Highlander Fic: FMC#10
Dec. 23rd, 2003 09:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hafitalSo, in the midst of the insanity, I've managed to squeeze out another story for the the Highlander Fifteen Minute Challenge. It'll be up on the site later this week, but I'm impatient so here it is.
Graciously beta-ed by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
killabeez.
for Taselby
for Killa
Methos stood outside the barge, admiring the lazy drift of gray fog that floated above the moving water of the Seine, occasionally licking the stone walls. The rays of a dying sun painted the edges of his vision with golden light, almost warm after the chilly walk from his flat. He stepped on to the gangplank.
MacLeod emerged, dark eyes capturing his in a long, suspended moment. Standing there, waiting, Methos wondered when it was that he had lost the ability to look into MacLeod's eyes and know his thoughts. MacLeod stood silent and unmovable, but his eyes spoke of things Methos was afraid to understand. And then the moment passed, as simple as breathing.
"What are you doing here?" MacLeod said gruffly, but with enough underlying affection that Methos relaxed before he realized he was tense.
"My car broke down."
"And?"
"And, I need a ride." Methos paused, then added, "I thought we'd go
together," said with just a touch of insecurity, a touch of sadness.
MacLeod's eyes shifted color; Methos looked away. Perhaps it was too soon, after the blood and death of Bordeaux, to wish for things outside the realm of possibility. Perhaps MacLeod and he were lost to each other. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. Perhaps he was a fool.
MacLeod stepped closer. "Come inside," he said quietly, as the sun sank and disappeared behind the Paris lights. "Have you eaten? Joe's not expecting us till later."
And Methos blinked past the sudden heat in his face, taken unawares. He followed MacLeod down into the hold.
****
Dinner was quiet, with hills and valleys of silence and the conversation roamed over everything but the long shadow of their lives. Mac cooked and Methos watched him, and after dinner they sat in semi-darkness with a bottle of wine.
"Where's Amanda?" Methos asked.
MacLeod glowered slightly. "She left yesterday morning."
"Still upset?" Methos smiled, thinking of Amanda's little trick with the police.
"Are you asking for me or for Amanda?" Brisk, eyes glinting.
"The answer is yes, then." Said with just a hint of derision, almost against his will. Dangerous territory, but Methos was unable to let it go.
"It was none of your business. You shouldn't have interfered." Insistent, and also tired.
"She was worried about you, Mac." He said it quietly, by way of apology.
Mac looked at him, eyes unreadable, not answering. Methos looked away, suddenly uncomfortable under the keen, brown-eyed perception. The question hung silent in the air:
*And you? Were you worried?*
~~~~~
MacLeod turned the key in the ignition. The Citroen's engine turned over, made a
grinding noise, and then fizzled out.
Methos looked at MacLeod.
MacLeod looked at Methos. "Oh, no." He turned the key again. This time there was a
choked, whirring sound before the car sputtered and died.
Methos bit his lip.
"I can't believe this," MacLeod said, outraged. "I just had it looked at last week." Methos started laughing, unable to stop himself.
"Oh, go ahead and laugh. This is all your fault." He turned the key again -- nothing.
"Mine?!"
"Yeah, yours." MacLeod popped the hood before opening his door and storming out to look at the engine.
"Must be the day for it," said Methos, following Mac, still smiling gleefully. He came up behind MacLeod, who was looking intently at the insides of his car, and muttering under his breath. He threw back a glare for good measure.
Methos peered helpfully over his shoulder. He hadn't a clue what could be wrong (starter? battery? the whosiwhatsit over there with the thingamabob?). He could change a tire and check the oil, and if hard-pressed, he could actually change the oil, but he'd never bothered to learn more once the invention of the mechanic came about.
MacLeod slapped his hand away and then gave him the keys. "Go start the car, will you?"
"Mac, we're going to be late. Let's just get a cab. You can fiddle with it later."
"Go," he said firmly, with a slight push. Methos obeyed, slipping into the driver's seat.
"Tell me when," he yelled out the window.
"Now," came the response. He attempted to start the car. The engine made an effort, but then gave up.
MacLeod cursed. Methos grinned. It was unfortunate, true, but he couldn't help but think the whole situation terribly amusing.
There was a bit of a pause, then he heard MacLeod call, "Again."
