Music Lessons by Diana DeShaun September 1998 Disclaimer: Rysher and Panzer/Davis Productions own the original characters. Hopefully they will be making use of them soon, but until then they decided to stay with me for a little while. I'll send them back as soon as they're needed for filming. Warning: Rated NC-17 M/M for same-sex sexual content. Use the delete key now if you are under the legal age in your locality or if that isn't to your taste. Author's Notes: Feedback always desired! Please write with thoughtful commentary or generous praise ;-) [email protected] -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Music Lessons Watching his pencil tapping a rock and roll beat in time to the music reverberating around him, Duncan MacLeod had to grin as he sat in the office of his dojo. He had come down here so late, partly because he needed to work on the books, and partly because Methos had needed a little privacy to work on his chronicles. Apparently, quiet wasn't a requirement. Duncan realized he'd been staring at the same column of figures for the last ten minutes and shook his head in amused resignation. After a prolonged absence, the old Immortal had suddenly shown up three weeks ago. When Methos had appeared at the door, bag in hand, obviously straight from the airport, Duncan had been ridiculously gratified that the old man had come to the dojo first. He hoped it meant Methos had missed him as much as he'd missed Methos. But if he had, Methos had kept that little revelation to himself. Which brought Duncan back to the present. Even though it seemed impossible for Methos to be getting any work done with all that noise, he was reluctant to go back upstairs. After twenty-one days, He was still treading carefully, trying to give Methos plenty of space. Methos was so...skittish. If he felt the least bit confined or smothered, he'd bolt. Duncan was certain of that. It had happened more than once. He'd been a little afraid it would happen again after last night. They'd spent the evening at Joe's, as they had a million times before. And, at first, the evening had been no different from the others. But as it progressed, Duncan had felt a growing sense of awareness, almost an uneasiness that seemed to isolate the two of them from the rest of the club. It had started with one of Methos' usual outlandish stories. Somehow, instead of laughing at the old man's descriptions, Duncan had found himself staring in fascination at Methos' expressive hands and mobile lips. He'd been acutely embarrassed to realize that Methos had stopped talking and was staring right back. Trying to cover his lapse, Duncan reached for the bottle of scotch Joe had left on the table just as Methos did. Both men froze at the same instant, their hands overlapping on the smooth glass. Like a ridiculous clich�, they just sat there, touching and staring until a burst of applause jerked them back to their surroundings. They'd spent the rest of the evening being scrupulously correct to one another. No quips. No barbs. Nothing. Joe had been so unnerved by their behavior, he'd called afterwards to make sure they were both all right. Duncan still wasn't exactly sure what had happened between the two of them. All he knew was that he hadn't been so aware of every nuance, every breath from another person for a very long time. The fact that it was Methos only made it more confusing. Sighing, Duncan admitted he wouldn't change a moment of the previous night, even if he could. Hell, he wouldn't change a moment of the last three years. Funny how much he craved the old man's presence. There was a vast difference between his life with Methos in it and his life without him. Duncan definitely preferred its present configuration. Everything just seemed...better, richer somehow, with Methos around to put in his cynical two cents' worth. Duncan had always deliberately avoided analyzing his feelings about the ancient Immortal too deeply. Certainly, he'd acknowledged the friendship, even the comradely affection that had seemed to spring up between them the day they'd met, but, if pressed to look beneath the easygoing surface of their relationship, Duncan demurred time and time again. Then came the Horsemen. We're through...God, he still couldn't believe he'd said that. He hadn't meant it, not even at that very instant. Heart sick, hanging on to his emotional control by a thread, he should've realized then that a casual friend, even a comrade, wouldn't have reduced him to the depth of rage and grief he felt. Duncan shook his head ruefully. Thank God it was over. His relationship with Methos had survived. If they weren't quite back to where they had been before, the very fact that Methos was here, and had, in fact, been here for three weeks, had to mean something. Duncan wondered, though, if Methos would ever acknowledge what he had known for some time. The two of them needed each other. There was a connection between them, ultimately reinforced by the events at Bordeaux, that was immutable. Duncan MacLeod had always needed people, to help, to love, to protect, but this was different. Methos certainly didn't need his protection, and, while he'd allowed Duncan to deal with Kronos, Methos patently didn't need his help either. Which left... Jumping to his