JOE'S TRUTH (part 2)
Joe's Truth (part 2)
by mackiedockie and adabsolutely
warnings: slash, puns, strong language
beta by methos_fan
7.
Joe shifted in his chair at that revelation, and surveyed the bar, evading Methos' sharp gaze. "Well, at least you were counting grain. What is that, the Bronze Age equivalent of reciting baseball statistics?" He countered.
MacLeod shifted in his seat also, but for manifestly different reasons. "Pity about Hippolyta. You could have spent 500 years entertaining a whole tribe of women. Imagine the possibilities."
Methos paled. "Goddess save me," he muttered, hiding his expression behind a long pull on his beer.
In sympathy, Joe automatically waved for another round. His own glass was inexplicably low. However, his sympathy didn't extend to allowing Methos to skirt the subject. "Just for the historical record - were the Amazons Sauromatians, or from one of the Scythian tribes?" Joe actually knew the answer to this one, but it was always a good idea to occasionally fact check the oldest Immortal.
"Precursors to the Pazyryk, actually. They roamed the steppes north and east of the Black Sea. Marvelous horsewomen. That's how I got caught, originally. I was rounding up a wild horse when I was left afoot while - traveling."
Joe did some rapid calculations in his head. This would have been around 6 or 700 BC, before the glories of Greece but mostly after Methos' Horseman period. Mostly. The latter Bronze Age. "Horsethievin'. Bet the Amazons didn't appreciate that."
"You have no idea," Methos agreed, fervently.
"Kurgan country," MacLeod said darkly.
"Tough dames," Joe concurred.
"Wicked steppe mothers," Methos allowed.
Joe figured it was a good thing their beers were empty, or Methos would have been doused for that pun. "Okay, I can see why the Amazons were pissed at you, but what about this Xanakto character? It sounds as if he wanted to bore you to death."
MacLeod nodded, his eyes sparkling with wicked curiosity. "Six hundred years, was it? I find it hard to believe a bit of leather held out for so long..."
Joe remembered the comment about the chastity strap and smacked his brain around for bringing up the subject again.
Methos leveled his gaze at MacLeod. "You want the measurements?"
8.
MacLeod wagged his eyebrows and slowly slid his hand up Methos’ thigh. Methos captured MacLeod’s wrist and relocated the wandering appendage back to its own personal space.
“We wouldn’t want Joe to have to throw us out. Besides, I’m still irritated with you.”
“What did he do?” Joe asked, fishing, of course.
“I did nothing. And he’s diverting the conversation, again.”
“Well, Mac, we have to give him time to make it up - can’t rush a good story.”
“Believe me, Xanakto was real. He resides in the bloody irritating part of my brain where mundane tasks become the end all, be all.” Methos tapped his forehead.
“So you took his head. How long were you really with him?” MacLeod lowered his voice, soothing, extracting the truth.
Methos shrugged. “Seemed like forever. I guess the most irritating thing about him was he wanted to mold me into a version of himself. Tame the wild horseman. He never succeeded over all those years. But then I took his head. I’ve seen results of both dark and light quickenings. But what do I get? Damn bean counter’s quickening.”
Dawson and MacLeod shook their heads.
“What about the chastity strap thing?”
“You’re like a dog with a bone, boy scout.”
“As long as it’s your bone.”
9.
Joe rolled his eyes, if only to keep them from following MacLeod's persistent fingers on their nether quest. "You know there are laws about that. Somewhere." Then a horrifying thought struck him.
"Adam - when you took the quickening, you didn't inherit his sexual hangups, did you? Is that why it took 600 years to get your pipes cleaned out? Because, honestly, man, I can't imagine you counting more than a couple of tons of lentils before you stuffed and roasted someone with them."
"Maybe it was Xanaktos who liked wearing the strap," MacLeod prodded speculatively. His eyes wandered downward, measuring, "and you had a kink quickening."
Joe almost choked on his beer on that one. "Please tell me there's no such thing."
"There's no such thing, Joe," Methos and MacLeod said in perfect unison.
"Oh, shut up," Joe shook his head, appalled. Some of the stories he'd heard about Xavier, now…. "Just as long as you don't do that thing with the caviar."
"I have him completely under control. I promise, no caviar," Methos said virtuously.
"You wish," MacLeod said with a dangerous glee, crooking his finger and making Methos jump.
"Alright, alright, don't scare the horses. It's motel thirty, anyway. You two are NOT going anywhere near my apartment in this condition." Not because Joe wasn't a proper host. The fact was, being this close to the fire without being able to warm himself was becoming…untenable.
"But don't you want to hear the story about the chastity strap, the day gnomon and the love philtre?" Methos asked politely.
