’t done with Highlander yet. I knew it would come back at some point and kick me in the ass. Actually, this is only a little nudge, a . . . kiss, if you will. :)
Pairing: Future Duncan/Methos implied.
Published: May 27, 2007
Rating: PG (language)
Words: 661
WEBSITE: http://musings.slashcity.net/musings/revelations.html (not archived there as of this date)
Joe busied himself with cleaning up the bar top in preparation for the evening’s customers as he listened to Methos, who’d been sitting on the other side of the bar for the past couple of hours, natter on about this and that but kept coming back to one subject. Joe had mostly stopped listening about thirty minutes ago, resorting to grunting in all the right spots and furnishing fresh beer for the immortal with an equally immortal bar tab. So he really couldn’t be blamed when he didn’t see it coming.
One moment he was diligently cleaning the bar and the next Methos had his shirt front fisted in his hands and was pulling him across the bar. Before Joe had time to deal with that, Methos’ lips were on his. Lips that were surprisingly soft, surprisingly passionate. Joe opened his mouth to give him hell but only ended up getting tongue from the irascible immortal.
Then Methos was pulling back, releasing Joe, and chuckling.
“Joe, you’re amazing!”
Methos grabbed up his coat and was out the door before Joe managed to collect his scattered wits.
“What the hell?” he said, more loudly than he intended. He glanced around. Luckily the few customers that were in the bar that time of day seemed to be amazingly dismissive of what they’d just witnessed. He resumed cleaning the bar, but not before muttering softly, “Damn crazy immortals.” But it was said with a twinkle in his eye.
He’d never been kissed by a man, not on the lips anyway. Somehow with Methos it seemed almost natural. At the very least, it didn’t remind him of his first kiss at nine years of age when Sara Jane Packman, a very mature fourteen-year-old Sara Jane Packman, had kissed him and he was certain for the following week that he had a deadly case of the cooties. His father had found it hilarious and had been of no help while his mother had tried her best to console him. Thinking back on it now, there had been a twinkle in Mom’s eyes, very similar to the one his own eyes now.
When Methos had brought up MacLeod and Scotland for the umpteenth time since he’d sat at the bar, Joe might have finally had enough and irritably told Methos that if he wanted to go to Scotland and join MacLeod on his jaunt to the Highlands then he should, instead of yammering on about not being invited. Since when did Methos need an invitation anyway?
Joe shook his head. Sometimes these guys who had lived for ages could screw things up worse than any mere mortal. You’d think they’d learn a few things after a few times around the block.
He made a mental note to call for a flight reservation tomorrow. He’d time it so he’d be at the inn by the time the two idiots made it back down to Glenfinnan. Maybe by then the imbeciles would have realized they wanted the same thing and he could get some good heckling in about age not making one any wiser. You’d think they’d have it figured out by now.
Joe glanced up as the door opened. Methos popped his head inside.
“Joe? See you in Glenfinnan in a couple of weeks?”
“Get out of here, you bastard,” he growled.
Methos gave him a very Adam Piersonish shy smile and then was gone again.
Joe grunted in exasperation. Then again, sometimes Methos was a step ahead. Maybe he was having Joe on this whole time. Maybe . . .
Dammit. Joe hated it when Methos left him wondering if he’d just been had -- or not. He suspected he’d never completely know with Methos. Surprisingly, he was okay with that. And he was okay with the kiss. After all, how many people could say they’d been kissed by a five thousand year old man who looked younger than them? Not that he’d ever admit that to Methos.
~Finis
by Sapphire
Summary: “Joe, you’re amazing!”
Archive: Only in my LJ and on my website.
Beta: Unbetaed ‘cause my Beta is in bed fast asleep and it’s just a short little itty bitty thing. How badly could I muck it up anyway? ;)
Characters: Joe Dawson, Methos.
Fandom: Highlander the Series
Genre: Humor and those mysterious Immortals.