feet, Duncan strode out of his office and into the darkened gym. The old man had been acting distant all day, no doubt in reaction to last night's idiocy. Running a distracted hand through his hair, Duncan shrugged. It was a simple matter of companionship, for God's sake. If a five-thousand-year-old man wasn't adult enough to admit that he needed to be around friends, then Duncan was just going to have to do it for him. After all, friends were important to Duncan. Methos was important to Duncan. He wasn't sure exactly why he needed Methos, but Duncan readily admitted, to himself at least, that he did. Now, he just had to find the right opportunity to say it to Methos. Maybe if Methos knew, he wouldn't be so eager to disappear again. Then again, maybe it would drive him away permanently. As Duncan returned to his desk, the same agonizing possibilities that had hounded Duncan's thoughts and held his tongue immobile for three weeks began to clamor through his brain, adding to the cacophony of the music. Suddenly, Duncan realized the tenor of the songs had changed. Hot driving rhythms had given way to something slower, more sensual, maybe even a little sad. Duncan shivered. That was damned odd. Methos had claimed the loud pounding beats inspired him, but this music was more of a low visceral throb. There was no way Methos could be working as he listened to that. Duncan couldn't stand it any longer. He had to see what the old man was doing. Pushing back from his desk, he turned off the lights and left his office, making his way across the darkened dojo and heading for the stairs. No use clanking up in the elevator and making a lot of noise, on the off-chance Methos was still working. Besides, using the stairs just might mean he'd catch the ancient Immortal unawares. They'd never really been out of each other's presence all day, so there was no reason Methos should particularly react to his increased proximity now. Duncan wasn't exactly sure why he wanted to catch his de facto house mate with his guard down, but he was going to try to do just that. As he reached the door to the loft, the music abruptly stopped. A puzzled frown flitting across his face, Duncan quietly opened the door and peered inside. Methos was standing at the stereo system poking at the controls. He was muttering to himself. "Where is it? Where is it? Come on now...ah, there you are." Pushing one last button to lower the volume, the old man stepped back as the opening notes of the same song filled the air again. His back to Duncan, the ancient Immortal moved to stare out a dark window. Moving quietly, Duncan eased inside and shut the door behind him. Taking the rare opportunity to study his friend unnoticed, he drank in the sight as the singer began the first verse. And I'd give up forever to touch you Cause I know that you feel me somehow You're the closest thing to heaven that I'll ever be And I don't want to go home right now Duncan shivered again as he studied the man outlined against the night. He knew, from their spars, that Methos wasn't at all the skinny grad student he played to the world. The form fitting white t-shirt hugged the sleek lines of a runner's body. As his eyes traveled further, to linger on the loose sweatpants hanging haphazardly on one hip, Duncan found himself wondering if the flesh on the bottom half of Methos' body was as smooth and white as that on his top half. Abashed at the directions his thoughts were taking, Duncan snorted in embarrassed amusement. Even across the room, he saw Methos' shoulders tense as if he was reacting to a blow. Duncan responded to Methos' movement, crossing the room to his friend in a blink. Determining that now was the time to tell Methos that he needed him in his life, Duncan came up close behind the old Immortal and placed a hand on his shoulder. It was as hard and unyielding as stone, but heat rose up to sear Duncan's fingers. Still staring out the window, Methos spoke quietly, the strain in his voice evident, "Go away, MacLeod." "Methos, I--" "I said go away, Highlander. Otherwise, you might find yourself subjected to a very unseemly display." Tightening his grip, Duncan forced the other man to turn and face him. "What sort of display?" Shaking his head, Methos refused to meet Duncan's eyes. For long moments, there was silence between them, broken only by the strains of the song still playing in the background. Finally, Methos heaved a sigh. The tension in his slender shoulders lessened, and he began to speak. "Fifty centuries, Duncan. I've been alive for fifty centuries. Do you have any idea how much...how many I have lost during that time?" At last, he raised tormented hazel eyes to stare at the other man still standing so close. Duncan could only shake his head wordlessly as he hung on to the old Immortal, suddenly uncertain if he was supporting the old man or if Methos was supporting him. Methos smiled a bitter, self-deprecating smile. "Neither do I. And that's not even the worst of it, the irony of it. I just realized...none of them knew me. None of them." Forcing himself to focus on the ancient Immortal's words, Duncan rasped hoarsely, "What are you talking about, old man?" Methos reached up to clasp the Highlander's strong arms, suddenly desperate to make him understand. "They