"I do," MacLeod purred.
Joe reached over and smacked them both up the side of their heads. And he was none too gentle about it. "What I want to know is, what were you two arguing about before I got off the stage?"
Methos and MacLeod stared at Joe, then stared at each other. Then stared at Joe again.
"Nuttin', honey," they both replied with perfect timing.
Joe sighed, leaning back in his chair, momentarily defeated. He had a session with the Immortal search algorithms ahead of him tonight. Interference, after all, was an art form, and information was his best weapon. "Go on. Don't do what I wouldn't do. In my wildest imagination. Or if you do try that, make sure to stay away from the smoke detectors."
10.
“Are you kicking us out, Joe?” Methos stuck out his lower lip.
“Bright boy!”
“Well so much for your tip!”
Joe laughed so hard he ended up choking.
“Can we have another beer if I tie MacLeod’s hands to the table?”
“How am I going to drink a beer with my hands tied to the table?”
“Oh alright, I’ll drink it for you.”
“A helpful sort, ain’t he.”
“I try.”
MacLeod stood, simultaneously hauling Methos to his feet.
“Hey! What -”
“Candy store!”
“Huh?”
“We need to run over to the candy store and get some chocolate, remember? We’ll come right back for your beer. Hey, I bet we’ll make it back before Joe’s next set. Come on now.”
“Youngsters! They need their candy. Tsk!” But he allowed himself to be dragged away.
“Later, Joe!” MacLeod had his friend out the door before Joe could utter a word.
“Don’t you think that was rather rude?”
“Joe understands.”
“I meant to me - hauling me out of there like some errant school boy headed for a spanking in the woodshed.”
MacLeod stopped abruptly. They’d made it no further from Joe’s door than half way across the parking lot toward the Thunderbird.
“Is that what you want?”
“No! You’re the one who needs to be punished! You’re the one who interfered and took a quickening for me. I’ve told you, Mac, you can’t fight my battles!”
MacLeod bit his own lower lip and forced himself to remain silent. He turned his face just so - so that Methos could see his expression in the light of the street-lamp.
Methos looked, and saw; fell silent. Sighed. “Where’s this candy shop you need to visit?”
“Very near. A quick drive.”
“OK. I guess you’ve waited long enough.”
With the top down it was easy to hop into the T-bird. In silence Mac drove them to a nearby park, one they had frequently walked through during the day. There was a certain bench in the middle of the small park. It was low, without a back; perfect.
“So this is the candy store?”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Methos nodded. “Sit down, Duncan.”
He caught his breath but said nothing; quickly sat. Methos kneeled down in front of him in the short cut grass and placed each of his palms flat on each of MacLeod’s knees gently spreading his legs apart. “You’ve been a very naughty boy,” he said as he unbuttoned MacLeod’s jeans.
He hissed when a rather cold hand located his ridged member. “Methos!”
“Shush, Duncan. Silently.” Methos bowed his head to the task he had before him. MacLeod threaded his fingers through his lover’s short silky hair, worshiping the head that took his. A tongue as clever as the man who wielded it caressed him. Light, rough, then light again. No vein left unexplored.
MacLeod clamped one hand over his own mouth. Even so, tortured sounds over-flowed from his throat. Methos stopped to catch a breath and prolong Mac’s punishment.
“Alright kid, listen to me: I love you, stop fucking up. OK?”
MacLeod whimpered, nodded; it was all he could do. Methos blew warm air on the exposed flesh. A single lick. “Are you ready?” He nodded again. “Of course you’d agree to anything right now.”
“Methos!”
Methos reached up to cover the noisy mouth, and laughed, and laughed some more as he realized his outburst was as noisy as MacLeod’s.
“I think I better end this. Concentrate.” Once again the warm mouth of the most experienced man on Earth swallowed him to the root. MacLeod gasped in a lung full of cool evening air partially repressing his keen as he came. Methos continued to hum at his groin until MacLeod’s mixture of moaning and giggling roused closer inspection. “You OK, Duncan?”
“By all the - whatever - how do you do that?”
“The tongue is involved.”
“Come here, your drollness.” MacLeod pulled Methos into an embrace, kissing him on the forehead, nose, then mouth while attempting to wrestle his lover onto the bench. Somehow the slippery devil escaped him, and fled a short distance.
“Beer time!”
“Methos!”
“Hurry up, Mac. We’ll miss the next set.”
“But what about - ” MacLeod glanced longingly at the perfect bench, imagining Methos spread along it, stomach down. “You haven’t - ”
“Old and patient, MacLeod, old and patient.”
