Keywords: NC-17, Highlander, DM/M, slash (WOO-HOO!), Romance (sigh!), and damn if this isn't a PWP.
Summary: A night at Joe's bar makes the ga-ga go good.
Disclaimer: Don't own the boys or "Someone to Watch Over Me". Oh, and "Packy" is short for "Paquita". :)
Author's note: Cheesy, corny, I know... but it's my first "sex on camera", so gimmee a break, here! (Mmmm... kitkat... ::drool::)
"I don't want to hear about anything you're doing as a group... That's just sick."
--Robbie
They sat in the low light in silence. It wasn't awkward. It wasn't pleasant. It simply was.
Driving Joe up the wall, that's what it was. How many years had they been doing this? And who had to live with it?
Not them. Oh, no, not those numbskulls. Honestly, did a more annoyingly oblivious pair of Immortals exist? Their sexual frustration only seemed to be frustrating him.
If only he could make a plan...
Smiling grimly, he wiped the bar down again.
"Poor Joe. Losing your touch at this early age." Methos chugged a bit of his beer and sighed happily.
"Are you feeling okay, Joe?" Mac asked. "You're not dying or anything, right?"
"Out of the three of us, I would be the one who is," the man grumped. "Look, I just needed a change of pace. And, these kids, they're popular with lots of age groups. Besides, I need a break. My voice is still recovering from that bout of laryngitis that was going around among us MORTALS."
"Easy there, Joe," Mac laughed.
The bartender grumped a little, but set out a few more drinks for the quickly-becoming overly-merry gentlemen at the other end of the bar.
It was about another half hour until the entertainment began. It came in the form of a group of young twenty-somethings who called themselves "The Band".
"Well, points for simplicity," Methos joked, taking another swig from his bottle.
And they weren't half-bad. The lead singer seemed a little stoned, but the drummer had a soul made of The Blues. They were entertaining. Nothing extraordinary, but good for background music to the "Great Beer of Methos".
The more the beer flowed, the weirder Methos got.
He kept hitting on the new waitress, whom Duncan heard comment rather malevolently to her friends about "that funny-looking man with The Nose". Though Methos wasn't amused, it didn't seem to deter him in any way, shape, or form from being as annoying as possible.
Duncan felt the insane urge to laugh, but he didn't wish to ostracize his drinking buddy. Besides, the waitress wouldn't appreciate his humor.
The Band had finished their 2nd set, but, though the others left the stage, the drummer stayed to adjust the lead singer's mike. She was soon joined by Joe, who brought his guitar with him.
Joe adjusted the microphone slightly. "I wasn't going to play tonight, but Packy talked me into it," he admitted to the uninterested audience. He soon began.
The drummer, "Packy", didn't return to her previous perch at the drums, but instead opened her mouth for the first time that night and began to sing in a thick, low voice.
There's a somebody I'm longing to see;
I hope that he turns out to be
Someone who'll watch over me.
Mac turned back to Methos to make some sort of crack, but the studying look on the other's face gave him pause. Not again! Why are you watching me, Old Man? "Adam?"
I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood;
I know I could always be good
To one who'll watch over me.
The older Immortal caught Duncan's gaze, and the humor slipped away as the emotions built. "MacLeod." His voice was husky and deep.
A little too husky and deep.
Although he may not be the man
Some girls think of as handsome,
To my heart he carries the key.
Duncan cleared his throat in an attempt to break the suddenly intense mood. "Yeah?"
Won't you tell him, please, to
Put on some speed,
Follow my lead.
Oh, how I need
Someone to watch over me.
"I..." He suddenly looked away. "... I think that Coney Dog I had earlier is getting to me."
Mac wasn't convinced, but he was suddenly very, very aroused.
In the back of their minds, they dimly noticed Joe joining the drummer of The Band in a simple harmony.
Won't you tell him, please, to
Put on some speed,
Follow my lead,
Oh, how I need
Someone to watch over me...
Duncan's throat was feeling suddenly dry, and he took a long drink from his beer while Methos did the same.
"Look, Old Man, I think it's about time we started heading home." Duncan looked to his friend for help, but he wasn't finding any.
"The night's still young." Methos was also sounding a little uncharacteristically unsure about what happened.
"We wouldn't want that food to make you sick. Besides, we have a big day tomorrow."
"..."
Someone to watch over me.
As the two finished the sweet and simple song, Methos stood and tossed some money on the table. "Come on, then, Highlander. Let's go."
The drive home was quiet and uncomfortable, but neither of them could change the air of strangeness between them. They entered the barge, still quiet and unsure of the line that had somehow been crossed.
Suddenly, Duncan realized that he was sick of this shit between them. "Okay, Methos, what's going on?"
"Excuse me, Highlander?"
"You've been doing this a lot lately. It's turning into a pattern!"
"What is?"
Duncan plunged on. "You've started acting funny! Then you ignore me for a while, play stupid, until finally you start acting like normal, only to be weird again!"
"Hey, who are you calling weird?!"
"I just want to know what's going on, Methos!"
"Nothing's going on! Just drop it!"
"I can't!"
"Stop being such a boy scout!"
"Stop being so mysterious!!"
"Fine!" Methos roared, slamming the other against the wall. "You want to know what's wrong??" Grabbing Duncan's face, Methos kissed him, hard.
A barrage of sensations streaked past MacLeod, almost too fast to identify: surprise, anger, arousal, passion, and finally, lust flooded past him at a surprising rate, and he dimly realized around Methos' mouth that he was enjoying himself.
