This is my first HL fanfiction and a snippet at that. First slash fic. Luv feedback :)

A huge thanks to Verin Haley and Riley Cannon! They are both not only
talented writers but wonderful betas as well. All the mistakes that are left
are my own fault.

Disclaimer: No profit is made. This is for entertainment only.

Sorry for the cross posting.

Archive at Seventh Dimension if you want :) Call me a control freak,
but any others please ask.

Title: Waking Up
Author: Sheron
E-mail: misssheron at hotmail
Rating: PG-15 (slash, no sex)
Characters: M, DM
Comments: A first time story.
Summary: When you get drunk, you lose control.
Sometime you wake up in the arms of your best friend...

/../ - means a thought.
*..* - emphasis.

**********************************

"Oh my God," It was said quietly; the two eyes, open wide in terror,
stared up at the other, earthy-brown, confused ones. "Oh... bloody
hell!" he repeated, disentangling himself from the wide spread limbs
that were practically smothering him now.

Something dawned in MacLeod's gaze, as Methos expected it would, and
soon the emotion lingering in the air above them was boosted by
the same comment from the other man.

Each tried to be the first to move away, which - considering how
entangled they were in the sheets - only resulted in bringing them
closer together.

"Get off me!" Methos said with feeling and pushed the bigger body off
his.

The immediate outcome was that his arms became twisted underneath
MacLeod.

"I was bloody trying to when--" anything else MacLeod would have said
was silenced by a loud "Oomph" as they hit the floor, Methos on the
bottom. Oh, the thoughts that brought...

For the second that Methos needed to get ahold of the surroundings,
MacLeod stopped moving and glanced at him with concern, asking, "You
okay?"

"I'd be fine if one huge Scot wasn't blocking my air!" Methos
screeched, which had to take considerable effort, since he was, in
fact, gasping for the air knocked out of him because of the fall.

MacLeod resumed his efforts to disentangle himself, but accomplished it
only after inflicting severe trauma on the man pinned underneath him --
at least, that's what he judged by the volume of Methos' complains.

Once he could finally stand up and re-orient himself, he felt a tinge
of regret at placing this much distance between them.

Whatever Methos was thinking -- and by the look on his face, none of
his thoughts would be pleasant for Macleod -- Duncan knew that if
another opportunity came to touch the other man, he wouldn't miss it.
Not after waking up in each other's arms; not after having felt how
unimaginably soft his friend's skin was.

His friend. This required some thought.

They had both woken up with severe hangovers -- not at all surprising
after the night they'd had. It was a wonder he could still remember
bits and pieces of what had happened, and not all of it was his fault
either. And what bits and what pieces! Duncan's mind helpfully supplied
several pictures he would rather forget under the present
circumstances. He and Methos had put away an unbelievable quantity of
liquor at Joe's (and quality liquor too, he thought ruefully), and he
seemed to remember Amanda who hadn't join in giving them a ride home --
to his place that is. Some length of time after that was completely
blank -- how did she manage to get the two of them in? He didn't
recall her going in for weight lifting in the years he had known her.
But Duncan clearly remembered leaning forward -- oh yes, he remembered
that. He experienced another shiver, like the one last night as the
event actually happened. He remembered how his lips suddenly met an
obstacle. He remembered Methos looking at him -- bleary eyed, flushed,
and not completely in possession of himself -- then moving his lips. It
could only be describe as a kiss. Methos' lips, tasting of wine and
scotch, full and glowing, then a minute later, red and swollen as they
came up for air... The memory had him tingling all over then and now as
well.

He looked down at the man he had just tried so desperately to get away
from. Methos looked angry, frightened, disoriented, and beautiful --
not necessarily in that order -- as he pried away the last sheet
covering him.

Boxers! Thank God!

They were both clothed. He must have let out a sigh of relief because
the older immortal looked up sharply at him, then followed his gaze. He
stiffened. MacLeod felt too dizzy -- from relief or regret, he
couldn't tell -- to contemplate the feeling underneath the motion too
much.

"We are a mess," Methos ventured. He probably had the same ache in his
head.

"Uh-huh..." Duncan's voice trailed away; He cleared his throat and
tried again, "Wh- ...We... D-Do you remember what happened?" It was,
after all, his turn to talk.

"A bit too clearly for my comfort," came the -- tired? -- reply. Duncan
looked away so he wouldn't have to face the regrets on his friend's
face. "Do you?" Methos asked, and Duncan could only nod his head.

Silence reigned. Methos stood up as well and moved away from the bed as
if to separate himself from everything that happened.

"I was drunk--" They spoke at the same time, looking at each other --
then both looking quickly away as soon as their eyes met.

"We were drunk." Duncan said, offering the easy excuse.

"You want to take it back?" Methos obviously couldn't bring himself to say
'kiss'. He was fidgeting visibly now.

