Author's Note: this story does contain a few sentences of slash. (I upped
the rating slightly to accommodate). It will never exceed (here or future-
wise) what I have already written. (Let me know how it was handled, as I
have never written slash before. The history, if need be, is already
written and will come in later chapters). Same disclaimer applies.
****************************************************************************
***********
September 09 2004, 2300 PM, the MacLeod barge
It was only a few minutes before eleven, and Duncan wiped the last of the dust from the tables, stacked the last of the chairs, washed the last of the dishes and the glasses, grabbed his coat and katana, and locked the door behind him. He had asked Richie to come help with clean up and lock up tonight, but after running after the strange girl, Richie had never come back.
Climbing into his car, and turning the key into the ignition, he simultaneously buckled his safety belt and switched on the radio to his favorite celtic opera station. It was a short drive to the barge, and he knew Methos was chronically late, but Richie had relayed the message as eleven, and eleven he would be there.
He pulled the car to a stop, and slid out, jingling his keys as he unlocked the door.
"You're late, MacLeod."
Duncan fell backwards, (thankful the wall was there to catch him), his face gone pale. He swore in Gaelic. He glanced at the clock; it was just barely a minute past eleven. He glanced again at the world's oldest Immortal, and mumbled a few more choice words under his breath. "Here early tonight."
"I did say eleven, MacLeod, and eleven I am here."
"I am beginning to wish I never gave you that spare key."
He shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it in the closet, and storing his sword into an easily accessible spot. He missed Methos' teasing smile. "I'd offer you a beer, but I see you already helped yourself."
"Do you mind?" Methos asked, feigning innocence.
"Of course, not. Mi casa es su casa, remember?" he asked cynically.
Methos grinned, and raised his bottle in mock toast to his friend. He took a long sip. "Grab a beer, MacLeod. Take a seat. How's the bar? Did you miss me?"
"You ask too many questions, Methos," but the Highlander was grinning, and he poured himself a shot of whiskey, which he quickly drank. He took a seat in the chair across from Methos (who was sprawled on the couch), and leaned into it, sighing in contentment.
"Warning me, highlander?"
Duncan raised an amused eyebrow. "Perhaps? If I was?"
"Would not be the first. Richie warned me earlier, after I lectured some young Immortal on the cons of drinking until drunk."
Duncan choked back his laughter. "Wish I had been there to see it." He frowned, a thought having crossed his mind. "This Immortal, was she female? Sarcastic?"
"She was. You meet her?"
"Briefly. She bit Richie hard."
Methos's mouth turned at the corners, forming into a slow, lazy smile. "I think love would be good for him. Give him something to look forward to."
"I suppose you are right."
"Of course I am right. I'm the ancient one, remember?" he quickly swallowed the last sips of his beer. "Now, what do you to say we move this conversation to the bedroom?"
"Oh, you are just too much," laughed Duncan, and he leaned across the table to peck Methos lips. However, with other ideas in mind, Methos wrapped his hand around the back of Duncan's neck, and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. "Of course, on second thought," managed Duncan once he could breathe, "the bedroom might not be such a bad idea."
Methos only smiled knowingly.
September 09 2004, 2300 PM, the MacLeod barge
It was only a few minutes before eleven, and Duncan wiped the last of the dust from the tables, stacked the last of the chairs, washed the last of the dishes and the glasses, grabbed his coat and katana, and locked the door behind him. He had asked Richie to come help with clean up and lock up tonight, but after running after the strange girl, Richie had never come back.
Climbing into his car, and turning the key into the ignition, he simultaneously buckled his safety belt and switched on the radio to his favorite celtic opera station. It was a short drive to the barge, and he knew Methos was chronically late, but Richie had relayed the message as eleven, and eleven he would be there.
He pulled the car to a stop, and slid out, jingling his keys as he unlocked the door.
"You're late, MacLeod."
Duncan fell backwards, (thankful the wall was there to catch him), his face gone pale. He swore in Gaelic. He glanced at the clock; it was just barely a minute past eleven. He glanced again at the world's oldest Immortal, and mumbled a few more choice words under his breath. "Here early tonight."
"I did say eleven, MacLeod, and eleven I am here."
"I am beginning to wish I never gave you that spare key."
He shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it in the closet, and storing his sword into an easily accessible spot. He missed Methos' teasing smile. "I'd offer you a beer, but I see you already helped yourself."
"Do you mind?" Methos asked, feigning innocence.
"Of course, not. Mi casa es su casa, remember?" he asked cynically.
Methos grinned, and raised his bottle in mock toast to his friend. He took a long sip. "Grab a beer, MacLeod. Take a seat. How's the bar? Did you miss me?"
"You ask too many questions, Methos," but the Highlander was grinning, and he poured himself a shot of whiskey, which he quickly drank. He took a seat in the chair across from Methos (who was sprawled on the couch), and leaned into it, sighing in contentment.
"Warning me, highlander?"
Duncan raised an amused eyebrow. "Perhaps? If I was?"
"Would not be the first. Richie warned me earlier, after I lectured some young Immortal on the cons of drinking until drunk."
Duncan choked back his laughter. "Wish I had been there to see it." He frowned, a thought having crossed his mind. "This Immortal, was she female? Sarcastic?"
"She was. You meet her?"
"Briefly. She bit Richie hard."
Methos's mouth turned at the corners, forming into a slow, lazy smile. "I think love would be good for him. Give him something to look forward to."
"I suppose you are right."
"Of course I am right. I'm the ancient one, remember?" he quickly swallowed the last sips of his beer. "Now, what do you to say we move this conversation to the bedroom?"
"Oh, you are just too much," laughed Duncan, and he leaned across the table to peck Methos lips. However, with other ideas in mind, Methos wrapped his hand around the back of Duncan's neck, and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. "Of course, on second thought," managed Duncan once he could breathe, "the bedroom might not be such a bad idea."
Methos only smiled knowingly.