Stalking the Darkness
by Aislynn

Introduction and Disclaimer

Work in Progress, Rating: R for male/male relationship nothing graphic), horror, violence. Warning: SLASH (male/male relationship - nothing graphic though), elements of horror (here there be vampires...)

Characters: D/M, JD (on the phone, only).

Summary: when Methos meets a stranger at a party, he and Duncan soon are going to find out more about the night side of Paris and it's creatures than they ever wanted to know. And some of these creatures need blood to survive... Warning: SLASH (D/M), angst, horror

Standard disclaimer:
Highlander, the concept of immortality, Duncan MacLeod and Methos (and Joe Dawson) are not mine, they belong to Rysher Entertainment, Gaumont Television and Panzer / Davis. All this is used here without permission and just for fun. I make no money out of this and I promise to give them all back unharmed when I'm done with them. Hybert belongs to me, as does everybody else not known to you from the Highlander Series.

Rating: This is a slash story, written under the implication that Methos and Duncan are more than just friends. If you don't like this kind of story, just don't read it, okay? However, there's nothing too graphic in his version, so it's between PG-13 up to R. Also, there are elements of Horror. Here be vampires!

Feedback: Please review, I want to get better. This is my very first Fanfiction story, and English is not my first language. Any constructive critic, comments and grammatical corrections are welcome. Flames are not.

Beta: Shomeret took the time to look over the first few chapters of this way back when the story first got published and gave me wonderful hints and insights. Thank you!

Update, July 2008: The ever gracious and irreplaceable Randy has now taken it upon himself to betaread this story for me, correcting my grammar and making it so much better. Thank you! So, far, the Prologue has been edited; the other chapters will follow hopefully soon. ;) Any remaining faults and errors are my own. All aberrations from Highlander Canon are my own fault, too, and are meant this way! This story takes place sometimes after TB/NTB and operates on the assumption that Methos and MacLeod found together sometimes afterwards and stayed in Paris. Endgame hasn't happened, yet.

Archive: Please ask. This work may be subject to serious revisions later.

And now, on with the story!

Prologue

He's not breathing.

Methos eyed the blond man at the other side of the room with curious, but well-hidden srutiny.

The man was of average build, body well trained and honed to catlike fitness, and nearly slender. The features of his face spoke of an average age of thirty-something, his stance was casual and carefully chosen, as if he just wanted to show the most elegant way how to lean himself uninterested against a wall.

The man held a glass of champagne in his left hand, sipping occasionally. His eyes were hidden under nearly closed lashes, the face carefully schooled, though the curving of his lips told of wry, underlying amusement, mixed with boredom. Exactly the look of an average Jet-Setter at a tedious cocktail party like this one. Every single fiber of him seemed to say: society snob, completely ordinary.

Except.

The man was standing too still. He was in fact standing so still that Methos, just for a moment, got the impression that the blond stranger had not even breathed.

Which, of course, was impossible.

Presence filled his mind, growing stronger, and Methos felt Mac's approach even before the Highlander turned up at his side and handed him another glass, taking his empty one and brushing his fingers briefly in passing.

"Sorry, they have only champagne". Mac murmured, "No beer at all."

Methos smiled at his lover.

"Thank you." He said, and wished, not for the first time this evening, they could be alone, at the barge, perhaps, rather than at this annoying party.

"Mac, just how long did you say you wish to stay?"

MacLeod looked at him with a rueful smile.

"Uh, well, Adam, I'm sorry, but there is this guy Lefebre wants me to meet and talk to, and he's just a little late..." He looked defensive.

Methos shrugged. "So tell me again, Mac, why did I accompany you to this party?"

Mac gave his lover a tiny smile. He felt a sudden impulse to nibble Methos ears and neck, but they were in public, in plain sight of everyone, and he could not do so much as simply holding hands. He settled for a casual brush of hands while he clanged their glasses together again.

"Because you love me and I craved your company?" he offered.

Methos snorted. "And that's why you'd spend the entire evening in annoying discussions with your friend Lefebre, letting his little niece devour you with her eyes?" He set his lips in a pout.

Mac's smile deepened. "She's a sweet little thing, isn't she?" he asked with a little teasing.

Methos gave him a long look.

"Breaking the young things heart, Mac?" He raised a brow. "Be careful. From the looks she gave you all evening, I was expecting her to drag you into a deserted room and jump you at any moment."

"Well, she hasn't so far," MacLeod gave back. "Besides," he added in mock-horror, "she's only seventeen. You're accusing me of cradle-robbing, now?"

Methos eyed him appraisingly.

"Dangerous ground, Mac!" he warned lightly. "If you take the difference in age as a measure..."

Mac snorted softly.

"Point taken," he acknowledged. "But no need to worry. I can assure you, my virtue is in no danger - not by her, anyway. As a matter of fact..." his voice turned husky - "lately I'm not that much into novelties, but rather into very old antiques..."

