Happy Holidays, dkwilliams!
Title: "Change, see: Life is About"
Author: Robbie the Reindeer aka adabsolutely
Written for: dkwilliams
Characters/Pairings: Duncan/Methos
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 6,200
Author's Notes: I owe big thanks to my beta readers, to be named later. Happy Holiday, Diana, hope you enjoy!
Summary: As the years go by, Duncan MacLeod and Methos discover that they must change as individuals to survive together as partners. Evolving in directions that compliment each other, or at least in ways that don't drive each other too batshit crazy, is the key to their survival.
Change, see: Life is About
Home was a ramshackle split-level perched on a hillock north of Seacouver with a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean and the Coast Range. Methos loved it. He could amble along the sand and gravel beach, be lulled by the susurrus of the waves, energized by the caress of the salt mist, or he could simply lounge on the deck enjoying the awesome view of MacLeod bent over his latest construction project. Lovely. He wondered what the project was this time. There were usually several going at once, though the major renovations were now complete. He glanced back at the sea and southwest toward the Bay of Seacouver where a ferry headed out across the Georgia Straight for Vancouver Island. He sighed, wishing he could make time stand still.
MacLeod removed a nail he'd had pressed between his lips to call out, "Hey, Methos, come hold this board for me."
He unfolded himself from the Adirondack chair and climbed down the cedar steps leading off the deck to the sandy yard where his partner worked, stepping into MacLeod's personal space, nudging him with his hip. He grabbed onto the board, holding it fast in place, while MacLeod lined up the hammer to the nail.
"What are you grinning about?"
"Your industriousness. Are you building another booby trap?"
"Still irritated about this morning?"
Methos laughed, shook his head. "Only at myself for not looking where I was going. You would think that after two years, I would have come to expect your new construction projects lying in wait for me to stumble into them."
MacLeod blinked, his soulful brown eyes expressing innocence, betrayed only by the slight upward turn at the corners of his mouth. "I really did tell you about it on the phone. Just goes to show how well you listen to me."
"About as well as you listen to me?" Methos suggested. "And don't think you're not going to pay!"
"How could I forget?" MacLeod sighed. "Beer is on me tonight."
"And I am very thirsty."
"You? Thirsty? What a shock! I think I may need to find gainful employment to keep you in beer. Oh well! At least I'll be contributing to Joe's retirement fund. Hold on!" Three whacks with his hammer, and the nail was sunk. "Thanks, that'll hold it."
"What's this going to be?"
"A chicken coop."
"What! Mac we don't have room for chickens!"
"Just a couple, three, four!"
"Mac, Mac! I love the way you refurbished the house - the new deck, the green house, tool sheds; the shop was a great idea." For keeping you busy. "Even the trap I fell over this morning has its purpose. But don't you think you've come to a point where - ." Methos stopped, realizing that he was ranting and that MacLeod's visage had become bleak. "Sorry, Mac."
"Don't you like chickens?"
"Ahhh, I guess I'm neutral on chickens."
"You like to cook with fresh eggs."
"Yes. It's just that you keep building things. Things that take up space, our space."
"I need to be busy! I'm not like you. I can't be happy translating old books all day. "Wait!" He held up his hand. "I'm not saying you're unproductive - you translate lots of books. I just need - "
"Physical activity. I understand. A chicken house would be great." MacLeod's smile returned. "But soon we're going to run out of space. Maybe I should buy you that lathe to set up in your shop."
"Might be interesting, especially when it's raining, but turning wood isn't enough." The Highlander sighed.
"I know. You're one of those people that needs to be dashing about." He stared into MacLeod's face, nodded and declared, "You need a job."
"Before I drive you crazy." MacLeod took hold one of Methos' hands and held it against his chest.
Methos spoke earnestly, "Too late, I'm already crazy for you." He grabbed MacLeod's hammer, tossed it down on the ground, then pulled his sweaty lover close and kissed him with as much energy as a sedentary old scholar could generate. It was enough. They stopped only when breathing became an issue. Finally, Methos released him and backed away.
"Hey! You started something here!"
"Later," he promised, talking as he walked away backwards, "I really have to finish and send off another chapter before we go out tonight. I shouldn't have taken so long admiring you work!"
"I'm not the only obsessive around here." But he was smiling as Methos scrambled back inside.
That night they drove the thirty-five minute journey south to Seacouver and their favorite Watcher's place, Joe's Blues Bar. Dawson greeted them with a broad smile and mugs of beer when they strolled into his establishment and claimed stools at the bar.
"Hello strangers. How goes the remodel?"
The look they exchanged was telling. MacLeod was suppressing a grin, which made him look mischievous and Methos was attempting to maintain a glare.
Methos cleared his throat, started to talk, but stopped to first sip his beer, before speaking carefully. "I think we may have reached the end. I don't know what else he could possibly add. He's now branched out into building snares for stray immortals."
"I never said you were a stray." MacLeod wasn't even trying to hide his smirk now.
"That is kind of you."
"That's how my Mother raised me."
Methos snickered, then pressed his mouth shut tight as if preventing himself from making a snarky comment.
Joe leaned against the bar, facing MacLeod. "So what kind of traps you been building?"
"Well, Mr. Graceful here sort of stumbled over a stack of birch lumber I'd piled in the entryway. I didn't want it rained on outside. I'm using it to redo the cabinets in the kitchen." He turned to look at Methos. "And I did call you on your cell and tell you where I'd stacked it."
"I'm sure you did. And if my arms hadn't been full of groceries blocking my view, I'd have remembered and said to myself, 'Oh yeah, Mac is redoing the cabinets - for the third time!' Instead, I remembered after tripping and sending oranges to the four corners, and said to myself, 'He's trying to kill me again'!"
Joe laughed. "Really, Adam, death by lumber? Not very efficient for a man who carries a sword."
"And it's not the third time! Or even a full kitchen remodel. I'm just replacing that last batch of wood that checked so bad. I think it wasn't dried properly, too green and so it's splitting. Joe, you're smirking."
"Sorry, Mac. Maybe you ought to become a construction contractor."
"In this economy? What we need to do is move into another fixer upper."
"Or we could just burn ours down so that you can start over."
"Methos!"
"MacLeod! You remember what I told you I'd do to you next time you shouted my name out loud in a public place?"
MacLeod grinned at the bar and patted it's highly polished surface, nodding his head.
Joe protested, "Not against my bar, you won't!"
"Sorry, Adam, but you rattle my cage sometimes." He quietly added, "Not that I'm opposed to you trying. Might even be interesting." He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously.
Methos inhaled a bit of his beer, choked and then laughed. "You are such a tart!"
"I'm cutting you both off!" Then all three men were laughing.
It was into the wee hours when the immortals arrived back home. The long drive took the last of their energy, so that they slept through till almost noon the next day. Upon waking MacLeod was surprised to reach out for Methos and discover instead a publication of some kind. He sat up against the pillows to take a look at what turned out to be a catalog for a local college. "Hmm."
...a year later...
At breakneck speed MacLeod wheeled the ambulance (lights / no siren) onto Canby Street, one of Seacouver's main thoroughfares. At 2:45 am, the only dangerous traffic likely to hinder his safe course would be the occasional intoxicated driver meandering home after bar closing. He kept them in mind as he hurried along the rain-slicked street. The call described a seriously injured child at St Agnes Orphanage. fall injury, ten year old male, compound fracture, femur MacLeod and the other EMT were determined to get there as fast as humanly possibly.
The last time MacLeod had driven an ambulance was during the Great War. Cool in an emergency, a quick thinker with a reassuring mien, and centuries of battlefield triage experience. His only fault as an EMT was his inability to detach completely after his shift.