Seven minutes later they strolled back into Joe’s bar.
by mackiedockie and adabsolutely
warnings: slash, puns, strong language
beta by methos_fan
7.
Joe shifted in his chair at that revelation, and surveyed the bar, evading Methos' sharp gaze. "Well, at least you were counting grain. What is that, the Bronze Age equivalent of reciting baseball statistics?" He countered.
MacLeod shifted in his seat also, but for manifestly different reasons. "Pity about Hippolyta. You could have spent 500 years entertaining a whole tribe of women. Imagine the possibilities."
Methos paled. "Goddess save me," he muttered, hiding his expression behind a long pull on his beer.
In sympathy, Joe automatically waved for another round. His own glass was inexplicably low. However, his sympathy didn't extend to allowing Methos to skirt the subject. "Just for the historical record - were the Amazons Sauromatians, or from one of the Scythian tribes?" Joe actually knew the answer to this one, but it was always a good idea to occasionally fact check the oldest Immortal.
"Precursors to the Pazyryk, actually. They roamed the steppes north and east of the Black Sea. Marvelous horsewomen. That's how I got caught, originally. I was rounding up a wild horse when I was left afoot while - traveling."
Joe did some rapid calculations in his head. This would have been around 6 or 700 BC, before the glories of Greece but mostly after Methos' Horseman period. Mostly. The latter Bronze Age. "Horsethievin'. Bet the Amazons didn't appreciate that."
"You have no idea," Methos agreed, fervently.
"Kurgan country," MacLeod said darkly.
"Tough dames," Joe concurred.
"Wicked steppe mothers," Methos allowed.
Joe figured it was a good thing their beers were empty, or Methos would have been doused for that pun. "Okay, I can see why the Amazons were pissed at you, but what about this Xanakto character? It sounds as if he wanted to bore you to death."
MacLeod nodded, his eyes sparkling with wicked curiosity. "Six hundred years, was it? I find it hard to believe a bit of leather held out for so long..."
Joe remembered the comment about the chastity strap and smacked his brain around for bringing up the subject again.
Methos leveled his gaze at MacLeod. "You want the measurements?"
8.
MacLeod wagged his eyebrows and slowly slid his hand up Methos’ thigh. Methos captured MacLeod’s wrist and relocated the wandering appendage back to its own personal space.
“We wouldn’t want Joe to have to throw us out. Besides, I’m still irritated with you.”
“What did he do?” Joe asked, fishing, of course.
“I did nothing. And he’s diverting the conversation, again.”
“Well, Mac, we have to give him time to make it up - can’t rush a good story.”
“Believe me, Xanakto was real. He resides in the bloody irritating part of my brain where mundane tasks become the end all, be all.” Methos tapped his forehead.
“So you took his head. How long were you really with him?” MacLeod lowered his voice, soothing, extracting the truth.
Methos shrugged. “Seemed like forever. I guess the most irritating thing about him was he wanted to mold me into a version of himself. Tame the wild horseman. He never succeeded over all those years. But then I took his head. I’ve seen results of both dark and light quickenings. But what do I get? Damn bean counter’s quickening.”
Dawson and MacLeod shook their heads.
“What about the chastity strap thing?”
“You’re like a dog with a bone, boy scout.”
“As long as it’s your bone.”
9.
Joe rolled his eyes, if only to keep them from following MacLeod's persistent fingers on their nether quest. "You know there are laws about that. Somewhere." Then a horrifying thought struck him.
"Adam - when you took the quickening, you didn't inherit his sexual hangups, did you? Is that why it took 600 years to get your pipes cleaned out? Because, honestly, man, I can't imagine you counting more than a couple of tons of lentils before you stuffed and roasted someone with them."
"Maybe it was Xanaktos who liked wearing the strap," MacLeod prodded speculatively. His eyes wandered downward, measuring, "and you had a kink quickening."
Joe almost choked on his beer on that one. "Please tell me there's no such thing."
"There's no such thing, Joe," Methos and MacLeod said in perfect unison.
"Oh, shut up," Joe shook his head, appalled. Some of the stories he'd heard about Xavier, now…. "Just as long as you don't do that thing with the caviar."
"I have him completely under control. I promise, no caviar," Methos said virtuously.
"You wish," MacLeod said with a dangerous glee, crooking his finger and making Methos jump.
"Alright, alright, don't scare the horses. It's motel thirty, anyway. You two are NOT going anywhere near my apartment in this condition." Not because Joe wasn't a proper host. The fact was, being this close to the fire without being able to warm himself was becoming…untenable.
"But don't you want to hear the story about the chastity strap, the day gnomon and the love philtre?" Methos asked politely.
