Title: Good Beer
Author: KC, Kcdove1013@aol.com
Reason/Excuse/Explanation: My muses made me do it!
Dedication/Author's note: Eighth for my Strange Bedfellows universe. This one is Caro's second pair. The Strange Bedfellows universe is rather simple. I have a list of people who I would enjoy having clones of. From this list(s) you can pick a SLASH (female/female or male/male) pair and I'll try and write it. The catch is, the characters can't be from the same universe/fandom. Like, you could pick Zechs/Giles, but not Giles/Spike. Get it? No? Too bad!
Pair: Methos/Krycek
Rating: PG
"God damn it all to hell and may it rot to pieces!" Krycek muttered in Russian, pulling his sleeve from where it had caught on something and incidentally ripping it.
"Problems?"
It took him a minute to realize why the words sounded out of place. They'd been in Russian. While he, himself, spoke it fluently, he hadn't met anyone lately who'd been able to do the same. It was actually almost fun to tell women exactly what he thought of them while smiling and have them coo at him...
He turned his thoughts to the person who'd spoken and saw what looked to be a slightly sardonic librarian. Loose sweater, baggy jeans and old tennis shoes lent to the impression of harmlessness, but the eyes didn't match the look they tried to project and Krycek wondered what the man was hiding. Wondered if he'd have to run again. He responded in Russian, "Just a nail."
The man nodded and held out his hand, "Sam Talbot."
Krycek easily reeled off the name he was currently using, "Matt Sanrael."
Adam's eyebrows rose but he didn't ask, just nodded and gestured to the bar. "Buy you a drink?" He asked in English.
Krycek thought a minute before shrugging. The possible acknowledgment that he was being actively chased was greater then the possible danger. Even so, he made sure to follow the man to the bar. No need to get sloppy and give any possible threat a clear invite to take him out from behind.
Hey, some people were cheerful, some were depressed. He got to be eternally paranoid. He figured it was an even trade. Depressed people, more often then not, ended up offing themselves, and cheerful people were generally killed by the rest of the population. He was alive and damn willing to do anything to remain that way. He knew he was damned, he just wanted to make the piper wait a while longer before collecting his pay.
He was pulled out of his reminiscing by the bartender asking what he wanted.
"Hard scotch, dry." He said, and Sam raised and eyebrow, smirking slightly before murmuring that he'd have the same.
Krycek sighed, there we go. Something of the man behind the cotton, eh? He nodded slightly in acknowledgment, waited until the bartender had gone to make their drinks at the other end of the bar. "What do you want?"
Sam raised an eyebrow, then smirked again. He paused a moment as if thinking seriously about it. "Ultimately? Good beer. Tonight? I'd rather like to pound you through a mattress."
Krycek eyed him, took the drink when the bartender gave it to him and drained the glass. "I think we might be able to work something out."
"I thought we might."
END
Author: KC, Kcdove1013@aol.com
Reason/Excuse/Explanation: My muses made me do it!
Dedication/Author's note: Eighth for my Strange Bedfellows universe. This one is Caro's second pair. The Strange Bedfellows universe is rather simple. I have a list of people who I would enjoy having clones of. From this list(s) you can pick a SLASH (female/female or male/male) pair and I'll try and write it. The catch is, the characters can't be from the same universe/fandom. Like, you could pick Zechs/Giles, but not Giles/Spike. Get it? No? Too bad!
Pair: Methos/Krycek
Rating: PG
"God damn it all to hell and may it rot to pieces!" Krycek muttered in Russian, pulling his sleeve from where it had caught on something and incidentally ripping it.
"Problems?"
It took him a minute to realize why the words sounded out of place. They'd been in Russian. While he, himself, spoke it fluently, he hadn't met anyone lately who'd been able to do the same. It was actually almost fun to tell women exactly what he thought of them while smiling and have them coo at him...
He turned his thoughts to the person who'd spoken and saw what looked to be a slightly sardonic librarian. Loose sweater, baggy jeans and old tennis shoes lent to the impression of harmlessness, but the eyes didn't match the look they tried to project and Krycek wondered what the man was hiding. Wondered if he'd have to run again. He responded in Russian, "Just a nail."
The man nodded and held out his hand, "Sam Talbot."
Krycek easily reeled off the name he was currently using, "Matt Sanrael."
Adam's eyebrows rose but he didn't ask, just nodded and gestured to the bar. "Buy you a drink?" He asked in English.
Krycek thought a minute before shrugging. The possible acknowledgment that he was being actively chased was greater then the possible danger. Even so, he made sure to follow the man to the bar. No need to get sloppy and give any possible threat a clear invite to take him out from behind.
Hey, some people were cheerful, some were depressed. He got to be eternally paranoid. He figured it was an even trade. Depressed people, more often then not, ended up offing themselves, and cheerful people were generally killed by the rest of the population. He was alive and damn willing to do anything to remain that way. He knew he was damned, he just wanted to make the piper wait a while longer before collecting his pay.
He was pulled out of his reminiscing by the bartender asking what he wanted.
"Hard scotch, dry." He said, and Sam raised and eyebrow, smirking slightly before murmuring that he'd have the same.
Krycek sighed, there we go. Something of the man behind the cotton, eh? He nodded slightly in acknowledgment, waited until the bartender had gone to make their drinks at the other end of the bar. "What do you want?"
Sam raised an eyebrow, then smirked again. He paused a moment as if thinking seriously about it. "Ultimately? Good beer. Tonight? I'd rather like to pound you through a mattress."
Krycek eyed him, took the drink when the bartender gave it to him and drained the glass. "I think we might be able to work something out."
"I thought we might."
END