Methos, deciding he should be helpful, carefully started the car, making sure he gave enough gas and gently turned the ignition. The engine turned over once, sounding like it was going to die again, and then suddenly roared to life.
There was a triumphant "Aha!" from MacLeod. Methos got out, standing next to the purring car.
"Piece of cake." MacLeod rubbed his hands together, grinning from ear to ear in a master-of-his-domain kind of way. Methos merely smirked at him and let him have his little moment, going 'round to the passenger side.
"Ready?"
"By all means."
Still grinning, MacLeod put the car into the proper gear, and -- it lurched and then stalled, puttering to a dead silence.
MacLeod dropped his head onto the steering wheel; Methos made small choking noises while attempting to smother his laughter before giving up and just laughing out right.
"Oh, shut up."
Methos laughed even harder.
~~~~~
As luck would have it there was some big event going on and not a taxi to be found in all of Paris, so after a few fruitless moments staring up and down the street, they walked to the Metro.
Grumpy, MacLeod remained silent, and Methos, having finally stopped laughing, let him alone, enjoying the whisper of companionship that slowly blossomed between them, like before.
The Metro station bustled with Parisians, unusually crowded for so late in the evening. They paid for two tickets and then waited on the busy platform. A train came and they barely made it, squeezing in before the doors closed.
They were pressed close, and Methos attempted to move so as not to crowd MacLeod, but the train lurched and he fell forward.
Hands on his arms, catching him. He looked at MacLeod. Warm, amused eyes smiled at him. Stepping back, Methos thought it was suddenly very warm in the car.
Stop after stop, more people entered the train car. They pushed and pushed, and there was nowhere to go but up against MacLeod. Methos looked at the floor. He looked at the girl next to him, and the man on the other side. He looked just to the left of MacLeod, intensely aware of the sudden inescapable knowledge of MacLeod's heat, and the slight smell of his cologne, tickling his nose. The invasion of privacy took his breath away. MacLeod shifted next to him, and Methos gritted his teeth.
Someone pushed him, and before he knew it his eyes locked onto MacLeod's. The thought came back to him, from earlier, about losing the ability to read MacLeod's eyes, but there it was again. And what was MacLeod doing but laughing at him. The bugger. A smirk on his face, teasing, telling him he knew *exactly* what was going on in Methos' head.
"I don't bite. Much."
Methos narrowed his eyes and MacLeod chuckled, which Methos thought was only fair, considering his own humor earlier, but still, the bastard could have the decency to feel just a bit uncomfortable. They were on the bloody Metro, for God's sake, packed in like sardines, and he picks *now* to suddenly turn Methos' life upside down?
MacLeod put his arms around him, bringing him in closer; Methos stiffened, his heart beating wildly in sudden panic.
"Don't fight so much," came the whisper, and before he knew it he'd relaxed against MacLeod.
MacLeod looked at him, and Methos took a slow breath in. He saw loss and hope; he saw humor and joy; he saw comfort and desire.
MacLeod turned his head slightly to one side, his hands pressing Methos closer. Methos felt the warm puff of his breath against his skin. A wave of warm desire hit him, spreading out from his suddenly erect cock. Blindsiding him with the sudden, all too possible vision of MacLeod and sex--
*naked and needy and on his knees*
--and the heretofore unseen dream of completion.
Barely breathing, he watched MacLeod register the hardness that pressed up against him, his eyebrows lifting, a small smile growing, knowing eyes full of promises.
Perversely, MacLeod shifted against him. Bastard. Methos glared at him.
"Mac," he warned. MacLeod only smiled further, and then, in his expression, Methos saw fear -- fear of what could have happened. Of what they'd almost lost. MacLeod leaned in to brush his lips across Methos' cheek.
And then Methos was held in an embrace, arms tight around him. "Methos," MacLeod said, simply.
The back of Methos' throat closed, and he spared a fleeting thought for how a simple hug could completely unmake him. He blinked and then returned the embrace.
Nearly oblivious to his surroundings, he remembered to look up just as the Metro stopped at their destination.
With a rush of fresh air, they left the train, returning to the world. Shaken, Methos blindly followed. He felt MacLeod brush up against him and he looked over. MacLeod smiled sweetly, taking him by the wrist and pulling him in close.
"We have time," he said, kissing him on the forehead. "Come on. Joe said we shouldn't miss this new kid he found."
Methos stared at him, and nodded, and they walked to the bar side by side.