The 'very old antique' in question ducked his head to hide his smile and took a sip of his champagne. "If you put it that way..."

"So," MacLeod added after a little pause, "anything I can do to lighten your mood?"

Methos gave him a very speculative look.

"Oh, I could think of several things, Mac, but I think you won't want to shock these delightful company of people..." he trailed off. MacLeod had the grace to give him an embarrassed smile.

"Didn't think so," Methos said. Then, in a startling good imitation of a whining tone, he continued: "As it is, there wasn't much amusement to find, so far. Not even these interesting archaeological chats you bribed me with, as I recall..."

"I'm sorry, Adam!" MacLeod defended himself. "It's not my fault the really interesting people didn't show up."

Methos shot him a mock-glare, then stopped his pretense and let his eyes wander back to the stranger on the far wall who had first caught his attention. "Well, as a matter of fact," he muttered, "some did."

MacLeod followed his gaze. "You know him?" he asked.

Methos gave him an enigmatic smirk and lowered his lashes until they hid the interest in his eyes. "Not yet. I never met him before. But..."

MacLeod shot him a quick look, searching for any hint of teasing.

Methos shrugged. "I don't know, Mac. There is something strange about him..."

MacLeod gave him a careful look. He could not, for his life of him, find anything interesting about the blond man on the far wall, except he was admittedly good-looking. Somehow, Methos' sudden interest in this stranger felt slightly uncomfortable.

He decided to go back to teasing. He heaved a theatrical sigh.

"So, now, you are going to look for an evening entertainment?" he said in mock horror, his tone faintly wounded.

Methos checked him with a quick look.

"Jealous, Mac? You?" he asked, and added: "The man who can't go to a party without breaking every single female heart in a twenty mile range?"

MacLeod gave him an unbelieving look, startled about the direction their conversation was suddenly taking. And Methos banter had not sounded entirely genuine. On the other hand... there was that unreadable smug expression on the face of his lover...

He gave back: "Says the man who just accused me of intended cradle robbery. Maybe I should just take your advice and look for somebody who is interested..."

Too late, he registered the already guarded state of his lover and saw the emotional defenses slam shut both in Methos stance and his eyes.

"Sure," Methos said, face suddenly unreadable. "We never said we own each other, did we?"

Mac drew a quick breath. Yet before he could react, Methos cast a deliberate look at the man across the room, then his gaze wandered further around and rested admiringly on a few women. "Go right ahead, amuse yourself. I'm sure I can find something to keep me occupied for the night. Won't want to spoil your fun, Mac."

Something in the way Methos voiced his statement told MacLeod that there was immediate danger and that the words of his lover had suddenly left the safe borders of mischievous banter. Alarmed, he said: "Adam..."

Methos eyes returned to him, quirking a brow in the inscrutable, amused expression he used for hiding his feelings.

"You have any better suggestions, Mac?"

MacLeod swallowed. Of course there was the option to leave the party immediately, take the old guy home and show him very thoroughly whom Mac thought he belonged to. Or at least to drag him into the garden into a dark corner and do the same. Possibly that would have been the best course of action. But suddenly MacLeod felt a surge of anger. How dared the Old Man think he could manipulate him like this? Again?

Good intentions forgotten, he clipped sweetly: "No, why should I? Wouldn't wish to thwart your chance to break he hearts of all the young foolish things here on this party - regardless of gender!"

He smiled.

"Just go ahead! I'm sure I'll find a way to occupy myself. Maybe, I should give that sweet niece of Lefebre's a chance, after all..."

A mistake. MacLeod saw it the second he delivered his stinging blow and the heartbeat it took "Adam" to hide the sudden expression of hurt and fear in his eyes.

"Acting true to form, MacLeod?" the Old Man said with a smirk, his eyes carefully guarded.

Duncan shrugged. "I have to keep a reputation," he said in an attempt to go back to teasing.

"Don't be a fool," he continued quickly, "I will occupy myself with some most boring negotiations about that antique deal Lefebre is suggesting."

Nonchalantly, he added: "Of course, this little niece is a sweet thing, but..."

He raised the champagne glass, smiled at the young lady in question across the room, nipped at the glass, then he turned back to "Adam", still smiling and tried to underline his words with a husky voice: "She has nothing to me compared to you."

Methos responded with an amused, seizing look, but didn't let his guard down, and MacLeod realized with a sinking feeling that it was too late. His quipped teasing had touched a sore spot in his lover - a well hidden wound that seemed to be closely connected to the sudden shyness Methos occasionally showed when he realized somebody was interested in him or when he fell in love. He suspected that Methos still feared their new relationship might just be an aberration, feared still that MacLeod might wake up on day and realize he liked his lovers with more curves, and that his curiosity towards men then would be satisfied, for now.

And MacLeod had just done everything to confirm that fear.

"Oh, I don't know, Mac," Methos said, following his gaze, "I can see at least a few things she might have to offer that I can't..." his gaze lingered for just a moment at the girl's well formed chest, then wandered to some other guests.