A Sister met them at the front door of the old hospital that had been converted twenty years ago into an orphanage for children rescued from the path of war and natural disaster. "Please hurry!" The tiny nun waved them inside. They followed her as she ran toward the foot of a set of stairs. Fear was evident in her voice as she explained, "He was sleep walking again. He fell down the stairs, and his leg is broken!" They dashed behind her guiding a stretcher. "We'd debated locking him in at night, but decided that would be more dangerous in the case of a fire." He could hear the anguish she felt. Within seconds they arrived at the bottom of the stairwell.
MacLeod and his partner knelt by the crying child, gently moving aside another Sister comforting the injured boy. The seriousness of the fracture was evident by the blood and unnatural bend in his leg. He imagined the pain the child must be feeling, and his heart ached for the lad. It surprised him how small the boy was since the radio call described him as ten. He estimated their young patient was the size Mary Lindsey had reached by age six.
"It's alright lad, we'll get you help quickly."
Frightened eyes in a thin face looked up at them pleading for help. But his words seemed incoherent, merely babbling. MacLeod asked, "Did he hit his head too?" They gently accessed the child and fit him with a neck brace, and then transferred him onto the stretcher.
"He hasn't learned English yet. He's only been here a month."
"Oh!" He realized that the "babbling" was actually a language he didn't recognize. This surprised him. After four hundred years he usually could at least recognize what language family was being spoken, even if he couldn't speak the particular dialect himself. "What language?"
"We think Yuzbek. I'm afraid none of us here can speak it." The nun apologized and looked embarrassed. MacLeod shook his head. Not Yuzbek.
"It's alright, Sister - ?"
"Helen."
"Duncan MacLeod," he nodded toward his partner, "Charles Bailey." Bailey smiled and nodded. MacLeod continued as they rushed the boy toward the ambulance, "Sister Helen, I'll make a call. We have a linguist who will come to the hospital."
She smiled. "Oh good! Sergie's been so isolated."
Sister Helen rode in back with the patient and Bailey to the hospital. As MacLeod drove he punched a number on the speed dial of the ambulance's mobile telephone. After five rings there was a connection and a growled, "It's three o'clock!"
"I've got you on 'hands free'." Letting him know that the world, or at least everyone on the ambulance, could hear.
"Let me guess, another exotic language, in the middle of the night."
"Try, unknown language."
"Oh. Well let me find my..." interest replaced the growl in Methos' voice.
"Enter through Emergency at Sacred Heart. They'll be expecting you. See you later."
The swish of the wet street added to the anxiety level, but they delivered the orphan into the arms of the emergency room staff without incident.
The next radio call caught them just before they were about to make the turn onto Marine Drive heading for the fire station. They rushed off to Salish Park from where they transported an overdose with poor prospects, and finally their shift was over.
After his shift, MacLeod drove his own car back to the hospital, though he'd been awake for nineteen hours and was weary. Along the way he used his mobile phone to call Methos and arranged to meet him for breakfast in the cafeteria. As he entered the hospital's main caffeination station he felt the ancient Immortal's buzz and quickly located his lover sitting at a corner table, hunched over a steaming cup of coffee as if warming himself. MacLeod purchased a bagel and collected a coffee mug from the counter hostess and then trudged over to Methos' table.
"Hey."
"Hey." As soon as he set his mug down, Methos filled it with coffee from a carafe. MacLeod tore into his bagel and sipped the hot coffee, reviving himself, sharing companionable silence as Methos watched him tuck-in.
Finally, Methos spoke a few words in the language MacLeod had heard Sergie speaking. They were harsh, guttural, dropped like stones in still water.
"What does it mean?"
"It means, "I'm very scared," in Sergie's language, and mine."
"Yours!"
Methos nodded. "Well, not my original language, don't remember that one, but one of the older ones, one that I used for a very long period of time. It's really just a trade jargon. I would guess Sergie grew up in a bilingual home, but his development has been neglected. That happens in refugee camps. But part of what he's speaking I can understand. Not that someone from my time would recognize the cant as it is spoken now. I've been following the surviving pocket's of the jargon, listening to it change over time." Methos looked up from his coffee with a bittersweet expression on his angular face. "Sister Helen wants me to teach him English."
"He's young, he shouldn't have any trouble. I was thinking he might be even younger than the Sisters were told. He's so small. 'Course I don't imagine his diet has been ideal." MacLeod filled their mugs again from the carafe of strong coffee.
"They will be checking his bones for that." Methos looked a bit wistful, as he stirred his coffee longer than necessary.
"Is there something else wrong?"
"No. I don't think so. I tried reading his chart, but I'm afraid the new medicine is getting beyond me. I wish I could tell you more, but kids are resilient. After they medicated him for pain, he was pretty excited to talk to someone who could understand him."
"Is he homesick?"
"He didn't say anything about home. Mostly he told me the names of other kids at the orphanage and what he'd like to tell them. And he will. He's learning vocabulary, even if he's not speaking much English yet. He doesn't really need my help, I'd just speed up the process."
MacLeod studied the expression on Methos' face. "And the faster he will forget his old language."
"Yeah. It's a stupid thing to be sentimental about. I've lived through the fading away of so many languages. Not to mention the gradual transformation of the modern languages. Even a kid like you has seen that. Still," he shrugged, "I have a special place in my marauding heart for this one. It has no frills, or subtleties, but there was no mistaking the meaning of a word. A valuable tool for nomads."
"Nomad." He turned the word over in his mind, examining it's corners and warts in relation to his understanding of Methos. A piece of the ever changing puzzle captured for his own use. "Sometimes I forget how really old you are."
"Good."
MacLeod laughed, let it pass. "Afoot?"
"What?"
"You said you were nomads. Were you on foot?"
"Oh! Ah, sometimes, some people. Lots of people didn't have horses or carts. Feet were dependable. No one could steal them. I spent a considerable amount of time alone though, during my first centuries. It was easier than explaining myself. Why didn't I age, or die from the latest plague? I'd say when asked, 'I guess the gods don't want me.' To some folks it was amusing, they'd laugh. It offended others; made some suspicious. I eventually learned to keep my mouth shut, and read people."
"I'm trying to imagine you as a careless young immortal."
"Long ago, I've changed my ways."
"Yes, you have. Come take a nap with me at the apartment before you go back to the house?"
"Nap?" Methos grinned. "Sure. Actually I closed the house up, left a message for Ray asking him to feed the chickens and take the eggs, while I spent a few days in the city."
"Good." MacLeod's weary expression was replaced by one of joy. He offered a portion of his bagel to Methos.
"It's too early to eat."
He popped the last bit of his bagel into his mouth. They finished their coffee and left the hospital, beating the morning commuter traffic. His spirits had been lifted by Methos' visit and he felt re-energized by the time he pulled into his parking space. Methos had to find a place on the street to park, since there was no extra parking in the apartment lot.
The efficiency apartment MacLeod rented for sleeping during his four-days-on schedule was tiny, had no view worth looking out at and was bare of all but the basics: bed, table with two chairs and couch. It's one redeeming quality was that the management rented this particular building only to night shift workers so that quiet reigned during the day for sleeping.
This also required quiet "naps" when Methos came to visit, but they were capable of that if they applied themselves to the task with diligence.
"I'll take a quick shower."
Methos caught him as he was about to disappear into the bathroom. "Let me help you with that." MacLeod stood imperfectly still in the threshold of the small room while Methos unbuttoned his EMT shirt. He watched as Methos paused to touch a streak of blood on one sleeve and wondered what was going through the other Immortal's mind. Methos helped him out of the shirt, a serious expression replaced by a smile. "You're beautiful, Duncan."
