Campfire Tunes (1/1)

by Anne Olsen

Ratings/warnings: OK (Oz/Kiwi spelling/grammar etc) – PG13 – Drabble, Slash.

Author's notes: Written for the LJ drabble challenge. Line: "MacLeod, when you were hell bent on being a boyscout, did you learn any cheery campfire songs?" Word count: 499.

Pairing: Duncan/Methos

Summary: Who needs campfire tunes when you have a boyscout?

Archive:

Disclaimer: Highlander is the property of Panzer/Davis, Rysher/Gaumount Television.

Thanks to: Misanagi and Hex for the quickie beta.

For Hex.

Comments to: anneo

======================================================

"MacLeod, when you were hell bent on being a boyscout, did you learn any cheery campfire songs?"

"I beg your pardon?" Duncan glanced over to where Methos was leaning lazily against a tree. He half expected to see a familiar smirk on the older immortal's face but there wasn't one. Methos tended not to show his true feelings or intentions, even around those he trusted.

Methos repeated his question, and then raised an eyebrow. "There's an interesting smell of scorched skin in the air. Re-growing skin can be rather painful you know, even if this is part of some interesting ritual that you're planning." He paused and examined one hand carefully, wriggling long fingers before giving Duncan a smirk.

"Shit!" Duncan looked down to see fire travelling up the marshmellow he'd been roasting and orange flames licking at his fingers. He dropped the stick and stamped on it, ignoring the chuckles from Methos. Duncan sucked his burnt fingers, one at a time, sliding them in and out of his mouth slowly.

It didn't take Methos long to regain his usual demeanor. "So you were too busy burning the camp to the ground to learn campfire songs?" He shuddered. "Baden-Powell would have been really impressed. Met him once. He tried to convince me to become a scouting leader."

The thought of Methos as a scout leader was just…Duncan shook his head, trying to rid his mind of extremely disturbing images. Glancing over at the other man, he noticed Methos's expression and groaned.

"That was too easy," Methos said smugly. "But I liked the groan. Can you do that again?"

"I am not easy," Duncan protested. "And you, Old Man, are a brat."

"But I'm so good at it." Methos pouted. "And I thought that was one of the things you loved about me."

"Maybe." Duncan wasn't about to give Methos the victory. He was insufferable enough. "Maybe not."

Methos snorted and stretched again. "You need to work on your attitude, MacLeod. Don't play with the master, you won't win."

"Your choice." Duncan reached into his knapsack and pulled out the rest of the marshmellows. "Guess I'll have to find some other way of entertaining myself then." He yawned, affecting a bored expression and then flexed. The sharp intake of breath from the direction of the tree told him that he had achieved the reaction he wanted.

"I guess you will. And if you don't want those, I'll have them. No point in letting good marshmellows go to waste." Methos pulled himself to his feet, ambled over to the fire and, after taking the packet from Duncan, started to thread them onto a stick. "Soft and gooey is good but I prefer wet and hard."

Duncan's reply froze on his lips as he watched Methos examine the marshmellows carefully and then lick each one slowly in turn.

Leaning over, Duncan kissed Methos and placed the stick on the ground. "You don't need campfire tunes," he said, "when you have a boyscout."

==========================================================

Fin

==========================================================