"I do," MacLeod purred.
Joe reached over and smacked them both up the side of their heads. And he was none too gentle about it. "What I want to know is, what were you two arguing about before I got off the stage?"
Methos and MacLeod stared at Joe, then stared at each other. Then stared at Joe again.
"Nuttin', honey," they both replied with perfect timing.
Joe sighed, leaning back in his chair, momentarily defeated. He had a session with the Immortal search algorithms ahead of him tonight. Interference, after all, was an art form, and information was his best weapon. "Go on. Don't do what I wouldn't do. In my wildest imagination. Or if you do try that, make sure to stay away from the smoke detectors."
10.
“Are you kicking us out, Joe?” Methos stuck out his lower lip.
“Bright boy!”
“Well so much for your tip!”
Joe laughed so hard he ended up choking.
“Can we have another beer if I tie MacLeod’s hands to the table?”
“How am I going to drink a beer with my hands tied to the table?”
“Oh alright, I’ll drink it for you.”
“A helpful sort, ain’t he.”
“I try.”
MacLeod stood, simultaneously hauling Methos to his feet.
“Hey! What -”
“Candy store!”
“Huh?”
“We need to run over to the candy store and get some chocolate, remember? We’ll come right back for your beer. Hey, I bet we’ll make it back before Joe’s next set. Come on now.”
“Youngsters! They need their candy. Tsk!” But he allowed himself to be dragged away.
“Later, Joe!” MacLeod had his friend out the door before Joe could utter a word.
“Don’t you think that was rather rude?”
“Joe understands.”
“I meant to me - hauling me out of there like some errant school boy headed for a spanking in the woodshed.”
MacLeod stopped abruptly. They’d made it no further from Joe’s door than half way across the parking lot toward the Thunderbird.
“Is that what you want?”
“No! You’re the one who needs to be punished! You’re the one who interfered and took a quickening for me. I’ve told you, Mac, you can’t fight my battles!”
MacLeod bit his own lower lip and forced himself to remain silent. He turned his face just so - so that Methos could see his expression in the light of the street-lamp.
Methos looked, and saw; fell silent. Sighed. “Where’s this candy shop you need to visit?”
“Very near. A quick drive.”
“OK. I guess you’ve waited long enough.”
With the top down it was easy to hop into the T-bird. In silence Mac drove them to a nearby park, one they had frequently walked through during the day. There was a certain bench in the middle of the small park. It was low, without a back; perfect.
“So this is the candy store?”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Methos nodded. “Sit down, Duncan.”
He caught his breath but said nothing; quickly sat. Methos kneeled down in front of him in the short cut grass and placed each of his palms flat on each of MacLeod’s knees gently spreading his legs apart. “You’ve been a very naughty boy,” he said as he unbuttoned MacLeod’s jeans.
He hissed when a rather cold hand located his ridged member. “Methos!”
“Shush, Duncan. Silently.” Methos bowed his head to the task he had before him. MacLeod threaded his fingers through his lover’s short silky hair, worshiping the head that took his. A tongue as clever as the man who wielded it caressed him. Light, rough, then light again. No vein left unexplored.
MacLeod clamped one hand over his own mouth. Even so, tortured sounds over-flowed from his throat. Methos stopped to catch a breath and prolong Mac’s punishment.
“Alright kid, listen to me: I love you, stop fucking up. OK?”
MacLeod whimpered, nodded; it was all he could do. Methos blew warm air on the exposed flesh. A single lick. “Are you ready?” He nodded again. “Of course you’d agree to anything right now.”
“Methos!”
Methos reached up to cover the noisy mouth, and laughed, and laughed some more as he realized his outburst was as noisy as MacLeod’s.
“I think I better end this. Concentrate.” Once again the warm mouth of the most experienced man on Earth swallowed him to the root. MacLeod gasped in a lung full of cool evening air partially repressing his keen as he came. Methos continued to hum at his groin until MacLeod’s mixture of moaning and giggling roused closer inspection. “You OK, Duncan?”
“By all the - whatever - how do you do that?”
“The tongue is involved.”
“Come here, your drollness.” MacLeod pulled Methos into an embrace, kissing him on the forehead, nose, then mouth while attempting to wrestle his lover onto the bench. Somehow the slippery devil escaped him, and fled a short distance.
“Beer time!”
“Methos!”
“Hurry up, Mac. We’ll miss the next set.”
“But what about - ” MacLeod glanced longingly at the perfect bench, imagining Methos spread along it, stomach down. “You haven’t - ”
“Old and patient, MacLeod, old and patient.”
Seven minutes later they strolled back into Joe’s bar.