"Don't let yourself miss something."

Damn. Duncan bit his lip briefly. "Adam..."

"Oh, don't you worry, MacLeod!" Methos said, smiling, "as I said before, we don't own each other. Just go ahead and bore yourself to tears. I think I'll go and find some way to entertain myself."

He smiled and pushed himself away from the wall. "I'll find some way to get home, too. So you can give her a ride later."

MacLeod felt a cold lump forming in his stomach. He repeated alarmed and urgently: "Adam!"

But Methos just smiled at him, shook his head and walked away. He waved into the direction of Macs business partner and his acquaintances. Lefebre's beautiful niece was looking at Mac expectantly.

"Your company is waiting," Adam said. Then he was lost in the crowd, and shortly after even his signature faded.

MacLeod cursed under his breath. He knew he should do something. Something that made it clear beyond doubt to his insecure lover that he was not going to walk out on him from one moment to the other in favor of some nice, giggling girl. But what could he do?

The obvious thing would be to take Methos then and there, push him against a wall and kiss him senseless, until it connected even with his stubborn brain that it was him MacLeod wanted in his bed, his home and his life, women be damned.

It wasn't that MacLeod was suddenly immune to female graces and to their enticing offerings. It was the fact that he loved the Old Man, and he had always been faithful to his previous partners.

But they were at a party, under the eyes of half the town, and he could not do so much as touch his partner here. Hell, he couldn't even sulk at him too openly without feeding all kind of suspicions. So he quelled the curse rising in his throat and let Methos stroll away, swearing to himself that he would teach him a lesson or two when they were back home at the barge. Back between their sheets. So thorough a lesson that Methos would be sore for a week or so afterwards, Immortal healing or not.

He would make love to the Old Man so thoroughly and tenderly that it would take a long time until his partner would doubt his affection to him again - or the attraction his body held for a certain Scot compared with the body of women.

Tonight, he promised himself. And then he added with a sad feeling of resignation: or whenever the Old Man decided to come home next time. Knowing Methos, he just might pull one of his famous disappearing acts again, vanishing for a week or two...

But hopefully, he would come home tonight, or at least sometimes soon.

His decision firmly in place, he turned and went to his waiting acquaintances.

o o O o o

Methos cursed silently. He was not sure how he had managed to maneuver them both into this point so quickly. He was not even sure what devil had gotten into him. He did not really believe MacLeod would cheat on him or throw him out for some giggling seventeen years-old. And of course he didn't expect MacLeod to play lovebirds with him openly in the public; that would not fit into MacLeod's style. And while he himself was strictly opposed to that kind of display, he didn't need too much public interest in his personal affairs, too.

But he could not help feeling unsure, when he and Mac were trapped at a society gathering like this and his lover found himself the natural target of a large crowd of predatory ladies. Not that Methos was normally prone to the green-eyed monster; but his relationship with his lover was a recent development, and he could not help the nagging fear that MacLeod would suddenly come to his senses and return to strict heterosexuality again. He feared this day, feared it deeply. And so events like this one here tended to leave him nervous.

And now, acting on this fear, he had successfully managed to drive MacLeod away, at least for this evening. Maybe even more. 'Just great, old man!' He chastised himself.

But it was too late.

Cursing under his breath, Methos took direction to the place where he had seen the interesting stranger who, by default, had brought up this misery. But the spot was empty.

The man was gone.

Irritated, Methos began looking around, thinking the man might just have slipped away to some other guest or the rest room. To no avail; he could not find him. It was as if the target of his interest had vanished without a trace. Maybe the man had left the time him and Mac were having their discussion, but still... Perhaps he could at least find out who the intriguing guy was. So, he found some couples who had been nearby and asked them about the man. Nothing. They didn't know him, had not even talked to him... at last, he found the host and repeated the question. The answer was astonishing.

"Who?" the old antique dealer who hosted the party asked.

Methos smiled, gave a short description of the stranger and made up some hints about a paper he was doing and he had heard the guy would possibly have some information about the subject. Unfortunately, he had missed him and did not know his address...

The old man shrugged regretfully.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Pierson, he must have been with some of the other guests. I don't know him. Perhaps he was accompanying somebody and had to leave early..."

Methos nodded politely, excused himself, and strolled back to the party.

Better and better! Now he was alone, had pissed of his lover, and had missed the possible "evening entertainment", even if he had only in mind to talk with the fellow.

And MacLeod had made good of his threat and was deeply occupied with his antiquer friend and the girl, who was devouring him with her eyes, openly flirting. Methos felt miserable, and more angry by the minute. He still believed Mac's hints had been only banter, but he could not help the nagging doubt rising in his guts. He had enough. Swiftly, he went to the entrance and retrieved his coat from the checkroom, leaving without even bothering to tell his lover. The cold night air did little to calm him. Deciding to take a walk, Methos shrugged and headed past the waiting cabs into the softly illuminated streets.

TBC