MacLeod shook his head and sighed, having long since given up on telling his ancient lover that men of this century weren't usually thrilled to be called beautiful.
"I'll soak this for you. Don't fall asleep in the shower." Methos carried the shirt off to the kitchen sink.
"Never fear, I'll be right back." MacLeod did not linger in the shower. Prior to breakfast it had been three days since he'd spent time with his soul mate at their seaside home. He had another twelve hour shift tonight, before he could return north for his days off. It was tough being away four days in a row, but it made his three days off with Methos intense and memorable when it was time to head back to Seacouver. But it was worth it for their sanity. The work was extremely satisfying, if sometimes heartbreaking for MacLeod and Methos no longer tripped over his latest compulsive construction project. The last year of periodic separation had been difficult at first, but they had once again found a comfortable routine.
The warm water splashed down on him, washing away his late burst of energy. Finishing quickly he twisted shut the faucet's squeaky knobs and stepped out of the shower stall, the exhaustion seeping back into him. He dried with a bath towel, then wrapped it around his hips and walked back into the main area of the apartment, where he found Methos sitting on his bed, warming a lotion bottle by rolling it between his palms.
"Come lie down. I'll give you a back rub."
MacLeod removed his towel and tossed it into a laundry basket. The tension of the day began to drain in anticipation of Methos' hands working the knots out of his muscles. He lowered himself across the quilt and stretched out face down. Methos straddled MacLeod's thighs and poured a small pool of the warmed lotion in the middle of his back. The aroma of cocoa butter made him breathe deep. Methos' hands began gently, soothing his muscles into a relaxed state for a deep massage.
"How is the house?"
"Same. No leaks. The chickens miss you."
He chuckled, then hummed as Methos' hands chopped gently across his shoulders, breaking up his tightness.
"After you're asleep I'm going back to the hospital. I promised Sister Helen I'd translate for the boy when his doctor makes rounds. Then I'm going to the library. I'll bring you a meal before your shift. What would you like, breakfast or dinner?"
"Breakfast. That feels so good... I've been thinking-"
"Oh, oh!"
"Yeah, I know, dangerous. What I was thinking was that when my name gets to the top of the list for a day shift opening, I'm going to take it."
"Good. Fewer drunks and more heart attacks."
"More traffic too. But I'll be sleeping in the dark, and seeing the sun again."
"Tired of the vampire life?"
"Yes, I am. Ah! That feels so good. Why do you keep stopping there?"
"Let me get all the knots out of your back before we move on to other pursuits." Methos continued working each muscle group into tingling submission.
"You're making me fall asleep," he accused.
Methos relented, "OK then, Duncan." He lifted himself up enough so that MacLeod could roll over, and there was that ancient/young face with a silly smile greeting him as he settled down on his back.
Methos bent down to give him a lingering kiss. They both sighed when it ended, causing them to softly laugh together. Methos began kissing his way down the beautifully muscled body, giving attention to nipples and navel, before reaching one of his favorite destinations.
MacLeod inhaled sharply as Methos licked his hard cock, which was then surrounded by warm mouth. "Ahh!" Gentle nipping, enthusiastic sucking, and puffs of warm air on wet flesh followed.
"Ahhhh!" And he came.
MacLeod slept through the day.
He awoke feeling rested when he sensed Methos' return. The light was again low.
Methos was in the kitchen heating food in the microwave.
"What time is it?"
"You have thirty-seven minutes, before you need to leave."
MacLeod laughed and sat up in bed to watch Methos. "Can't I have thirty-eight?"
"Nope."
"Slave driver." He got up and padded over to his small clothes closet to look for a clean uniform. "How's the lad?"
"Emotionally he's enjoying the attention. Happy kid. Sister Helen is using the situation to find him a home."
"I should call the Websters."
"Michelle's adoptive family?" Methos asked as he brought him a cup of coffee and sat it on his dresser.
"Yes, they've taken in several foster kids since they lost Michelle." MacLeod gave Methos a quick kiss in exchange for the coffee. "Have the doctors figured out if his small size is just his norm or a sign of a problem?"
The microwave dinged and Methos stepped back into the kitchen area to retrieve their heated food.
"They're checking several things. It's fascinating, the new medical knowledge that's developed in the last few decades. They were thinking, at first, that his small size might be due to the long term effects of malnutrition - something I'm familiar with seeing and treating. But now they're looking at possible toxins to which he may have been exposed, as well as genetic factors. They've come a long way. It's fascinating."
MacLeod noted that Methos had used "fascinating" twice in his discussion and was quite animated.
"Though it's also aggravating," Methos added.
MacLeod looked up from tying his shoes. "What's aggravating?"
"Not knowing." Methos sat their simple fare on the table. "Come eat."
MacLeod joined Methos at the small table. "Thanks, I'm starving."
"I think I'll search the web tonight, see if I can figure out what the doctors are talking about."
MacLeod nodded, realizing that Methos hated not understanding how something worked, especially something medical. "You should go back to medical school." He watched Methos open his mouth to make a quick reply, stop, then close his mouth.
...another year later...
The ornamental fruit trees, which lined the walkways on the hospital campus, were in bloom and fragrant. It was after his training hours that Methos sat on a bench at the edge the parking lot behind the science library waiting for his ride. When it arrived he marched up to MacLeod's hybrid town car, admiring the man in his EMT uniform. He sizzled in the Highlander's thrumming presence.
Methos climbed in the passenger seat and greeted his lover, "Hello, beautiful."
MacLeod shook his head. "Somethings never change. Hello, yourself."
"You have a big smile on your face, Duncan. What have you been up to today?"
"A heart attack, three drunks, a forklift accident, and I bought my favorite poor med student a house."
"They accepted the offer? Great!"
"Yes!" MacLeod dangled the key from his hand for Methos to see.
"You got the key already!"
"They let me have it so that we could do some measuring."
"Here we go again!"
"Relax, Methos. Just small projects on my days off."
"If you say so."
"I do. Want to go have a peek at it?"
"I think I need a beer first. We could go afterward."
"That's a good plan." MacLeod drove the ten minute detour to Joe's Blues Bar.
Life was less complicated for MacLeod since he went on day shift. Methos, on the other hand, had managed to significantly notch up his activity level and found himself running on fumes half the time, but loving it. He closed and rested his eyes during the short trip.
When they walked into the tavern Joe looked up from his set-up duties and greeted them, "Here comes trouble!"
"You know us so well, Joseph."
"We got the house."
"Congrats."
They claimed stools at the bar, near where Joe was working.
Joe stopped wiping and pulled three brews from the IPA tap. "Well, what other mischief have you been up to?"
Nodding at MacLeod, "He's had another heroic day."
"Good for you, Mac." Turning to Methos he asked, "How goes the studying?"
"Good. I think. I drive Mac bonkers having him read me study questions."
"I don't mind. You were a grad student when I met you."
"So I'm regressing!"
Mac laughed, but then said, "No, no. You were searching for Methos then. Now at least you know where to find him."
"Amen to that!" Joe saluted with his own brew.
Methos felt both embarrassed and happy.
"It will be worth it, buddy. Once you're a doctor again."
After they finished their beers, Methos and MacLeod wished Joe goodbye, and promised to stop in to hear him play when they both had a day off. Even if it meant Adam bringing his books to study with him.
The new house was conveniently located mid-way between MacLeod's fire station and the teaching hospital. They turned into the driveway of an empty craftsman house with a huge cherry tree in the yard. As they walked up to the door, MacLeod grabbed the for sale sign, and stashed it on the porch of the house they had agreed to purchase. He unlocked the door and they enter to explore the house for the first time without the real estate agent. They wandered through the spacious bare rooms, plotting what would go where.