didn't know me. Alexa....my beautiful Alexa, I tried to give her the very best of what I was....every good and noble drop that I could still wring out of me. And then there was Kronos..." "Methos..." "No, Mac. Listen. I rode with Kronos for a thousand years. I mined the depths of my own inhumanity." With a painful parody of a smile, Methos continued, "The good, the bad and the ugly. I've been different things at different times to different people. But, I've never been able to just be me--" Listening intently, Duncan raised his other hand to stroke the side of Methos' face. He understood. Although he couldn't claim to know the extent of what Methos must have experienced, Duncan had felt the same sense of alienation, of aloneness often enough himself. It was...tiring, always having to be what someone else expected you to be. He cast desperately about for words of comfort, interrupting the old Immortal's explanation. "But Methos, surely now that's changed. There are people who know you, know Methos and accept you. Richie, Amanda, Joe..." Leaning in to the warm palm that still cupped his cheek, Methos swayed closer to his friend's comforting warmth. "You know better, Duncan. Richie, for all his smart ass comments, is still waiting for me to start acting like the other Methos he met. Amanda finds me deliciously dangerous, but that's only because she's allowed herself to forget what the world was once like." "And Joe?" "Ah, Joe." Methos smiled a little. "I could almost concede to Joe. He does know about more of my 'warts' than most, and he's never judged me. I value Joe a great deal, but the fact remains that Joe and I are friends, very good friends, but that's all. I know it's terribly selfish of me to want someone who feels more than ..." Methos suddenly stopped, shrugged and tried to pull away. When it became clear that Duncan had no intentions of releasing him, he sighed. "Mac, we're about to get to the unseemly display part again. The smart move would be to let me leave now." Pressed later to name the impulse that guided his next action, Duncan might have been able to come up with a reasoned response, but at that moment, he only knew what he felt. Methos hurt, and Duncan had to help him. Suddenly, his arms were encircling Methos and pulling him tightly against his chest. A warm breath caressed the ancient Immortal's ear as Duncan whispered, "Not gonna happen, Methos. You've categorized everybody but me, haven't you? What about me, old man? What about me?" "Yes...and then there's you." Duncan waited, holding his breath in the sudden silence. Methos' next words had become vitally important to him. Then an amazing thing happened. Methos closed his eyes and relaxed into the Highlander's embrace. His head came to rest in the crook of Duncan's neck as he wrapped his arms snugly around the younger Immortal. His heart leaping within his chest, Duncan responded in kind, tightening his own hold and bending his head until his cheek rested against the other man's velvety dark hair. He couldn't remember anything ever feeling so right, so inevitable, as the way Methos felt against him. "What about me, Methos?" He asked again. "Where do I fit?" "A very good question, Duncan. A very good question." The old man's words were muffled, just the softest hint of warm air teasing at Duncan's throat. "I cannot tell you how many times I've ask myself that exact same thing." Duncan realized that though his aim was to comfort the old man, he too needed reassurance. Duncan�s body was racked with almost constant tremors, and he tightened his arms convulsively. Burrowing even closer, Methos chuckled quietly then whispered roughly, "It's this damn song, MacLeod. I was doing fine until I started listening to this damn song." Peripherally, Duncan registered the fact that Methos must have put the stereo on continuous replay as the same song continued to swirl through the loft. He struggled to focus in on the words, sensing that they could tell him something significant. And all I can taste is this moment And all I can breathe is your life Cause sooner or later it's over I just don't want to miss you tonight And I don't want the world to see me Cause I don't think that they'd understand When everything's made to be broken I just want you to know who I am Oh God. Heat surged through Duncan's body as he forced himself to think about what he wanted to do next. Since Bordeaux, he'd acknowledged to himself that he needed Methos. Now he took it a step further: he also wanted Methos. He wanted this man with every fiber of his being, and had, in fact, wanted him since that first day in Paris. Without relaxing the circle of his embrace, Duncan fumbled on the desk for the remote control. Turning off the song, he turned his full attention back to the man in his arms. "Methos, look at me. Methos." Slowly, slowly, gold green eyes rose to meet chocolate brown ones. A rough square hand again came up to caress a pale cheek. Duncan's breath was warm and sweet as he whispered, "I do know you, Methos. I do." Mesmerized by the other's closeness, Methos nodded finally. "I know you do, Mac. The good, the bad and the ugly." A smile quirking his full lips, Duncan shook his head. "No. Not ugly, old man. I know the good in you, and I know the bad. But