~~~~~
end.
This will likely be my last post till way after the holidays! Everyone, have a great Christmas and a Happy New Years. :)
Graciously beta-ed by
killabeez.for Taselby
for Killa
Methos stood outside the barge, admiring the lazy drift of gray fog that floated above the moving water of the Seine, occasionally licking the stone walls. The rays of a dying sun painted the edges of his vision with golden light, almost warm after the chilly walk from his flat. He stepped on to the gangplank.
MacLeod emerged, dark eyes capturing his in a long, suspended moment. Standing there, waiting, Methos wondered when it was that he had lost the ability to look into MacLeod's eyes and know his thoughts. MacLeod stood silent and unmovable, but his eyes spoke of things Methos was afraid to understand. And then the moment passed, as simple as breathing.
"What are you doing here?" MacLeod said gruffly, but with enough underlying affection that Methos relaxed before he realized he was tense.
"My car broke down."
"And?"
"And, I need a ride." Methos paused, then added, "I thought we'd go
together," said with just a touch of insecurity, a touch of sadness.
MacLeod's eyes shifted color; Methos looked away. Perhaps it was too soon, after the blood and death of Bordeaux, to wish for things outside the realm of possibility. Perhaps MacLeod and he were lost to each other. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. Perhaps he was a fool.
MacLeod stepped closer. "Come inside," he said quietly, as the sun sank and disappeared behind the Paris lights. "Have you eaten? Joe's not expecting us till later."
And Methos blinked past the sudden heat in his face, taken unawares. He followed MacLeod down into the hold.
****
Dinner was quiet, with hills and valleys of silence and the conversation roamed over everything but the long shadow of their lives. Mac cooked and Methos watched him, and after dinner they sat in semi-darkness with a bottle of wine.
"Where's Amanda?" Methos asked.
MacLeod glowered slightly. "She left yesterday morning."
"Still upset?" Methos smiled, thinking of Amanda's little trick with the police.
"Are you asking for me or for Amanda?" Brisk, eyes glinting.
"The answer is yes, then." Said with just a hint of derision, almost against his will. Dangerous territory, but Methos was unable to let it go.
"It was none of your business. You shouldn't have interfered." Insistent, and also tired.
"She was worried about you, Mac." He said it quietly, by way of apology.
Mac looked at him, eyes unreadable, not answering. Methos looked away, suddenly uncomfortable under the keen, brown-eyed perception. The question hung silent in the air:
*And you? Were you worried?*
~~~~~
MacLeod turned the key in the ignition. The Citroen's engine turned over, made a
grinding noise, and then fizzled out.
Methos looked at MacLeod.
MacLeod looked at Methos. "Oh, no." He turned the key again. This time there was a
choked, whirring sound before the car sputtered and died.
Methos bit his lip.
"I can't believe this," MacLeod said, outraged. "I just had it looked at last week." Methos started laughing, unable to stop himself.
"Oh, go ahead and laugh. This is all your fault." He turned the key again -- nothing.
"Mine?!"
"Yeah, yours." MacLeod popped the hood before opening his door and storming out to look at the engine.
"Must be the day for it," said Methos, following Mac, still smiling gleefully. He came up behind MacLeod, who was looking intently at the insides of his car, and muttering under his breath. He threw back a glare for good measure.
Methos peered helpfully over his shoulder. He hadn't a clue what could be wrong (starter? battery? the whosiwhatsit over there with the thingamabob?). He could change a tire and check the oil, and if hard-pressed, he could actually change the oil, but he'd never bothered to learn more once the invention of the mechanic came about.
MacLeod slapped his hand away and then gave him the keys. "Go start the car, will you?"
"Mac, we're going to be late. Let's just get a cab. You can fiddle with it later."
"Go," he said firmly, with a slight push. Methos obeyed, slipping into the driver's seat.
"Tell me when," he yelled out the window.
"Now," came the response. He attempted to start the car. The engine made an effort, but then gave up.
MacLeod cursed. Methos grinned. It was unfortunate, true, but he couldn't help but think the whole situation terribly amusing.
There was a bit of a pause, then he heard MacLeod call, "Again."
Methos, deciding he should be helpful, carefully started the car, making sure he gave enough gas and gently turned the ignition. The engine turned over once, sounding like it was going to die again, and then suddenly roared to life.
