Fic: Butterflies and Hurricanes 1/1 [PG] Dresden Files/Highlander
Title: Butterflies and Hurricanes
Author: A Lanart
Fandom: Dresden Files/Highlander
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None. Set Some time After Blood rites in the DF book verse. If you've met Thomas and Mouse, you won't be spoiled. Takes place between my fics A Mistletoe Kiss and Stranger Things
Characters/pairings: Bob, Mouse, Mister, Thomas, Methos/Harry
Disclaimer: Jim Butcher owns the Dresden Files, Davis/Panzer own Highlander
Title nicked from Muse
A/N: You can blame this fic directly on the cd Absolution by Muse (hence the title). It's ridiculous how much Methos muse responds to that band, I think I can safely say that they win top spot for the current favourite band of our ROG.
~*~
Butterflies and Hurricanes
*
Bob had been distracting himself from the… activities… upstairs by immersing himself in devising a complex adaptation of a spell he thought might come in useful at some point. Maybe. It was better than dwelling on how lonely he felt; he was a ghost, an accursed one at that, and should not expect anything else. It was only when something unexpected - and Harry Dresden falling into bed with Methos was an unexpected thing of the highest order - forcibly reminded him, that he realised he’d almost forgotten what the aching loneliness of being an unwillingly indentured servant felt like and that made it all the worse.
A noise from the main floor, accompanied by a disgusted sounding yowl from Mister broke into Bob’s reverie and disrupted the maudlin direction of his thoughts. He was going to ignore it, but another odd sounding clatter made him change his mind. The one thing that had never changed no matter what was happening in his unlife was his curiosity; it was part of what had made him such a dangerous wizard when he was alive, and what made him such a useful - though still dangerous - resource now he was dead.
Bob had no idea what he was going to discover as he stepped through the wall into the kitchen area, but he hadn’t expected it to be Methos, clad incongruously in one of Harry’s enormous old sweaters, bumping into things in the dark. For a start, the immortal was usually grace personified when he moved and Bob would have assumed he was also too wary to let himself be at such a disadvantage as he was in the darkened surroundings - you didn’t stay alive for 5000 years by being a trusting person. As he watched Methos make his uncertain way toward the ancient sink, Bob took pity on him and helpfully conjured a ball of faint blue light, setting it to hover in the vicinity of Methos’ shoulder. Methos didn’t startle at the appearance of the unexpected illumination - which vaguely disappointed Bob, though it didn’t surprise him - but he did cast a shamefaced looking smile at him.
“Ah. Thanks. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Methos said.
“Oh?” Bob replied archly. “You didn’t sound very sorry about the ‘disturbing’ earlier.” Bob glanced up the stairs before turning back to Methos with a raised eyebrow and a lascivious grin; living vicariously wasn’t a patch on the real deal, but it did have its moments on the odd occasion. “Mind you, neither did Harry.”
Methos chuckled. “Can’t exactly deny that, can I?”
Bob sent the light following Methos around the kitchen, watching as the immortal fetched himself a glass and filled it with water, gulping it down thirstily before refilling it. The light revealed several things that darkness would have concealed, including a scatter of bruises across Methos’ neck and half-exposed shoulder. Bob bit back a very un-ghostly snort.
“Quick learner, isn’t he?”
Methos glanced over his shoulder at Bob, his eyes halting briefly on his own skin before they lit up with a satisfied and rather feral looking smile.
“You could say that,” he agreed. Bob moved closer.
“So just how did you persuade Harry to experiment? He’s always been so damned straight that I have to admit that certain… ah… developments tonight were somewhat of a surprise.”
“Blame Mac and Mouse.”
“The barman and the *dog*?!” Bob queried incredulously and glanced over to where Mouse was stretched out at the bottom of the stairs to the mezzanine floor, tongue lolling in what appeared to be a canine grin and looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“Uh-huh,” Methos confirmed.
“Elucidate, please,” Bob demanded. Methos turned, glass in hand, and leaned against the counter, rolling the glass across his forehead.
“Mac hung mistletoe in the bar; Mouse wouldn’t let Harry get past it.” Bob had to give Mouse the credit for that, there was no way any sane person - or even Harry for that matter - would want to push past the Temple dog if he was determined that no one *was* going to pass.
“Until you kissed him?” Bob thought the grin that sneaked across Methos’ face probably deserved to be outlawed from being used in polite company; he was very glad he *wasn’t* polite company.
“Actually, Harry kissed me; not that I discouraged him, you understand.”
“Oh, completely,” Bob nodded sagely. “And?” He tried not to sound too eager for further information.
“And he enjoyed it. Obviously, or I wouldn’t be here right now.”
Bob waited for Methos to finish taking another sip of water before he asked what he *really* wanted to know.
“So is this going to carry on?”