ugly? Nothing about you is ugly, Methos." A callused thumb stretched to rub gently over patrician lips. "Nothing." Methos gasped as the electricity, building between the two of them for so long, spread from that one touch, sending tendrils of fire to incinerate his powers of speech. He wanted to open his mouth to protest, to stop Duncan before something irredeemable occurred. These sensations, these feelings couldn't be what they seemed. A joke, a sarcastic comment, something had to be done to stop the man. But the words died unspoken as he felt Duncan's other hand begin to creep up under his shirt and along his bare back. Moving carefully, Duncan let his lips whisper across the path blazed by his thumb. With nips and nibbles he coaxed the old Immortal's lips to part and allow his tongue to slip inside. Tentatively he swept in, touching and exploring with the utmost care. When Methos' own tongue glided slickly against Duncan's, the Highland warrior felt a wave of hot triumph at the old man's willing surrender. But then, with a moan, Methos jerked backwards out of Duncan's embrace, stumbling against the desk. Raising a shaking arm to swipe across his sensitized lips, the ancient Immortal ask in a quavering voice, "MacLeod! Just what do you think you're doing?" Narrowing his eyes, Duncan studied the man before him. Methos was gasping for air like a man who'd just run in a marathon, his eyes, shocked but steely, fixed on Duncan's. Skittish, so skittish. Duncan knew that Methos would back away if he let him -- figuratively and literally. A decisive response seemed called for. Yet, Duncan just couldn't seem to force the words out. Telling Methos that he both needed and wanted him desperately might get just what Duncan hoped for. Then again, it might not. Deciding to take a page from his sly friend's book, Duncan took a more devious route. Smiling, he casually stepped forward, effectively pinning the other man against the desk. "I'm just trying to keep you from making a liar out of yourself, Methos." In light of that perplexing statement, Methos forgot that he was straining back, trying to stay away from MacLeod, and he thrust his chin forward aggressively. "That's about the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Just how are your strong arm tactics going to keep me honest?" Duncan met Methos, nose to nose. Growling low in his throat, he said, "First of all, that was hardly against your will. Secondly, you've been promising me an unseemly display ever since I walked in here, old man. If what I've seen so far is the best you can do, I have to tell you I'm a little disappointed." Struck speechless, Methos gaped at his erstwhile friend. Finally, he found his voice and asked in a mild tone, "Are you trying to make me feel better by insulting me? You've been watching too much educational television again, Mac." Adopting a bantering tone, Duncan ground his forehead briefly against his ancient friend's, playfully bumping his nose. "Oh yeah?" Methos shook his head, amused in spite of himself. One minute MacLeod had been all concern and compassion about his lonely millennial journey through life, the next, the Immortal world's most famous lover of women was kissing him with so much heat and fury that he could barely think. Now this four-hundred-year-old man was behaving like a big, overgrown kid. Methos wasn't sure which state he found more irritating, or more arousing. He pushed Duncan firmly away and stepped clear of the confines of his arms. Taking a deep breath, Methos met the younger Immortal's questioning gaze and said, "MacLeod, you are a constant source of amazement to me. Although most people wouldn't go to such dramatic lengths to cheer me up, I appreciate it, really I do, but you don't have to do this." He gestured vaguely around with his hands. Snorting in exasperation, Duncan said, "Methos, think. You know me, too. Have you ever known me to do something I didn't want to do?" Opening his mouth, then closing it again in perplexity, Methos was a picture of comic befuddlement. Now. Taking a deep breath, Duncan continued, "Methos, I've had a lot of time to think lately -- too much, maybe. But, I've come to some conclusions that I have to share with you. Come and sit down." Taking the old man by the arm, Duncan led him unresistingly to the couch. Sinking into the pillows in his usual corner, Methos still sounded unsteady. "All right. Talk." Deliberately choosing to sit next to the other man, Duncan found himself trying to read the shuttered features mere inches away. "I don't know if I ever got around to telling you Methos, but I...I missed you terribly while you were gone. I missed you so much that I wanted to ask you...to tell you....Oh, hell! I need you here, old man. In fact, I just need you, period. I don't know why it happened or how, but I know it's true." "Go on." "Okay." Duncan realized that he was having a little trouble breathing. He swallowed once and shut his eyes as if in prayer that he could say what he needed to say next. "I realized something else tonight. Not only do I need you, Methos, I want you. Any way. All ways." This time the wariness was very apparent. "You need me here, and you want me here. I see. Is that it?" "No, that's not it at all. Yes, I need you here. But, I don't