The largest room would be lined with bookshelves. MacLeod pointed at a wall with wood paneling, "Wouldn't that wall look good covered in swords?" They both laughed, knowing that wasn't going to happen. They circled through the kitchen where they'd had their biggest debate. "Just new appliances for now?"
Methos nodded. "We can just call it retro."
"Maybe this summer I'll do something about it." MacLeod suggested.
"Ah, the quandary of a working man, no time to spread lumber all over the house."
"Lucky for you."
They climbed the wide steps to the first room at the top of the stairwell, a sitting room with large pane windows which provided a good view of the huge cherry tree in full blossom.
"I love this tree." MacLeod leaned against the windowsill studying the stately Bing cherry tree. The tree had been a major selling point, even in its winter nakedness when they'd first viewed the house the month before. Now the tree was gorgeous.
"Yes, it's beautiful. I'll miss the ocean view, and the chickens, but I don't have the time to be sitting around anyway." Methos stood close, also appreciating the tree.
"Just wait a couple months till it's full of ripe cherries."
MacLeod opened the window wide, sat on the sill then pivoted out, and launched himself onto a broad branch. The thick limb was parallel to the ground, the top surface of the bark worn smooth from generations of young people doing exactly what MacLeod was doing. He walked down the limb, where he turned and sat against the trunk, dangling his legs over either side of the branch.
Methos leaned out the open window. "You're such a kid." MacLeod just grinned back at him in an inviting fashion. Methos sighed. "What the heck." He climbed out onto the limb. "I've never been a circus performer like you." He placed each step carefully, foot in front of foot till he agilely sat down, facing MacLeod.
"Fancy meeting you here." They sat in companionable silence soaking in the sweet aroma, hidden in a cloud of cherry blossoms. "This is a good place to sit and think. Maybe I should build a tree house."
"No you don't!"
MacLeod laughed. "Gotcha!"
"You brat!" Methos leaned against him, wrapped one hand around his neck and pulled Mac closer to him to bestow a rough, possessive kiss on his mouth.
MacLeod's back was pushed against the trunk of the tree. When the kiss ended he protested. "This is the sweater you gave me for Christmas. I'm getting bark on it!"
Another kiss before answering. "You're the one who climbed out here." And then a third rousing kiss lasted even longer.
"You're the one that followed me out here and threw me against the tree."
"Threw? Ha! When I throw you, you'll know you've been thrown." Methos looked up at the branch above them. "Stand up, Duncan."
"No!" But he was smiling.
Methos slid a hand under his sweater and pinched a nipple, while applying another invading kiss to his lover's lips. When it ended he again insisted, "Stand up. Face the tree."
Methos leaned away, supporting himself with his arms stretched behind him. He watched MacLeod ease first to his knees then stand up and turn in one graceful motion.
Palms pressed against the trunk, MacLeod turned his head to look back over his shoulder. He smiled down at Methos and batted his eyes - just twice.
Methos was instantly achingly hard. He had to pause and ease off a bit before climbing to his feet, which was already a more difficult task without the use of the tree trunk. So he used MacLeod to climb up, running his hands up MacLeod's jeans and sweater as he stood up.
He wrapped his arms around MacLeod's waist and whispered in his ear. "Guess what I have in my pocket?"
"Alcohol rubs and colorful bandages?"
Methos laughed softly. "True. You know your med student so well. But I also happen to have a packet containing a slippery substance that's a workable substitute for lube." He nibbled at MacLeod's earlobe, and pressed his groin with its hard evidence against MacLeod's backside. "I want you to reach up and grab on to the branch above you."
MacLeod didn't even pretend to protest, but stretched first one arm up to wrap a hand over the branch then the other. This resulted in a very nicely stretched out Highlander.
Methos moaned with undisguised lust. He held onto MacLeod, savoring the moment.
"Hey! You going to sleep back there?"
A rumbling laugh was the only answer. Methos reached down and unbuttoned MacLeod's 501s. He slipped his hand in for a friendly squeeze, before tugging down the jeans and briefs just far enough to expose the necessary bits for his intentions. MacLeod trembled.
"Are you cold?"
"As if. Come on Methos, don't lose your concentration."
"Never fear." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a plastic packet of petroleum jelly, and tore it open with his teeth. "Hold very still, please."
MacLeod chuckled. "This is harder than you imagined?"
"I'll show you hard." He rested his head against MacLeod's back for balance as he milked the packet with his hands.
"Don't try this at home, kids."
"Shut up, Duncan."
MacLeod laughed with delight.
Methos kept one arm wrapped around MacLeod's waist for balance, and went exploring with his other hand. He fondled MacLeod's firm backside and made him gasp as he penetrated him with a slippery finger. This was followed by a sigh, and then a moan of pleasure as Methos smoothed the way. Finally Methos unzipped his own jeans with one hand, the other hand bracing himself against MacLeod's shoulder. The remaining gel he applied to his cock, then he pressed himself snug to MacLeod - just holding on for a moment, before beginning. In his sex dazed thoughts he vaguely wondered what to do about his legs. "Duncan, I need to wrap one leg around you."
"Then do it!"
"My jeans are in the way - er - my zipper when I bring my - "
"Take the damn things off, now!"
"My shoes!"
"Kick 'em off!"
"What if I fall out of the tree?"
"The neighbors will be entertained? You're not going to fall. This is a huge branch. My grandmother could walk this branch!"
"Yes, but could she - never mind." Methos heeled off his shoes on the sides of the branch, allowing them to fall to the ground. Then, holding tight to MacLeod's sweater with one hand, he removed his tight jeans slowly, laughing at himself, while MacLeod grumbled for him to hurry up. Finally off, he draped them over the branch behind him.
The danger had added to his excitement and so once freed he wrapped one leg around his lover's thigh as he entered his body, the two actions keying on each other. It helped that they were the same height and that MacLeod was quite at home in the tree. A practice movement was delightful. So he did it again, and again.
Methos' leverage was dependent on MacLeod's ability to anchor himself, and MacLeod was as solid and steady as the old cherry tree on a windless day. "You're a champion, Mac."
"Ahh!" Methos had found just the right angle.
Ever so slowly he thrust into his lover, then just as slowly backed off, each movement achingly sensuous. He could muffle his own moans in MacLeod's sweater, but had to slip his hand over MacLeod's mouth to prevent him from being heard all over the neighborhood.
As he became lost in the motion he increased the speed of his thrusts and became bolder. He dared to lift his hand that had been wrapped around his lover's waist, and moved it to MacLeod's needy cock, then tightly worked the hard length in time with his thrusts.
MacLeod nipped at the fingers covering his mouth just before he came in Methos' warm hand. Methos held him as he vibrated with pleasure, the sensation pushing him to his own orgasm.
He held on, realizing at this point that MacLeod had them tied to the tree with roots, and they weren't going anywhere.
Finally, after his last push and MacLeod's last shudder, Methos pulled out and unwrapped his leg from MacLeod to place his other semi-bare foot on the branch.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much better."
"You can build a tree house if you want."
"Hell, no! Next time it'll be you holding this branch."
"But I'm kind of old and delicate - hey! Don't laugh so hard, you'll make me fall."
"I love you."
"I love you too, but my bum is freezing."
"Well, then, turn around and go back inside - watch out for your jeans."
Methos turned with alacrity and snagged his jeans from the branch. Both men hurried back inside the open window.
They were laughing themselves silly when they collapsed on the floor inside.
"This is going to be my favorite room," MacLeod told him. "We'll put easy chairs over there for a good view of the tree."
"Or a couch."
"That would work."
"Maybe a plush rug in front."
"Oh, yes."
"Hey, Mac, would you go outside and get my shoes?"
"What's in it for me?"
"Well, I haven't put my pants back on yet."