Author's Notes: I dunno where this came from. To be honest, I’d about given up on being called a fanfic writer any longer. The urge just hasn’t been there. Maybe all my creativeness is flowing into renovating parts of my house , who knows. All I know is nothing has been written in forever and I haven’t even made any attempts to update my webpage in forever even though I have a couple of short fics and a few drabbles that could go there. In fact, I’m not sure I remember my own password to gain access to my webpage. Hmmm. Anyway, Peter Wingfield has been haunting my thoughts as of late. I have no idea why. Haven’t watched anything with him in it in ages. Haven’t even been on LJ, until tonight, since last Sunday. And mind that I said PW, not Methos. But somehow, here’s a little, well, actually Joe fic with some Methos tossed in. And I did say some time ago I knew I wasn’t done with Highlander yet. I knew it would come back at some point and kick me in the ass. Actually, this is only a little nudge, a . . . kiss, if you will. :)
Pairing: Future Duncan/Methos implied.
Published: May 27, 2007
Rating: PG (language)
Words: 661
WEBSITE: http://musings.slashcity.net/musings/revelations.html (not archived there as of this date)
Joe busied himself with cleaning up the bar top in preparation for the evening’s customers as he listened to Methos, who’d been sitting on the other side of the bar for the past couple of hours, natter on about this and that but kept coming back to one subject. Joe had mostly stopped listening about thirty minutes ago, resorting to grunting in all the right spots and furnishing fresh beer for the immortal with an equally immortal bar tab. So he really couldn’t be blamed when he didn’t see it coming.
One moment he was diligently cleaning the bar and the next Methos had his shirt front fisted in his hands and was pulling him across the bar. Before Joe had time to deal with that, Methos’ lips were on his. Lips that were surprisingly soft, surprisingly passionate. Joe opened his mouth to give him hell but only ended up getting tongue from the irascible immortal.
Then Methos was pulling back, releasing Joe, and chuckling.
“Joe, you’re amazing!”
Methos grabbed up his coat and was out the door before Joe managed to collect his scattered wits.
“What the hell?” he said, more loudly than he intended. He glanced around. Luckily the few customers that were in the bar that time of day seemed to be amazingly dismissive of what they’d just witnessed. He resumed cleaning the bar, but not before muttering softly, “Damn crazy immortals.” But it was said with a twinkle in his eye.
He’d never been kissed by a man, not on the lips anyway. Somehow with Methos it seemed almost natural. At the very least, it didn’t remind him of his first kiss at nine years of age when Sara Jane Packman, a very mature fourteen-year-old Sara Jane Packman, had kissed him and he was certain for the following week that he had a deadly case of the cooties. His father had found it hilarious and had been of no help while his mother had tried her best to console him. Thinking back on it now, there had been a twinkle in Mom’s eyes, very similar to the one his own eyes now.
When Methos had brought up MacLeod and Scotland for the umpteenth time since he’d sat at the bar, Joe might have finally had enough and irritably told Methos that if he wanted to go to Scotland and join MacLeod on his jaunt to the Highlands then he should, instead of yammering on about not being invited. Since when did Methos need an invitation anyway?
Joe shook his head. Sometimes these guys who had lived for ages could screw things up worse than any mere mortal. You’d think they’d learn a few things after a few times around the block.
He made a mental note to call for a flight reservation tomorrow. He’d time it so he’d be at the inn by the time the two idiots made it back down to Glenfinnan. Maybe by then the imbeciles would have realized they wanted the same thing and he could get some good heckling in about age not making one any wiser. You’d think they’d have it figured out by now.
Joe glanced up as the door opened. Methos popped his head inside.
“Joe? See you in Glenfinnan in a couple of weeks?”
“Get out of here, you bastard,” he growled.
Methos gave him a very Adam Piersonish shy smile and then was gone again.
Joe grunted in exasperation. Then again, sometimes Methos was a step ahead. Maybe he was having Joe on this whole time. Maybe . . .
Dammit. Joe hated it when Methos left him wondering if he’d just been had -- or not. He suspected he’d never completely know with Methos. Surprisingly, he was okay with that. And he was okay with the kiss. After all, how many people could say they’d been kissed by a five thousand year old man who looked younger than them? Not that he’d ever admit that to Methos.
~Finis