want you here. I mean, I do want you, but here has nothing to do with it. I'd still want you whether it was in Timbuktu or Bugtussle." The slightest quirk of humor lightened his voice as Methos asked, "Bugtussle?" With a growl of exasperation, Duncan leaned forward and pressed against the old Immortal, effectively pinning him to the corner of the couch. "Playing the callow youth won't work with me, Methos. You know exactly what I mean. I know you feel it too. I want you." He ground his hips against the other man's so there could be no mistake. With a mighty heave, Methos threw Duncan off him and onto the floor. Before the Highlander had a chance to roll to a sitting position, Methos had stepped past him to the elevator. Grabbing his coat as he flung up the grate, Methos hesitated. He stared across the room at Duncan, his eyes seeming to glow like a cat's. Finally, he stepped inside the elevator. "I'm going to Joe's. I need a drink. Or ten." Then he punched the button and vanished. Rising first to his hands and knees and then to his feet, Duncan said to the world at large, "That certainly went well." Pulling on his coat, he took a moment to find his keys, then went out the door, feeling a sudden need for a bottle or two himself. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When he got to Joe's, Duncan had no trouble spotting Methos slumped in the corner at their usual table. Striding up to grab a chair, he noticed the empty glass sitting in front of it. "Expecting someone?" "Sit down, MacLeod." The two men sat in silence, steadily depleting the level in the bottle they shared. Finally, knowing that Methos was quite capable of just sitting there until Joe tossed them out, Duncan spoke. "If you're waiting on me to say I'm sorry..." Shaking his head, Methos interjected, "No. You have no reason to be sorry, Duncan. You just made a mistake. Got a little confused in the heat of the moment. It's happened to me before, too. Don't worry about it." Unable to believe what he was hearing, Duncan narrowed his eyes and fixed the ancient Immortal with a hard stare. "Oh is that right? Well isn't that magnanimous of you? Great explanation. Too bad it's full of shit." "What? You know MacLeod, I'm trying to be sensible about this but really--we are friends, Mac. Friends! You have never had any other feelings for me....and I have no other feelings for you." "Shit again. Prove it." "Wh-what?" "I said--no never mind, I'll prove it for you." Reaching under the table, Duncan placed his hand over Methos' thigh and squeezed. The old man jumped as if he'd been goosed with a cattle prod. "Stop that! What are you doing?" "Helping you prove that you feel nothing for me. How am I doing so far? Hmmm....let's see. What about this?" Leaning forward Duncan placed his lips against Methos' ear and blew. Tiny shivers ran down the old man's neck as he held himself rigidly still. Then something hot and wet began to paint whorls around his earlobe, feeding the flames licking at his control until Methos nearly moaned aloud as he jerked his chair away from his tormentor. Sitting back with grim satisfaction etched on his features, Duncan reached out and dragged Methos' chair across the wooden floor until it was flush against his own. Imprisoning the older man's hand, he leaned forward again until Methos could feel the dance of breath on his face. "Tell me, Methos. Look me in the eyes and tell me you feel nothing." Oblivious to their public surroundings, Methos shook his head. "You know I can't do that. When it comes to you, I've never been able to feel nothing. No matter how much smarter and safer it would be. But Duncan, don't you see? We can need each other and still be friends. I can deal with that -- we have that. But the rest..." "Stop. Will you come home with me now and talk about it? Without running away?" Squeezing the fingers still clasped within his own, Methos nodded soberly, "Yes, Duncan. I'll come talk about it. Joe's patrons are expecting musical entertainment, not grand spectacle." Chuckling, MacLeod stood, drawing his companion with him. "Let's go." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Back at the loft, Duncan returned immediately to the previous conversation. Propelling Methos forward, he urged him back down onto the couch. "Now. You were saying that we need each other?" he prompted. Smiling a bit, Methos willingly jumped back into the fray. "Yes, Duncan. I need you, and I suppose you need me too. Maybe for the same reasons. That's fine, that's better than fine. But as for wanting each other, we don't..." Methos strangled on the words as Duncan lifted his palm and began to draw lazy circles on it with his tongue. "Okay, okay!" he gasped. "We do, but Mac, can't you see that's not enough?" "I've wanted you, wanted this for so long, and I never even realized it. This is how we are supposed to be, Methos. Surely you can see that too." Making one last desperate attempt for coherency, Methos rasped, "No! You want me now, but what about next week or next year? You can get laid anywhere Duncan, but I can't do it like that anymore." He drew in a broken breath. "I can't have meaningless sex with you, MacLeod. I can do 'need'. I can even do 'want', as long as it's from a distance. Without the rest, without all of