"I'll be right back."
END
Author: Robbie the Reindeer aka adabsolutely
Written for: dkwilliams
Characters/Pairings: Duncan/Methos
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 6,200
Author's Notes: I owe big thanks to my beta readers, to be named later. Happy Holiday, Diana, hope you enjoy!
Summary: As the years go by, Duncan MacLeod and Methos discover that they must change as individuals to survive together as partners. Evolving in directions that compliment each other, or at least in ways that don't drive each other too batshit crazy, is the key to their survival.
Change, see: Life is About
Home was a ramshackle split-level perched on a hillock north of Seacouver with a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean and the Coast Range. Methos loved it. He could amble along the sand and gravel beach, be lulled by the susurrus of the waves, energized by the caress of the salt mist, or he could simply lounge on the deck enjoying the awesome view of MacLeod bent over his latest construction project. Lovely. He wondered what the project was this time. There were usually several going at once, though the major renovations were now complete. He glanced back at the sea and southwest toward the Bay of Seacouver where a ferry headed out across the Georgia Straight for Vancouver Island. He sighed, wishing he could make time stand still.
MacLeod removed a nail he'd had pressed between his lips to call out, "Hey, Methos, come hold this board for me."
He unfolded himself from the Adirondack chair and climbed down the cedar steps leading off the deck to the sandy yard where his partner worked, stepping into MacLeod's personal space, nudging him with his hip. He grabbed onto the board, holding it fast in place, while MacLeod lined up the hammer to the nail.
"What are you grinning about?"
"Your industriousness. Are you building another booby trap?"
"Still irritated about this morning?"
Methos laughed, shook his head. "Only at myself for not looking where I was going. You would think that after two years, I would have come to expect your new construction projects lying in wait for me to stumble into them."
MacLeod blinked, his soulful brown eyes expressing innocence, betrayed only by the slight upward turn at the corners of his mouth. "I really did tell you about it on the phone. Just goes to show how well you listen to me."
"About as well as you listen to me?" Methos suggested. "And don't think you're not going to pay!"
"How could I forget?" MacLeod sighed. "Beer is on me tonight."
"And I am very thirsty."
"You? Thirsty? What a shock! I think I may need to find gainful employment to keep you in beer. Oh well! At least I'll be contributing to Joe's retirement fund. Hold on!" Three whacks with his hammer, and the nail was sunk. "Thanks, that'll hold it."
"What's this going to be?"
"A chicken coop."
"What! Mac we don't have room for chickens!"
"Just a couple, three, four!"
"Mac, Mac! I love the way you refurbished the house - the new deck, the green house, tool sheds; the shop was a great idea." For keeping you busy. "Even the trap I fell over this morning has its purpose. But don't you think you've come to a point where - ." Methos stopped, realizing that he was ranting and that MacLeod's visage had become bleak. "Sorry, Mac."
"Don't you like chickens?"
"Ahhh, I guess I'm neutral on chickens."
"You like to cook with fresh eggs."
"Yes. It's just that you keep building things. Things that take up space, our space."
"I need to be busy! I'm not like you. I can't be happy translating old books all day. "Wait!" He held up his hand. "I'm not saying you're unproductive - you translate lots of books. I just need - "
"Physical activity. I understand. A chicken house would be great." MacLeod's smile returned. "But soon we're going to run out of space. Maybe I should buy you that lathe to set up in your shop."
"Might be interesting, especially when it's raining, but turning wood isn't enough." The Highlander sighed.
"I know. You're one of those people that needs to be dashing about." He stared into MacLeod's face, nodded and declared, "You need a job."
"Before I drive you crazy." MacLeod took hold one of Methos' hands and held it against his chest.
Methos spoke earnestly, "Too late, I'm already crazy for you." He grabbed MacLeod's hammer, tossed it down on the ground, then pulled his sweaty lover close and kissed him with as much energy as a sedentary old scholar could generate. It was enough. They stopped only when breathing became an issue. Finally, Methos released him and backed away.
"Hey! You started something here!"
"Later," he promised, talking as he walked away backwards, "I really have to finish and send off another chapter before we go out tonight. I shouldn't have taken so long admiring you work!"
"I'm not the only obsessive around here." But he was smiling as Methos scrambled back inside.
That night they drove the thirty-five minute journey south to Seacouver and their favorite Watcher's place, Joe's Blues Bar. Dawson greeted them with a broad smile and mugs of beer when they strolled into his establishment and claimed stools at the bar.
"Hello strangers. How goes the remodel?"
The look they exchanged was telling. MacLeod was suppressing a grin, which made him look mischievous and Methos was attempting to maintain a glare.
Methos cleared his throat, started to talk, but stopped to first sip his beer, before speaking carefully. "I think we may have reached the end. I don't know what else he could possibly add. He's now branched out into building snares for stray immortals."
"I never said you were a stray." MacLeod wasn't even trying to hide his smirk now.
"That is kind of you."
"That's how my Mother raised me."
Methos snickered, then pressed his mouth shut tight as if preventing himself from making a snarky comment.
Joe leaned against the bar, facing MacLeod. "So what kind of traps you been building?"
"Well, Mr. Graceful here sort of stumbled over a stack of birch lumber I'd piled in the entryway. I didn't want it rained on outside. I'm using it to redo the cabinets in the kitchen." He turned to look at Methos. "And I did call you on your cell and tell you where I'd stacked it."
"I'm sure you did. And if my arms hadn't been full of groceries blocking my view, I'd have remembered and said to myself, 'Oh yeah, Mac is redoing the cabinets - for the third time!' Instead, I remembered after tripping and sending oranges to the four corners, and said to myself, 'He's trying to kill me again'!"
Joe laughed. "Really, Adam, death by lumber? Not very efficient for a man who carries a sword."
"And it's not the third time! Or even a full kitchen remodel. I'm just replacing that last batch of wood that checked so bad. I think it wasn't dried properly, too green and so it's splitting. Joe, you're smirking."
"Sorry, Mac. Maybe you ought to become a construction contractor."
"In this economy? What we need to do is move into another fixer upper."
"Or we could just burn ours down so that you can start over."
"Methos!"
"MacLeod! You remember what I told you I'd do to you next time you shouted my name out loud in a public place?"
MacLeod grinned at the bar and patted it's highly polished surface, nodding his head.
Joe protested, "Not against my bar, you won't!"
"Sorry, Adam, but you rattle my cage sometimes." He quietly added, "Not that I'm opposed to you trying. Might even be interesting." He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously.
Methos inhaled a bit of his beer, choked and then laughed. "You are such a tart!"
"I'm cutting you both off!" Then all three men were laughing.
It was into the wee hours when the immortals arrived back home. The long drive took the last of their energy, so that they slept through till almost noon the next day. Upon waking MacLeod was surprised to reach out for Methos and discover instead a publication of some kind. He sat up against the pillows to take a look at what turned out to be a catalog for a local college. "Hmm."
...a year later...
At breakneck speed MacLeod wheeled the ambulance (lights / no siren) onto Canby Street, one of Seacouver's main thoroughfares. At 2:45 am, the only dangerous traffic likely to hinder his safe course would be the occasional intoxicated driver meandering home after bar closing. He kept them in mind as he hurried along the rain-slicked street. The call described a seriously injured child at St Agnes Orphanage. fall injury, ten year old male, compound fracture, femur MacLeod and the other EMT were determined to get there as fast as humanly possibly.
The last time MacLeod had driven an ambulance was during the Great War. Cool in an emergency, a quick thinker with a reassuring mien, and centuries of battlefield triage experience. His only fault as an EMT was his inability to detach completely after his shift.