“For tonight, yes… once I’ve woken him up again. After this?” Methos shrugged, the grin slipping from his face a little. “No idea. That’s up to Harry and whether he can deal with us in the cold light of day. I’m in no danger of suddenly becoming the love of his life if that was bothering you.”
“It wasn’t, but it’s still reassuring to know. I’m not sure *I* could deal with you on a more…personal… basis, and I have no inkling of how Thomas would react. He can be very protective of Harry if he deems the circumstances warrant it.”
“Thomas is his brother; he would be protective. I shall just have to convince him that my intentions are purely honourable.”
“Honourable?!” Bob spluttered. That wasn’t always a word that came to mind when he thought of Methos, though he supposed the ancient immortal was perfectly honourable when judged by his own code.
“Well they are; I’m not exactly after anything Harry isn’t prepared to give. We’ll remain friends no matter what, but it’s up to him to decide whether we’ll be friends with benefits.” Methos turned to rinse the glass out and set it back on the counter when a creak echoed from the direction of Harry’s bed, with a sleepy mumble drifting down the stairs after it. His head flew up, as if he were scenting the air.
“Methos?” Harry did not sound awake at all, but the word was perfectly clear. Bob felt like someone had unceremoniously grabbed his skull and shaken it, with him still inside. He pinned Methos with a glare.
“You told him? All of it?”
Methos inclined his head. “It seemed appropriate.”
“After…” Bob waved a hand vaguely.
“Oh no, it was before he even kissed me; we were standing under the mistletoe at the time though, thanks to Mouse.” The soft thump of Mouse’s tail against the floor was all the confirmation Bob required; he folded his arms and gazed appraisingly at Methos.
“I’m not surprised Harry kissed you after a revelation like that. He probably wanted to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating,” Bob said. Methos gave him another animalistic smirk.
“I think I managed to convince him about that tonight, not to mention leaving him with a reminder or two that should last for the next few days.”
“I did *not* need to know that, thank you!”
“No? Bet you were curious though, weren’t you?” Bob couldn’t deny that, and he knew Methos was quite aware of the fact. Still, Bob was pleased when Methos’ smile turned into something gentler as he stepped out of the kitchen. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to go and finish celebrating the longest night. Best Winter Solstice I’ve had in decades.”
“I didn’t want to know that either!” Bob gestured ineffectually at Methos’ retreating figure. “Well go on then, celebrate,” he grumbled sotto voce as Methos climbed the stairs. “I’ll be in my skull.”
Author: A Lanart
Fandom: Dresden Files/Highlander
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None. Set Some time After Blood rites in the DF book verse. If you've met Thomas and Mouse, you won't be spoiled. Takes place between my fics A Mistletoe Kiss and Stranger Things
Characters/pairings: Bob, Mouse, Mister, Thomas, Methos/Harry
Disclaimer: Jim Butcher owns the Dresden Files, Davis/Panzer own Highlander
Title nicked from Muse
A/N: You can blame this fic directly on the cd Absolution by Muse (hence the title). It's ridiculous how much Methos muse responds to that band, I think I can safely say that they win top spot for the current favourite band of our ROG.
~*~
Butterflies and Hurricanes
*
Bob had been distracting himself from the… activities… upstairs by immersing himself in devising a complex adaptation of a spell he thought might come in useful at some point. Maybe. It was better than dwelling on how lonely he felt; he was a ghost, an accursed one at that, and should not expect anything else. It was only when something unexpected - and Harry Dresden falling into bed with Methos was an unexpected thing of the highest order - forcibly reminded him, that he realised he’d almost forgotten what the aching loneliness of being an unwillingly indentured servant felt like and that made it all the worse.
A noise from the main floor, accompanied by a disgusted sounding yowl from Mister broke into Bob’s reverie and disrupted the maudlin direction of his thoughts. He was going to ignore it, but another odd sounding clatter made him change his mind. The one thing that had never changed no matter what was happening in his unlife was his curiosity; it was part of what had made him such a dangerous wizard when he was alive, and what made him such a useful - though still dangerous - resource now he was dead.
Bob had no idea what he was going to discover as he stepped through the wall into the kitchen area, but he hadn’t expected it to be Methos, clad incongruously in one of Harry’s enormous old sweaters, bumping into things in the dark. For a start, the immortal was usually grace personified when he moved and Bob would have assumed he was also too wary to let himself be at such a disadvantage as he was in the darkened surroundings - you didn’t stay alive for 5000 years by being a trusting person. As he watched Methos make his uncertain way toward the ancient sink, Bob took pity on him and helpfully conjured a ball of faint blue light, setting it to hover in the vicinity of Methos’ shoulder. Methos didn’t startle at the appearance of the unexpected illumination - which vaguely disappointed Bob, though it didn’t surprise him - but he did cast a shamefaced looking smile at him.