it..." He trailed off, suddenly realizing just what he had said to the other man. Duncan felt like a man released from a cell he had never thought to breach. It was all finally falling into place. No wonder Methos occupied his thoughts both waking and sleeping. No wonder he felt as if a part of himself were missing when the old man wasn't near. Now, with the solid living heat of Methos under his hands, Duncan was able to admit the final truth: He loved Methos. He loved Methos. The anguished expression on the face so near his own had finally forced Duncan to acknowledge what his heart, his soul, had always known. "Good," he whispered. "Because I can't have meaningless sex with you either, old man. We are connected. There's a part of you in here," he gestured at his chest. "And there's a part of me.... During one of the darkest times of my life, you said something that touched me, even through all the hate and fear." Placing his palm over Methos' heart, Duncan quoted softly, "You are not alone, Methos. Not out here, and not in there. I love you." Methos' eyes were liquid, awash in green-gold fire. "Are you sure, Duncan? Are you very sure? Because if you're not, I need for you to tell me now, before..." His voice trailed off as Duncan raised a long finger and traced a meandering path down his throat. "Before what? Before it's too late? I think it's been too late for both of us for a very long time now. Don't you?" Struck by the simple truth, Methos noticed that Duncan's finger had found its way to the tight nub of his nipple. As Duncan began to flick it mercilessly through the thin fabric, Methos answered breathlessly, "Too late...Gods, MacLeod, I hope so." Leaning forward to capture the other man's lips, the Highlander echoed Methos' words, "Gods, Methos, I know so." Methos� mouth answered fully and immediately as it opened under Duncan's. Far from needing to be coaxed, Methos' tongue met Duncan's in a duel as old as mankind, darting and tasting in all corners of the Highlander's mouth. Duncan moaned and pressed himself deeper into the pliant man beneath him. A torrent of sensation began to rage as the heat rose in them both. In the last eddy of peace before the storm broke, Duncan pulled Methos to his feet and quickly stripped first himself and then Methos bare. The thunder of Methos' pulse clamored for Duncan's attention like a beacon as he buried his face in the old Immortal's neck. A tide of color spread from the contact point and flowed down Methos' chest. When Duncan's lips began to follow, Methos tangled his fingers in Duncan's hair and urged him onward, to outpace the heated flow. Holding Duncan's head in a vice-like grip, Methos pulled it tightly against the rock-like nubs rising above the plain of his chest. "More, MacLeod. Harder. More." Obligingly, Duncan responded with a barely restrained ferocity. This was no gentle, tender joining, but a wild near-savage mating of two equal forces willingly coming together. As Duncan continued his journey, following the path blazed as Methos' arousal spread, he could feel Methos arching up to meet him. They found themselves lying on the bed, both seeking an anchor from the maelstrom. Battered by the force of their desires, neither man claimed supremacy over the other. Finally, Duncan swept upward, his teeth sinking into the corded muscle at the base of Methos' neck, while the old man reached between them and gathered both erections in his long-fingered grasp. Pumping furiously, Methos brought them both over the edge together just as Duncan bit down savagely, drawing blood. The exquisite, painful ecstasy of it had Methos shuddering as Duncan collapsed against him. Tongue lapping gently at the last droplets of blood on Methos' neck, Duncan was replete, satiated, at peace. He could feel Methos' pleasure as surely as he felt his own. Raising his head, Duncan wanted to tell Methos that it was true, that they were connected, that he was loved, but Methos spoke first, "I know, Duncan. I know. I love you too." Lowering his head back onto the smooth expanse of the older Immortal's chest, Duncan smiled to himself and drifted off to sleep with the steady thrum of his lover's heart beating a soft cadence with his own. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Grinning as the empty gym around him vibrated with the loud thrum of rock and roll music, Duncan MacLeod drew a contented breath. Methos was supposedly working on his chronicles again, but Duncan had serious doubts. If the music was loud enough down here to rattle his teeth, it had to be playing serious havoc with the old man's ability to spin yarns. Then again.... Duncan's grin widened as a thought occurred to him. The last time Methos had been listening to music, it had played a very important part in the events that followed. Maybe this time.... Laughing aloud, Duncan bounded into the elevator, intent on seeing just what his lover was up to. Whatever the deep metaphysical meaning of Jungle Love turned out to be, Duncan knew it had to be something...big. =the end= ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ back to Main page                                       back to Highlander fanfic                          email:  [email protected]

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