A Sister met them at the front door of the old hospital that had been converted twenty years ago into an orphanage for children rescued from the path of war and natural disaster. "Please hurry!" The tiny nun waved them inside. They followed her as she ran toward the foot of a set of stairs. Fear was evident in her voice as she explained, "He was sleep walking again. He fell down the stairs, and his leg is broken!" They dashed behind her guiding a stretcher. "We'd debated locking him in at night, but decided that would be more dangerous in the case of a fire." He could hear the anguish she felt. Within seconds they arrived at the bottom of the stairwell.
MacLeod and his partner knelt by the crying child, gently moving aside another Sister comforting the injured boy. The seriousness of the fracture was evident by the blood and unnatural bend in his leg. He imagined the pain the child must be feeling, and his heart ached for the lad. It surprised him how small the boy was since the radio call described him as ten. He estimated their young patient was the size Mary Lindsey had reached by age six.
"It's alright lad, we'll get you help quickly."
Frightened eyes in a thin face looked up at them pleading for help. But his words seemed incoherent, merely babbling. MacLeod asked, "Did he hit his head too?" They gently accessed the child and fit him with a neck brace, and then transferred him onto the stretcher.
"He hasn't learned English yet. He's only been here a month."
"Oh!" He realized that the "babbling" was actually a language he didn't recognize. This surprised him. After four hundred years he usually could at least recognize what language family was being spoken, even if he couldn't speak the particular dialect himself. "What language?"
"We think Yuzbek. I'm afraid none of us here can speak it." The nun apologized and looked embarrassed. MacLeod shook his head. Not Yuzbek.
"It's alright, Sister - ?"
"Helen."
"Duncan MacLeod," he nodded toward his partner, "Charles Bailey." Bailey smiled and nodded. MacLeod continued as they rushed the boy toward the ambulance, "Sister Helen, I'll make a call. We have a linguist who will come to the hospital."
She smiled. "Oh good! Sergie's been so isolated."
Sister Helen rode in back with the patient and Bailey to the hospital. As MacLeod drove he punched a number on the speed dial of the ambulance's mobile telephone. After five rings there was a connection and a growled, "It's three o'clock!"
"I've got you on 'hands free'." Letting him know that the world, or at least everyone on the ambulance, could hear.
"Let me guess, another exotic language, in the middle of the night."
"Try, unknown language."
"Oh. Well let me find my..." interest replaced the growl in Methos' voice.
"Enter through Emergency at Sacred Heart. They'll be expecting you. See you later."
The swish of the wet street added to the anxiety level, but they delivered the orphan into the arms of the emergency room staff without incident.
The next radio call caught them just before they were about to make the turn onto Marine Drive heading for the fire station. They rushed off to Salish Park from where they transported an overdose with poor prospects, and finally their shift was over.
After his shift, MacLeod drove his own car back to the hospital, though he'd been awake for nineteen hours and was weary. Along the way he used his mobile phone to call Methos and arranged to meet him for breakfast in the cafeteria. As he entered the hospital's main caffeination station he felt the ancient Immortal's buzz and quickly located his lover sitting at a corner table, hunched over a steaming cup of coffee as if warming himself. MacLeod purchased a bagel and collected a coffee mug from the counter hostess and then trudged over to Methos' table.
"Hey."
"Hey." As soon as he set his mug down, Methos filled it with coffee from a carafe. MacLeod tore into his bagel and sipped the hot coffee, reviving himself, sharing companionable silence as Methos watched him tuck-in.
Finally, Methos spoke a few words in the language MacLeod had heard Sergie speaking. They were harsh, guttural, dropped like stones in still water.
"What does it mean?"
"It means, "I'm very scared," in Sergie's language, and mine."
"Yours!"
Methos nodded. "Well, not my original language, don't remember that one, but one of the older ones, one that I used for a very long period of time. It's really just a trade jargon. I would guess Sergie grew up in a bilingual home, but his development has been neglected. That happens in refugee camps. But part of what he's speaking I can understand. Not that someone from my time would recognize the cant as it is spoken now. I've been following the surviving pocket's of the jargon, listening to it change over time." Methos looked up from his coffee with a bittersweet expression on his angular face. "Sister Helen wants me to teach him English."
"He's young, he shouldn't have any trouble. I was thinking he might be even younger than the Sisters were told. He's so small. 'Course I don't imagine his diet has been ideal." MacLeod filled their mugs again from the carafe of strong coffee.
"They will be checking his bones for that." Methos looked a bit wistful, as he stirred his coffee longer than necessary.
"Is there something else wrong?"
"No. I don't think so. I tried reading his chart, but I'm afraid the new medicine is getting beyond me. I wish I could tell you more, but kids are resilient. After they medicated him for pain, he was pretty excited to talk to someone who could understand him."
"Is he homesick?"
"He didn't say anything about home. Mostly he told me the names of other kids at the orphanage and what he'd like to tell them. And he will. He's learning vocabulary, even if he's not speaking much English yet. He doesn't really need my help, I'd just speed up the process."
MacLeod studied the expression on Methos' face. "And the faster he will forget his old language."
"Yeah. It's a stupid thing to be sentimental about. I've lived through the fading away of so many languages. Not to mention the gradual transformation of the modern languages. Even a kid like you has seen that. Still," he shrugged, "I have a special place in my marauding heart for this one. It has no frills, or subtleties, but there was no mistaking the meaning of a word. A valuable tool for nomads."
"Nomad." He turned the word over in his mind, examining it's corners and warts in relation to his understanding of Methos. A piece of the ever changing puzzle captured for his own use. "Sometimes I forget how really old you are."
"Good."
MacLeod laughed, let it pass. "Afoot?"
"What?"
"You said you were nomads. Were you on foot?"
"Oh! Ah, sometimes, some people. Lots of people didn't have horses or carts. Feet were dependable. No one could steal them. I spent a considerable amount of time alone though, during my first centuries. It was easier than explaining myself. Why didn't I age, or die from the latest plague? I'd say when asked, 'I guess the gods don't want me.' To some folks it was amusing, they'd laugh. It offended others; made some suspicious. I eventually learned to keep my mouth shut, and read people."
"I'm trying to imagine you as a careless young immortal."
"Long ago, I've changed my ways."
"Yes, you have. Come take a nap with me at the apartment before you go back to the house?"
"Nap?" Methos grinned. "Sure. Actually I closed the house up, left a message for Ray asking him to feed the chickens and take the eggs, while I spent a few days in the city."
"Good." MacLeod's weary expression was replaced by one of joy. He offered a portion of his bagel to Methos.
"It's too early to eat."
He popped the last bit of his bagel into his mouth. They finished their coffee and left the hospital, beating the morning commuter traffic. His spirits had been lifted by Methos' visit and he felt re-energized by the time he pulled into his parking space. Methos had to find a place on the street to park, since there was no extra parking in the apartment lot.
The efficiency apartment MacLeod rented for sleeping during his four-days-on schedule was tiny, had no view worth looking out at and was bare of all but the basics: bed, table with two chairs and couch. It's one redeeming quality was that the management rented this particular building only to night shift workers so that quiet reigned during the day for sleeping.
This also required quiet "naps" when Methos came to visit, but they were capable of that if they applied themselves to the task with diligence.
"I'll take a quick shower."
Methos caught him as he was about to disappear into the bathroom. "Let me help you with that." MacLeod stood imperfectly still in the threshold of the small room while Methos unbuttoned his EMT shirt. He watched as Methos paused to touch a streak of blood on one sleeve and wondered what was going through the other Immortal's mind. Methos helped him out of the shirt, a serious expression replaced by a smile. "You're beautiful, Duncan."
MacLeod shook his head and sighed, having long since given up on telling his ancient lover that men of this century weren't usually thrilled to be called beautiful.
