The Mystery We Are. TW/HL Xover 32/? [NC-17] *WIP*
Methos had barely got through the door, and still had one arm in his coat, when Jack pounced. The coat joined Jack’s bag on the floor in an untidy heap but Methos was not paying it any attention, all his awareness being focused on the hot and demanding mouth that had claimed his own and the body pushed up against him. Need was answered with need and he returned the kiss in kind, fumbling to get Jack’s coat off him, and trying to steer him toward the bedroom. They managed to lose the coat, but they never made it as far as the bed, or removing their clothes, before succumbing to desire.
Sometime later Methos was bent over the table, jeans round his ankles with Jack still pressed against him and in him; the hardness of the surface beneath him being a welcome reminder that he was still on the planet.
“You Ok?” Jack whispered against his neck, kissing the spot below his ear gently, completely at odds with the frenzied urgency of their coupling.
“I’m fine.” He paused to catch his breath. “I’m just very glad we didn’t end up on the floor.” He turned his head slightly to cast a glance at the inhospitable laminate flooring and Jack chuckled, the sound vibrating through Methos’s body.
“You have a point there.” Jack eased carefully out and away from Methos and held out his non-sticky hand to assist him from his awkward position against the table. Methos glanced down at their clasped hands, and realised his t-shirt was just as sticky as Jack’s hand. He found a cleaner bit, wiped himself and Jack’s hand clean and then peeled the t-shirt off before throwing it in the direction of the bathroom. He gave a Jack a quick once-over as he pulled his jeans back up, and fastened them.
“I hope you have a change of clothes with you, you look sort of debauched.”
“Only sort of? You disappoint me.” Jack reached for Methos and buried his nose in his neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell gorgeous.”
“I smell of sweat and sex.” Methos wrapped his arms around Jack and hugged him close.
“Like I said, gorgeous.” Jack nibbled gently on the damp skin beneath his lips, Methos shuddered in response, and Jack grinned as he raised his head. “I have never known anyone with such a sensitive neck as you. I can’t resist it.”
“And I don’t want you to.”
“Hedonist.”
“Sybarite.”
“I’m not playing word games with you. Unless I use a language you’ve never heard of, I’ll lose, and I don’t like losing.”
“Coward.”
“Not a coward, a strategist.”
“Oh, so that’s what you kids are calling it these days.” Jack kissed Methos again to shut him up, but they drew apart by mutual consent, sharing a rueful smile. “Bathroom or gadgets, first?” Methos asked.
“Bathroom; you at least *look* half decent.” They both laughed, and Methos sauntered over to the fridge, leaving Jack to grab his own jeans and make his way to the bathroom. Jack emerged a short while later with damp hair and wrapped in Methos’s robe. He was gingerly holding his shirt and t-shirt. Methos smiled, and put down his beer.
“Yes, you can use the washing machine, but you’ll have to ask nicely.”
“Please?”
“It’s all yours. And why are you wearing my robe? I thought you had a change of clothes...”
“I have, but you’re only going to take them off again.”
“True. I’ll let you off then.” Methos grabbed his abandoned t-shirt and shoved it in the machine with Jack’s clothes before disappearing into the bathroom himself. When Methos came back out into the main room he noticed that Jack had set up his gadgetry on the table once again, but he had used his own laptop; that didn’t entirely surprise Methos after his reluctance in parting with his own the day before. What did surprise him was that Jack had raided the fridge and laid out a stack of finger foods on the coffee table by the sofa.
“Nice towel.” Said Jack, waving a piece of carrot in the air. “Here, come and eat, I think I saved you some...” Methos made his way over and joined Jack on the sofa. What Jack had neglected to mention was that he wasn’t going to allow Methos to feed himself. After the umpteenth time of having his hands swatted away after trying to reach for something, Methos took the hint and gave up with good grace, secretly enjoying every minute of the attention.
“I haven’t been waited on like this for centuries.” He commented, without moving from his relaxed sprawl against the cushions “If you ever need another job, I’ll keep you in mind.” Jack raised an eyebrow.
“References might be a problem.” He said. Methos waved a hand dismissively before continuing,
“Who cares about references, experience and enthusiasm are what count. You seem to have both.”
“What about terms and conditions?”
“You get to sleep with the boss, what more do you want?” Jack chuckled.
“I’ll have to remember that one. Might come in useful sometime.”
“You mean you haven’t...” Methos didn’t get to finish the sentence before he was interrupted.
“Nope.”
“With any of your teams?”
“Not one.”
“Why the hell not? You don’t strike me as someone who would let a personal relationship get in the way of professionalism.”
“Maybe in another job, but Torchwood is different. And none of them felt quite... right.”
“I’m surprised.”
“So am I; I never used to be so restrained.”
“I can imagine. However, you don’t seem to have that problem with me.” Methos’s grin was pure mischief. Jack decided to ignore it, and offer the truth in explanation instead of playing along.
“You’re not Torchwood. But you also feel very, very right. It makes a difference.”
“Maybe that’s because you’ve allowed me closer than the others.”
“Or maybe it’s because you aren’t demanding anything that I’m not prepared to give.”