Duncan swore silently. He should have hurried and asked that question,
then the weight of the decision would have been all on Methos. Then
again, vulnerable as he looked right now, maybe it was better this way.
Methos was slouching so far down Duncan was afraid he would, in fact,
succeed in disappearing -- which was obviously The Wish of The Moment
for both of them.

"I think I need a shower." Better to let the Old Man wonder about the
answer than to burn any bridges. Although he wasn't about to tell
Methos that he was insane with the urge to touch him, he felt no need
to deny anything either. And if Methos wasn't as confused as he looked
the man would find it funny; and sarcasm on top of his current state
would be overkill.

Methos obviously was going to neither move nor speak, but at least he
stopped slouching and stood to his real height, leaving very little of
his body to imagination. And a well-sculpruted body it was, too, Mac
added to himself.

So all Duncan could do was utter a thin, "We need to talk," and move to
the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him. He really wished he
could lock his imagination away as well.

*****************

/Damn, if he went any faster, he'd have to run. / Methos wanted to
break something -- something really rare and expensive. Preferably
belonging to Macleod. Duncan's rapid disappearance didn't do much for
his confidence, and that was one thing he was seriously lacking this
morning. He was not lacking in fear and carpet burns, and neither were
improving his mood much.

/He didn't say he wanted to forget though./ Methos reminded himseld.
It was a small comfort, but oh, he feared he wouldn't have to wait long
to lose even that. Little things like that could be said -- or left
unsaid -- in confusion. When Mac's mind cleared up... He was not a
masochist enough to continue thinking in that direction.

Not that he was going to protest that whatever happened meant
something. Out loud. He'd have to be dragged screaming and kicking
before he would make the first step in this case.

Letting MacLeod handle the situation seemed like the best option.
Alright, maybe some subtle... suggestings wouldn't hurt. The situation
was too dangerous to leave to Boy Scouts. They needed a real expert in
this. Gods, where was Mandy when he needed her?

Whatever came over him last night? Methos sat down on the bed silently
and bent to fish for clothing part he saw under the bed. Once he
grabbed his jeans and sweater and pulled them on, he felt much better
than he had being almost naked with the equally exposed MacLeod about a
meter away from him. Even clothed, though, there was room to improve, to
tell the truth. But he was prepared to lie.

His head ached, but it was nothing compared to the mixture of emotions
gripping his heart. He was not ready to lose a friend. He knew very
well he'd crawl through broken glass right now if it meant MacLeod
forgetting or not caring -- not caring? -- about... the accident.

At least he could argue he was drunk.

Oh, and there was also Amanda. He remembered her open mouthed
astonishment, oh yes, he definitely did, even as his own closed over
MacLeod's. After that it was kind of fuzzy for a minute or so...

The gods above were merciful and didn't let anything else happen, but
what did was probably enough to spook the poor girl just as much as
they were spooked now. And they did get as far as undressing each other
-- oh, Lord! MacLeod's hands on him -- he could melt on the spot even
now. The last thing he remembered as he was falling asleep in Duncan's
bed, with the owner right beside him, was the door closing. Not slammed
shut -- that seemed like a good thing.

If by any chance Joe would find out... Methos wondered if the Watcher
was willing to trade secrets for secrets. He did not need his name
plastered in Macleod's chronicle...some mad woman -- like Kristin he
thought sourly -- just might decide to save the perfectly heterosexual
Scot.

/Whatever did MacLeod need the shower for? /

Like he didn't know, damn it. If he managed to wiggle his way out of
this with his head intact, he'd be grateful. He didn't have much hope
for his heart though. It might take some serious beating. He sighed and
settled to wait for his...friend. /Been there, done that./ He thought
and felt bitterness well inside him.

*****************

/Should I call a retreat and I bolt right now?/ Duncan thought as
he stepped out of the bathroom. But, being a brave warrior (he
smirked), MacLeod could not run. Still he had to wonder about the power
of human spirit -- a couple of minutes alone in the bathroom breathing
deeply, and he was no longer complete wreck.

If only Methos... /If only wishful thinking was enough to make things
come true... Or not./ He didn't know what he wanted; his thoughts
were jumbled; he only knew running away right now would hurt their...
relationship. He knew it would hurt Methos to be rejected like this,
even if the whole affair was an accident.

Methos had made himself comfortable. Beer in one hand, the other
comfortably behind his head, supporting it, he lounged on Duncan's
coach, a familiar smirk on his lips. It was unnerving. MacLeod's
nervousness rose inversely proportional to the decreasing distance
between them as he walked over. One thing he kept repeating in his head
was, 'he is just as nervous as I am'. What was that about repeating it
enough times?

The laughing eyes rose from contemplating beer to meet his, "We did
good, didn't we?" Methos said.

How was he supposed to take that? Did good in *what*?