"I'll soak this for you. Don't fall asleep in the shower." Methos carried the shirt off to the kitchen sink.
"Never fear, I'll be right back." MacLeod did not linger in the shower. Prior to breakfast it had been three days since he'd spent time with his soul mate at their seaside home. He had another twelve hour shift tonight, before he could return north for his days off. It was tough being away four days in a row, but it made his three days off with Methos intense and memorable when it was time to head back to Seacouver. But it was worth it for their sanity. The work was extremely satisfying, if sometimes heartbreaking for MacLeod and Methos no longer tripped over his latest compulsive construction project. The last year of periodic separation had been difficult at first, but they had once again found a comfortable routine.
The warm water splashed down on him, washing away his late burst of energy. Finishing quickly he twisted shut the faucet's squeaky knobs and stepped out of the shower stall, the exhaustion seeping back into him. He dried with a bath towel, then wrapped it around his hips and walked back into the main area of the apartment, where he found Methos sitting on his bed, warming a lotion bottle by rolling it between his palms.
"Come lie down. I'll give you a back rub."
MacLeod removed his towel and tossed it into a laundry basket. The tension of the day began to drain in anticipation of Methos' hands working the knots out of his muscles. He lowered himself across the quilt and stretched out face down. Methos straddled MacLeod's thighs and poured a small pool of the warmed lotion in the middle of his back. The aroma of cocoa butter made him breathe deep. Methos' hands began gently, soothing his muscles into a relaxed state for a deep massage.
"How is the house?"
"Same. No leaks. The chickens miss you."
He chuckled, then hummed as Methos' hands chopped gently across his shoulders, breaking up his tightness.
"After you're asleep I'm going back to the hospital. I promised Sister Helen I'd translate for the boy when his doctor makes rounds. Then I'm going to the library. I'll bring you a meal before your shift. What would you like, breakfast or dinner?"
"Breakfast. That feels so good... I've been thinking-"
"Oh, oh!"
"Yeah, I know, dangerous. What I was thinking was that when my name gets to the top of the list for a day shift opening, I'm going to take it."
"Good. Fewer drunks and more heart attacks."
"More traffic too. But I'll be sleeping in the dark, and seeing the sun again."
"Tired of the vampire life?"
"Yes, I am. Ah! That feels so good. Why do you keep stopping there?"
"Let me get all the knots out of your back before we move on to other pursuits." Methos continued working each muscle group into tingling submission.
"You're making me fall asleep," he accused.
Methos relented, "OK then, Duncan." He lifted himself up enough so that MacLeod could roll over, and there was that ancient/young face with a silly smile greeting him as he settled down on his back.
Methos bent down to give him a lingering kiss. They both sighed when it ended, causing them to softly laugh together. Methos began kissing his way down the beautifully muscled body, giving attention to nipples and navel, before reaching one of his favorite destinations.
MacLeod inhaled sharply as Methos licked his hard cock, which was then surrounded by warm mouth. "Ahh!" Gentle nipping, enthusiastic sucking, and puffs of warm air on wet flesh followed.
"Ahhhh!" And he came.
MacLeod slept through the day.
He awoke feeling rested when he sensed Methos' return. The light was again low.
Methos was in the kitchen heating food in the microwave.
"What time is it?"
"You have thirty-seven minutes, before you need to leave."
MacLeod laughed and sat up in bed to watch Methos. "Can't I have thirty-eight?"
"Nope."
"Slave driver." He got up and padded over to his small clothes closet to look for a clean uniform. "How's the lad?"
"Emotionally he's enjoying the attention. Happy kid. Sister Helen is using the situation to find him a home."
"I should call the Websters."
"Michelle's adoptive family?" Methos asked as he brought him a cup of coffee and sat it on his dresser.
"Yes, they've taken in several foster kids since they lost Michelle." MacLeod gave Methos a quick kiss in exchange for the coffee. "Have the doctors figured out if his small size is just his norm or a sign of a problem?"
The microwave dinged and Methos stepped back into the kitchen area to retrieve their heated food.
"They're checking several things. It's fascinating, the new medical knowledge that's developed in the last few decades. They were thinking, at first, that his small size might be due to the long term effects of malnutrition - something I'm familiar with seeing and treating. But now they're looking at possible toxins to which he may have been exposed, as well as genetic factors. They've come a long way. It's fascinating."
MacLeod noted that Methos had used "fascinating" twice in his discussion and was quite animated.
"Though it's also aggravating," Methos added.
MacLeod looked up from tying his shoes. "What's aggravating?"
"Not knowing." Methos sat their simple fare on the table. "Come eat."
MacLeod joined Methos at the small table. "Thanks, I'm starving."
"I think I'll search the web tonight, see if I can figure out what the doctors are talking about."
MacLeod nodded, realizing that Methos hated not understanding how something worked, especially something medical. "You should go back to medical school." He watched Methos open his mouth to make a quick reply, stop, then close his mouth.
...another year later...
The ornamental fruit trees, which lined the walkways on the hospital campus, were in bloom and fragrant. It was after his training hours that Methos sat on a bench at the edge the parking lot behind the science library waiting for his ride. When it arrived he marched up to MacLeod's hybrid town car, admiring the man in his EMT uniform. He sizzled in the Highlander's thrumming presence.
Methos climbed in the passenger seat and greeted his lover, "Hello, beautiful."
MacLeod shook his head. "Somethings never change. Hello, yourself."
"You have a big smile on your face, Duncan. What have you been up to today?"
"A heart attack, three drunks, a forklift accident, and I bought my favorite poor med student a house."
"They accepted the offer? Great!"
"Yes!" MacLeod dangled the key from his hand for Methos to see.
"You got the key already!"
"They let me have it so that we could do some measuring."
"Here we go again!"
"Relax, Methos. Just small projects on my days off."
"If you say so."
"I do. Want to go have a peek at it?"
"I think I need a beer first. We could go afterward."
"That's a good plan." MacLeod drove the ten minute detour to Joe's Blues Bar.
Life was less complicated for MacLeod since he went on day shift. Methos, on the other hand, had managed to significantly notch up his activity level and found himself running on fumes half the time, but loving it. He closed and rested his eyes during the short trip.
When they walked into the tavern Joe looked up from his set-up duties and greeted them, "Here comes trouble!"
"You know us so well, Joseph."
"We got the house."
"Congrats."
They claimed stools at the bar, near where Joe was working.
Joe stopped wiping and pulled three brews from the IPA tap. "Well, what other mischief have you been up to?"
Nodding at MacLeod, "He's had another heroic day."
"Good for you, Mac." Turning to Methos he asked, "How goes the studying?"
"Good. I think. I drive Mac bonkers having him read me study questions."
"I don't mind. You were a grad student when I met you."
"So I'm regressing!"
Mac laughed, but then said, "No, no. You were searching for Methos then. Now at least you know where to find him."
"Amen to that!" Joe saluted with his own brew.
Methos felt both embarrassed and happy.
"It will be worth it, buddy. Once you're a doctor again."
After they finished their beers, Methos and MacLeod wished Joe goodbye, and promised to stop in to hear him play when they both had a day off. Even if it meant Adam bringing his books to study with him.
The new house was conveniently located mid-way between MacLeod's fire station and the teaching hospital. They turned into the driveway of an empty craftsman house with a huge cherry tree in the yard. As they walked up to the door, MacLeod grabbed the for sale sign, and stashed it on the porch of the house they had agreed to purchase. He unlocked the door and they enter to explore the house for the first time without the real estate agent. They wandered through the spacious bare rooms, plotting what would go where.