“You know, I don’t really care. Right now I’m living, and loving every minute of it.” Methos scrambled off the sofa, conveniently leaving the towel behind, and grabbed Jack’s hand to bring him to his feet too. “I’ll even prove it.” He said as he hauled them both back toward the bedroom.
Sometime later Methos was bent over the table, jeans round his ankles with Jack still pressed against him and in him; the hardness of the surface beneath him being a welcome reminder that he was still on the planet.
“You Ok?” Jack whispered against his neck, kissing the spot below his ear gently, completely at odds with the frenzied urgency of their coupling.
“I’m fine.” He paused to catch his breath. “I’m just very glad we didn’t end up on the floor.” He turned his head slightly to cast a glance at the inhospitable laminate flooring and Jack chuckled, the sound vibrating through Methos’s body.
“You have a point there.” Jack eased carefully out and away from Methos and held out his non-sticky hand to assist him from his awkward position against the table. Methos glanced down at their clasped hands, and realised his t-shirt was just as sticky as Jack’s hand. He found a cleaner bit, wiped himself and Jack’s hand clean and then peeled the t-shirt off before throwing it in the direction of the bathroom. He gave a Jack a quick once-over as he pulled his jeans back up, and fastened them.
“I hope you have a change of clothes with you, you look sort of debauched.”
“Only sort of? You disappoint me.” Jack reached for Methos and buried his nose in his neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell gorgeous.”
“I smell of sweat and sex.” Methos wrapped his arms around Jack and hugged him close.
“Like I said, gorgeous.” Jack nibbled gently on the damp skin beneath his lips, Methos shuddered in response, and Jack grinned as he raised his head. “I have never known anyone with such a sensitive neck as you. I can’t resist it.”
“And I don’t want you to.”
“Hedonist.”
“Sybarite.”
“I’m not playing word games with you. Unless I use a language you’ve never heard of, I’ll lose, and I don’t like losing.”
“Coward.”
“Not a coward, a strategist.”
“Oh, so that’s what you kids are calling it these days.” Jack kissed Methos again to shut him up, but they drew apart by mutual consent, sharing a rueful smile. “Bathroom or gadgets, first?” Methos asked.
“Bathroom; you at least *look* half decent.” They both laughed, and Methos sauntered over to the fridge, leaving Jack to grab his own jeans and make his way to the bathroom. Jack emerged a short while later with damp hair and wrapped in Methos’s robe. He was gingerly holding his shirt and t-shirt. Methos smiled, and put down his beer.
“Yes, you can use the washing machine, but you’ll have to ask nicely.”
“Please?”
“It’s all yours. And why are you wearing my robe? I thought you had a change of clothes...”
“I have, but you’re only going to take them off again.”
“True. I’ll let you off then.” Methos grabbed his abandoned t-shirt and shoved it in the machine with Jack’s clothes before disappearing into the bathroom himself. When Methos came back out into the main room he noticed that Jack had set up his gadgetry on the table once again, but he had used his own laptop; that didn’t entirely surprise Methos after his reluctance in parting with his own the day before. What did surprise him was that Jack had raided the fridge and laid out a stack of finger foods on the coffee table by the sofa.
“Nice towel.” Said Jack, waving a piece of carrot in the air. “Here, come and eat, I think I saved you some...” Methos made his way over and joined Jack on the sofa. What Jack had neglected to mention was that he wasn’t going to allow Methos to feed himself. After the umpteenth time of having his hands swatted away after trying to reach for something, Methos took the hint and gave up with good grace, secretly enjoying every minute of the attention.
“I haven’t been waited on like this for centuries.” He commented, without moving from his relaxed sprawl against the cushions “If you ever need another job, I’ll keep you in mind.” Jack raised an eyebrow.
“References might be a problem.” He said. Methos waved a hand dismissively before continuing,
“Who cares about references, experience and enthusiasm are what count. You seem to have both.”
“What about terms and conditions?”
“You get to sleep with the boss, what more do you want?” Jack chuckled.
“I’ll have to remember that one. Might come in useful sometime.”
“You mean you haven’t...” Methos didn’t get to finish the sentence before he was interrupted.
“Nope.”
“With any of your teams?”
“Not one.”
“Why the hell not? You don’t strike me as someone who would let a personal relationship get in the way of professionalism.”
“Maybe in another job, but Torchwood is different. And none of them felt quite... right.”
“I’m surprised.”
“So am I; I never used to be so restrained.”
“I can imagine. However, you don’t seem to have that problem with me.” Methos’s grin was pure mischief. Jack decided to ignore it, and offer the truth in explanation instead of playing along.
“You’re not Torchwood. But you also feel very, very right. It makes a difference.”
“Maybe that’s because you’ve allowed me closer than the others.”
“Or maybe it’s because you aren’t demanding anything that I’m not prepared to give.”
“You know, I don’t really care. Right now I’m living, and loving every minute of it.” Methos scrambled off the sofa, conveniently leaving the towel behind, and grabbed Jack’s hand to bring him to his feet too. “I’ll even prove it.” He said as he hauled them both back toward the bedroom.