"Yeah, I suppose we did." He let his expression become somber, slightly
broody, but with a spark of black humor. Let Methos take it as he
would.

"Any idea where we go from here?" Methos' voice turned speculative as
he sipped on his beer.

Damn the man anyway!

"I'm still trying to get my bearings. It has come as a bit of a shock."
MacLeod threw the ball back into the older man's court, "What about
you?"

"Oh, you know me. I go with the flow." then suddenly Methos looked like
he didn't mean to say that. And MacLeod knew his own eyes revealed his
disappointment.

"Look, Duncan, whatever happened--" Methos'd probably hoped Mac would
have stopped him by now, taking on full responsibility like the good
Boy Scout he was, but MacLeod only looked up, slightly fascinated when
Methos called him by his first name. Obviously he was willing to listen
to the oldest immortal this time. Methos looked like he was thinking
about their lousy timing. It really needed work.

/...and one of us always seems misread the other./

"Am I misunderstanding you here?" Methos abruptly asked. There were --
admittedly rare -- times when bluntness worked.

MacLeod gathered enough wits to look startled.

"Would you be out there screaming right now, if you weren't afraid to
hurt my feelings?" Methos persisted. Duncan's eyes widened fractionally
and he shook his head. A pause, then Methos continued, "Did you want
this to happen?"

"It was an accident. We were drunk," the Scot answered evasively --
leaving lots of leeway for both of them.

And now Methos couldn't ask him again, because that would make it look
like he cared for the answer. The games they played with each other
really backlashed sometimes.

And yet Methos needed to know, "You didn't want this." It wasn't
exactly a question.

MacLeod sighed and his expression turned introspective, "I certainly
didn't expected it... I--Did you want this?" He decided to leave it
at that.

Methos went to refill his supply of beer.

"Like you said-" he began.

"Look at me," MacLeod interrupted.

"What?"

"If you're going to lie, lie to my face."

"You think that is going to stop me?" It was polite, it was
incredulous, there was a hint of sarcasm. A ten out of ten.

"I know it won't, but I'm not going to make it easy for you, either."
MacLeod replied calmly. Years of practice did that to him.

Methos closed the fridge with a bit more force than strictly necessary,
Duncan noted. He bit the inside of his lip. This wasn't supposed to be
this easy. Methos was supposed to go all mysterious here, and drive him
up the wall. Not the other way around.

"Look, Mac, I don't want to lie to you." The older immortal came up to
where MacLeod was standing and dragged his eyes up to meet Duncan's.
Whether they were meant to convey a lie or the truth, MacLeod received
the impression of utmost sincerity. Under the circumstances he wasn't
sure what to believe. It seemed so much like Methos to lie his way out,
yet their friendship always had Methos' unquestionable support, even if
it meant telling the truth. And it wasn't as if Methos liked to lie -
- he just considered it a healthy thing to do... all the time.

"Then don't," he said simply when the older immortal paused.

"Be happy, it's not easy. I... Mac, when..." He stopped looking so lost,
MacLeod felt a pang of guilt. It appeared like he was going to have to
make the step.

"I liked it -- what I can remember," Duncan said, and Methos took the
confession in stride. Utterly inscrutable.

Until the meaning finally sank in and the hazel eyes widened and lips
parted. He stood like that, breathing through his open mouth, almost
gasping while MacLeod waited for words. Soon it was clear he wasn't
going to get any.

"You okay?" he asked for the second time today this time smiling a little.

Methos got himself under control, but continued to stare at MacLeod as
if through new eyes.

"I liked it, too," he whispered after a moment and flushed
uncontrollably -- and not with embarrassment. Duncan was glad his own
skin wasn't as fair, it seemed to give a vast degree of discomfort to
Methos. His own thoughts at the moment were definitely X-rated.

...And he looked so damned pretty with that shy expression! MacLeod
found himself fascinated. The lips that were tentatively closed, hazel
eyes -- blinking rapidly, but not moving away from his face -- all
together it was... delectable.

"Are we going to stare like idiots forever?" And then Methos opened his
mouth, of course. MacLeod wanted to roll his eyes up heavenwards, but
he was much more of a romantic, so he didn't.

"Ruin the moment, would you." He pouted unconsciously, and only
recognized what he was doing from the annoyed expression on Methos'
face. Really. The two of them were getting entirely too predictable.

"There was something to ruin?" Any possible shyness was peeled away,
and there was nothing there but hungry speculation.

"Have I ever told you how cute you look at times? No, I suppose not,"
he continued when Methos visibly started. "That mouth of yours is
really going to need work, though."

"Work?" Methos echoed MacLeod, letting him lead this wherever he chose.

"It begs to be kissed." Duncan smiled.

Before replying to that, Methos walked over. Whatever he planned to
say, he discovered they didn't need any more words.

**********************************

Comments? Contact me at misssheron at hotmail
Constructive criticism is also welcome :)

Sheron.

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