All too soon, the wonderful mouth broke away, leaving an overwhelmed Highlander propped against the wall wondering what the Hell had just happened. "Methos...?"
"Nevermind, Highlander," the other replied shortly, pulling away.
MacLeod wouldn't hear of it, though, and energetically suctioned his lips to the other Immortal's.
The kiss was deep, and even more intense than their earlier look at the bar. It overwhelmed them like nothing previous, and they clutched at each other in desperation to keep the kiss going. Even so, they began to make their way towards the couch, Methos aggressively straddling Duncan. They were forced to pause for breath when the bulges in their pants came into contact.
"Methos..." Duncan moaned, hands stroking the other's back.
"MacLeod..." Methos whispered back in a strangled voice. His slender hands wove themselves even more deeply into his new lover's hair.
"Why didn't you say anything?" MacLeod demanded gently after he'd caught his breath, skimming his hands over the older man's sinewy muscles.
"Why didn't you?" Methos returned with an enigmatic grin. "'Lord, what fools these immortals be!'" he paraphrased with a dramatic flair.
A gentle kiss initiated itself, and their tongues intertwined again, lightly dancing, and quickly growing with more and more passion.
"I want to go slowly... do this right..." Mac interrupted the kiss.
"Next time," Methos returned, catching back that luscious, intriguing mouth and allowing his hands to caress the other ever so gently. As his legs spread a bit more and they each leapt to close the mere bits of space between them, their hips brushed together again, giving them a pause for another syllable.
"Bed."
They removed various articles of clothing on the way, leaving a trail of shirts, shoes, socks, and other assorted items that were no longer welcome in the struggle for more skin contact. By the time they arrived at the bed, everything was out of the way.
"Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, you are beautiful," Methos whispered before lavishing his attentions on a single nipple.
The Scot merely groaned, and rubbed his hands around the others back some more.
But, while Methos was devoted in his ministrations, he also was a firm believer in equality of attentions, and thus felt that, while Duncan's nipples were fascinating, he must move on to bigger and better things.
Much, MUCH better things.
Particularly the one that was quivering at attention.
Methos gave it an experimental tug. Duncan emitted a breathy cry and arched into the touch. "Methos!" Though he intended his tone to be stern, a "Stop-Playing-Around-And-Let's-Get-It-On-Already" sound, it came out as almost a plea of the "Doitagain!" timbre. His hands began to follow a similar path, and he buried his face in his partner's neck and attempted his darnedest to give his Methos a hickey.
Methos mewled a little, and rolled his head to the side to give Duncan better access. The Scot felt incredible, his firm body moving and interlocking with Methos', the fit practically natural. Methos groaned; he was losing himself in MacLeod, losing the distance he placed between himself and the world, himself and other immortals. How could so many years of effort be lost in a frantic twenty minutes of passion? It was unreal, unimaginable--that one kiss could end his reservations so thoroughly and make him need someone like he hadn't needed anyone in years. It had never been like this, so open and passionate and hot and real. It had never been anything as euphoric as this, and as frightening as that was, Methos couldn't let it go.
The decision had been made, and he thrust his eager penis against Duncan's upper thigh, pulling Duncan's with increased zeal. If Methos closed his eyes, he could feel something new and incredible bubbling up inside him, spreading from mid-chest to the farthest of his limbs, crawling and tingling, shouting that they were alive, alive and real, and the two men rocked together urgently, rubbing against each other, smoothing skin with unbelieving hands and desperate tongues.
They came together with a keening cry, gentle only because of their catching breath, splattering semen onto each other.
As Methos laid his head on his new lover's bronzed shoulder, he gave a happy sigh. "A guy could get used to this."
There was a moment of pleasant silence as they both assessed their personal damages.
"So that's what you were doing when you kept getting those funny looks."
Methos snorted a laugh. "Imagining you in bed, Highlander? Hardly. I was... Certain things just kept reminding me of you, and my feelings would hit me all over again. Last week at the market, it was that guy with his father, the ones who were arguing. He fought with a similar passion to yours, Mac. And tonight, at the bar, that sultry look that the drummer shot the audience before she started singing..." He shook his head. "You must think I'm insane." He gave a small sigh.
Duncan stroked his head gently as he felt sleep stealthily approach on the fringes of his consciousness. "I love you, Methos."
"Oh, Highlander." He buried his nose into the younger man's neck.
Duncan wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a gentle murmur as he slipped into his first truly happy dreams for a while: "I love you, MacLeod."
Joe looked around with a frown. "I guess they left."
"Oh, just great!" the lead singer of The Band cried, shaking his head. "That was a total waste of our time!"
Kelly, the keyboardist, shot her ex-boyfriend a glare as she secured her instrument to the rack. "Just shut up for once." Giving the cord one last tug to be sure of its tightness, she turned back to the owner of the bar. "Look, I'm sorry we didn't get to meet your friends."
Joe sighed and gave the bar another good wipe. "I am, too. I had this really great plan to stop them from dancing around each other. I was sure your "Only You" song with those additives and that little dialogue we had planned would do it..."
Kelly pushed a strand of her blond, curly hair out of her face. "Maybe next time. This was a good place to play; the audience really warmed to us in that last set. Anytime you're recovering from laryngitis again, just let us know." She grinned. "Really, though, I wonder why they left."
The drummer, still packing her drum set in the corner, simply shrugged.