“Ah. Thanks. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Methos said.
“Oh?” Bob replied archly. “You didn’t sound very sorry about the ‘disturbing’ earlier.” Bob glanced up the stairs before turning back to Methos with a raised eyebrow and a lascivious grin; living vicariously wasn’t a patch on the real deal, but it did have its moments on the odd occasion. “Mind you, neither did Harry.”
Methos chuckled. “Can’t exactly deny that, can I?”
Bob sent the light following Methos around the kitchen, watching as the immortal fetched himself a glass and filled it with water, gulping it down thirstily before refilling it. The light revealed several things that darkness would have concealed, including a scatter of bruises across Methos’ neck and half-exposed shoulder. Bob bit back a very un-ghostly snort.
“Quick learner, isn’t he?”
Methos glanced over his shoulder at Bob, his eyes halting briefly on his own skin before they lit up with a satisfied and rather feral looking smile.
“You could say that,” he agreed. Bob moved closer.
“So just how did you persuade Harry to experiment? He’s always been so damned straight that I have to admit that certain… ah… developments tonight were somewhat of a surprise.”
“Blame Mac and Mouse.”
“The barman and the *dog*?!” Bob queried incredulously and glanced over to where Mouse was stretched out at the bottom of the stairs to the mezzanine floor, tongue lolling in what appeared to be a canine grin and looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“Uh-huh,” Methos confirmed.
“Elucidate, please,” Bob demanded. Methos turned, glass in hand, and leaned against the counter, rolling the glass across his forehead.
“Mac hung mistletoe in the bar; Mouse wouldn’t let Harry get past it.” Bob had to give Mouse the credit for that, there was no way any sane person - or even Harry for that matter - would want to push past the Temple dog if he was determined that no one *was* going to pass.
“Until you kissed him?” Bob thought the grin that sneaked across Methos’ face probably deserved to be outlawed from being used in polite company; he was very glad he *wasn’t* polite company.
“Actually, Harry kissed me; not that I discouraged him, you understand.”
“Oh, completely,” Bob nodded sagely. “And?” He tried not to sound too eager for further information.
“And he enjoyed it. Obviously, or I wouldn’t be here right now.”
Bob waited for Methos to finish taking another sip of water before he asked what he *really* wanted to know.
“So is this going to carry on?”
“For tonight, yes… once I’ve woken him up again. After this?” Methos shrugged, the grin slipping from his face a little. “No idea. That’s up to Harry and whether he can deal with us in the cold light of day. I’m in no danger of suddenly becoming the love of his life if that was bothering you.”
“It wasn’t, but it’s still reassuring to know. I’m not sure *I* could deal with you on a more…personal… basis, and I have no inkling of how Thomas would react. He can be very protective of Harry if he deems the circumstances warrant it.”
“Thomas is his brother; he would be protective. I shall just have to convince him that my intentions are purely honourable.”
“Honourable?!” Bob spluttered. That wasn’t always a word that came to mind when he thought of Methos, though he supposed the ancient immortal was perfectly honourable when judged by his own code.
“Well they are; I’m not exactly after anything Harry isn’t prepared to give. We’ll remain friends no matter what, but it’s up to him to decide whether we’ll be friends with benefits.” Methos turned to rinse the glass out and set it back on the counter when a creak echoed from the direction of Harry’s bed, with a sleepy mumble drifting down the stairs after it. His head flew up, as if he were scenting the air.
“Methos?” Harry did not sound awake at all, but the word was perfectly clear. Bob felt like someone had unceremoniously grabbed his skull and shaken it, with him still inside. He pinned Methos with a glare.
“You told him? All of it?”
Methos inclined his head. “It seemed appropriate.”
“After…” Bob waved a hand vaguely.
“Oh no, it was before he even kissed me; we were standing under the mistletoe at the time though, thanks to Mouse.” The soft thump of Mouse’s tail against the floor was all the confirmation Bob required; he folded his arms and gazed appraisingly at Methos.
“I’m not surprised Harry kissed you after a revelation like that. He probably wanted to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating,” Bob said. Methos gave him another animalistic smirk.
“I think I managed to convince him about that tonight, not to mention leaving him with a reminder or two that should last for the next few days.”
“I did *not* need to know that, thank you!”
“No? Bet you were curious though, weren’t you?” Bob couldn’t deny that, and he knew Methos was quite aware of the fact. Still, Bob was pleased when Methos’ smile turned into something gentler as he stepped out of the kitchen. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to go and finish celebrating the longest night. Best Winter Solstice I’ve had in decades.”
“I didn’t want to know that either!” Bob gestured ineffectually at Methos’ retreating figure. “Well go on then, celebrate,” he grumbled sotto voce as Methos climbed the stairs. “I’ll be in my skull.”