There was a triumphant "Aha!" from MacLeod. Methos got out, standing next to the purring car.
"Piece of cake." MacLeod rubbed his hands together, grinning from ear to ear in a master-of-his-domain kind of way. Methos merely smirked at him and let him have his little moment, going 'round to the passenger side.
"Ready?"
"By all means."
Still grinning, MacLeod put the car into the proper gear, and -- it lurched and then stalled, puttering to a dead silence.
MacLeod dropped his head onto the steering wheel; Methos made small choking noises while attempting to smother his laughter before giving up and just laughing out right.
"Oh, shut up."
Methos laughed even harder.
~~~~~
As luck would have it there was some big event going on and not a taxi to be found in all of Paris, so after a few fruitless moments staring up and down the street, they walked to the Metro.
Grumpy, MacLeod remained silent, and Methos, having finally stopped laughing, let him alone, enjoying the whisper of companionship that slowly blossomed between them, like before.
The Metro station bustled with Parisians, unusually crowded for so late in the evening. They paid for two tickets and then waited on the busy platform. A train came and they barely made it, squeezing in before the doors closed.
They were pressed close, and Methos attempted to move so as not to crowd MacLeod, but the train lurched and he fell forward.
Hands on his arms, catching him. He looked at MacLeod. Warm, amused eyes smiled at him. Stepping back, Methos thought it was suddenly very warm in the car.
Stop after stop, more people entered the train car. They pushed and pushed, and there was nowhere to go but up against MacLeod. Methos looked at the floor. He looked at the girl next to him, and the man on the other side. He looked just to the left of MacLeod, intensely aware of the sudden inescapable knowledge of MacLeod's heat, and the slight smell of his cologne, tickling his nose. The invasion of privacy took his breath away. MacLeod shifted next to him, and Methos gritted his teeth.
Someone pushed him, and before he knew it his eyes locked onto MacLeod's. The thought came back to him, from earlier, about losing the ability to read MacLeod's eyes, but there it was again. And what was MacLeod doing but laughing at him. The bugger. A smirk on his face, teasing, telling him he knew *exactly* what was going on in Methos' head.
"I don't bite. Much."
Methos narrowed his eyes and MacLeod chuckled, which Methos thought was only fair, considering his own humor earlier, but still, the bastard could have the decency to feel just a bit uncomfortable. They were on the bloody Metro, for God's sake, packed in like sardines, and he picks *now* to suddenly turn Methos' life upside down?
MacLeod put his arms around him, bringing him in closer; Methos stiffened, his heart beating wildly in sudden panic.
"Don't fight so much," came the whisper, and before he knew it he'd relaxed against MacLeod.
MacLeod looked at him, and Methos took a slow breath in. He saw loss and hope; he saw humor and joy; he saw comfort and desire.
MacLeod turned his head slightly to one side, his hands pressing Methos closer. Methos felt the warm puff of his breath against his skin. A wave of warm desire hit him, spreading out from his suddenly erect cock. Blindsiding him with the sudden, all too possible vision of MacLeod and sex--
*naked and needy and on his knees*
--and the heretofore unseen dream of completion.
Barely breathing, he watched MacLeod register the hardness that pressed up against him, his eyebrows lifting, a small smile growing, knowing eyes full of promises.
Perversely, MacLeod shifted against him. Bastard. Methos glared at him.
"Mac," he warned. MacLeod only smiled further, and then, in his expression, Methos saw fear -- fear of what could have happened. Of what they'd almost lost. MacLeod leaned in to brush his lips across Methos' cheek.
And then Methos was held in an embrace, arms tight around him. "Methos," MacLeod said, simply.
The back of Methos' throat closed, and he spared a fleeting thought for how a simple hug could completely unmake him. He blinked and then returned the embrace.
Nearly oblivious to his surroundings, he remembered to look up just as the Metro stopped at their destination.
With a rush of fresh air, they left the train, returning to the world. Shaken, Methos blindly followed. He felt MacLeod brush up against him and he looked over. MacLeod smiled sweetly, taking him by the wrist and pulling him in close.
"We have time," he said, kissing him on the forehead. "Come on. Joe said we shouldn't miss this new kid he found."
Methos stared at him, and nodded, and they walked to the bar side by side.
~~~~~
end.
This will likely be my last post till way after the holidays! Everyone, have a great Christmas and a Happy New Years. :)