The largest room would be lined with bookshelves. MacLeod pointed at a wall with wood paneling, "Wouldn't that wall look good covered in swords?" They both laughed, knowing that wasn't going to happen. They circled through the kitchen where they'd had their biggest debate. "Just new appliances for now?"
Methos nodded. "We can just call it retro."
"Maybe this summer I'll do something about it." MacLeod suggested.
"Ah, the quandary of a working man, no time to spread lumber all over the house."
"Lucky for you."
They climbed the wide steps to the first room at the top of the stairwell, a sitting room with large pane windows which provided a good view of the huge cherry tree in full blossom.
"I love this tree." MacLeod leaned against the windowsill studying the stately Bing cherry tree. The tree had been a major selling point, even in its winter nakedness when they'd first viewed the house the month before. Now the tree was gorgeous.
"Yes, it's beautiful. I'll miss the ocean view, and the chickens, but I don't have the time to be sitting around anyway." Methos stood close, also appreciating the tree.
"Just wait a couple months till it's full of ripe cherries."
MacLeod opened the window wide, sat on the sill then pivoted out, and launched himself onto a broad branch. The thick limb was parallel to the ground, the top surface of the bark worn smooth from generations of young people doing exactly what MacLeod was doing. He walked down the limb, where he turned and sat against the trunk, dangling his legs over either side of the branch.
Methos leaned out the open window. "You're such a kid." MacLeod just grinned back at him in an inviting fashion. Methos sighed. "What the heck." He climbed out onto the limb. "I've never been a circus performer like you." He placed each step carefully, foot in front of foot till he agilely sat down, facing MacLeod.
"Fancy meeting you here." They sat in companionable silence soaking in the sweet aroma, hidden in a cloud of cherry blossoms. "This is a good place to sit and think. Maybe I should build a tree house."
"No you don't!"
MacLeod laughed. "Gotcha!"
"You brat!" Methos leaned against him, wrapped one hand around his neck and pulled Mac closer to him to bestow a rough, possessive kiss on his mouth.
MacLeod's back was pushed against the trunk of the tree. When the kiss ended he protested. "This is the sweater you gave me for Christmas. I'm getting bark on it!"
Another kiss before answering. "You're the one who climbed out here." And then a third rousing kiss lasted even longer.
"You're the one that followed me out here and threw me against the tree."
"Threw? Ha! When I throw you, you'll know you've been thrown." Methos looked up at the branch above them. "Stand up, Duncan."
"No!" But he was smiling.
Methos slid a hand under his sweater and pinched a nipple, while applying another invading kiss to his lover's lips. When it ended he again insisted, "Stand up. Face the tree."
Methos leaned away, supporting himself with his arms stretched behind him. He watched MacLeod ease first to his knees then stand up and turn in one graceful motion.
Palms pressed against the trunk, MacLeod turned his head to look back over his shoulder. He smiled down at Methos and batted his eyes - just twice.
Methos was instantly achingly hard. He had to pause and ease off a bit before climbing to his feet, which was already a more difficult task without the use of the tree trunk. So he used MacLeod to climb up, running his hands up MacLeod's jeans and sweater as he stood up.
He wrapped his arms around MacLeod's waist and whispered in his ear. "Guess what I have in my pocket?"
"Alcohol rubs and colorful bandages?"
Methos laughed softly. "True. You know your med student so well. But I also happen to have a packet containing a slippery substance that's a workable substitute for lube." He nibbled at MacLeod's earlobe, and pressed his groin with its hard evidence against MacLeod's backside. "I want you to reach up and grab on to the branch above you."
MacLeod didn't even pretend to protest, but stretched first one arm up to wrap a hand over the branch then the other. This resulted in a very nicely stretched out Highlander.
Methos moaned with undisguised lust. He held onto MacLeod, savoring the moment.
"Hey! You going to sleep back there?"
A rumbling laugh was the only answer. Methos reached down and unbuttoned MacLeod's 501s. He slipped his hand in for a friendly squeeze, before tugging down the jeans and briefs just far enough to expose the necessary bits for his intentions. MacLeod trembled.
"Are you cold?"
"As if. Come on Methos, don't lose your concentration."
"Never fear." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a plastic packet of petroleum jelly, and tore it open with his teeth. "Hold very still, please."
MacLeod chuckled. "This is harder than you imagined?"
"I'll show you hard." He rested his head against MacLeod's back for balance as he milked the packet with his hands.
"Don't try this at home, kids."
"Shut up, Duncan."
MacLeod laughed with delight.
Methos kept one arm wrapped around MacLeod's waist for balance, and went exploring with his other hand. He fondled MacLeod's firm backside and made him gasp as he penetrated him with a slippery finger. This was followed by a sigh, and then a moan of pleasure as Methos smoothed the way. Finally Methos unzipped his own jeans with one hand, the other hand bracing himself against MacLeod's shoulder. The remaining gel he applied to his cock, then he pressed himself snug to MacLeod - just holding on for a moment, before beginning. In his sex dazed thoughts he vaguely wondered what to do about his legs. "Duncan, I need to wrap one leg around you."
"Then do it!"
"My jeans are in the way - er - my zipper when I bring my - "
"Take the damn things off, now!"
"My shoes!"
"Kick 'em off!"
"What if I fall out of the tree?"
"The neighbors will be entertained? You're not going to fall. This is a huge branch. My grandmother could walk this branch!"
"Yes, but could she - never mind." Methos heeled off his shoes on the sides of the branch, allowing them to fall to the ground. Then, holding tight to MacLeod's sweater with one hand, he removed his tight jeans slowly, laughing at himself, while MacLeod grumbled for him to hurry up. Finally off, he draped them over the branch behind him.
The danger had added to his excitement and so once freed he wrapped one leg around his lover's thigh as he entered his body, the two actions keying on each other. It helped that they were the same height and that MacLeod was quite at home in the tree. A practice movement was delightful. So he did it again, and again.
Methos' leverage was dependent on MacLeod's ability to anchor himself, and MacLeod was as solid and steady as the old cherry tree on a windless day. "You're a champion, Mac."
"Ahh!" Methos had found just the right angle.
Ever so slowly he thrust into his lover, then just as slowly backed off, each movement achingly sensuous. He could muffle his own moans in MacLeod's sweater, but had to slip his hand over MacLeod's mouth to prevent him from being heard all over the neighborhood.
As he became lost in the motion he increased the speed of his thrusts and became bolder. He dared to lift his hand that had been wrapped around his lover's waist, and moved it to MacLeod's needy cock, then tightly worked the hard length in time with his thrusts.
MacLeod nipped at the fingers covering his mouth just before he came in Methos' warm hand. Methos held him as he vibrated with pleasure, the sensation pushing him to his own orgasm.
He held on, realizing at this point that MacLeod had them tied to the tree with roots, and they weren't going anywhere.
Finally, after his last push and MacLeod's last shudder, Methos pulled out and unwrapped his leg from MacLeod to place his other semi-bare foot on the branch.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much better."
"You can build a tree house if you want."
"Hell, no! Next time it'll be you holding this branch."
"But I'm kind of old and delicate - hey! Don't laugh so hard, you'll make me fall."
"I love you."
"I love you too, but my bum is freezing."
"Well, then, turn around and go back inside - watch out for your jeans."
Methos turned with alacrity and snagged his jeans from the branch. Both men hurried back inside the open window.
They were laughing themselves silly when they collapsed on the floor inside.
"This is going to be my favorite room," MacLeod told him. "We'll put easy chairs over there for a good view of the tree."
"Or a couch."
"That would work."
"Maybe a plush rug in front."
"Oh, yes."
"Hey, Mac, would you go outside and get my shoes?"
"What's in it for me?"
"Well, I haven't put my pants back on yet."
"I'll be right back."
END