Chapter Text
Methos was angry about something -- as usual. Duncan hadn't seen him smile for at least a week, but couldn't determine anything about him but his mood. He stood and fought his way to the bar to order another couple beers, then fought his way back to the table. Putting the beers down on the table, he frowned slightly when Methos didn't even bother to look up before swiping his. However, Duncan knew enough not to ask if something was wrong; he didn't want to be snapped at.
"Do you want to dance?" he asked, suddenly.
The question seemed to startle Methos, who glanced up, annoyed. "No," he said, draining half the bottle.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not in the mood. Because if you step on my toes, you'll break all of them, and I don't want to hobble around until they heal. Because right now, I am only half drunk, and I can't seem to get any drunker. Because--"
"You want to go home. Let's go," Mac said, grabbing his jacket. Methos finished his beer and stood up. Duncan saw the stumble before the old man fell and righted him. Methos pulled away from the touch and stormed off, weaving only slightly.
Mac sighed...it was going to be a long night.
The cold air outside seemed to help; Methos' eyes lost some of their anger. MacLeod put his arm around the thin shoulders and felt the angry nervousness moving through them. "Something's bothering you," he whispered soothingly.
"Nothing is bothering me," Methos said coldly, throwing off the arm.
Mac stopped walking. He was about to suggest different sleeping quarters to give Methos a chance to cool down when the bottle crashed at their feet. He jumped, reaching for his sword, but quickly realized that an irate Methos was the only other Immortal around.
"Goddamn fairies," called a severely inebriated voice. A man dressed in a plaid shirt and dirty jeans swaggered over to them from the alley.
Mac shook his head and pulled at Methos' arm. "Let's go," he said, under his breath.
Methos ignored him. "What did you say?" he asked, very quietly.
"I said: 'Goddamn fairies.' You queers don't belong...gak-" The tirade was cut off by Methos, who threw the drunk against the wall and pinned him there by his throat. Methos moved faster than Mac would have given him credit for. The man clawed at Methos' hand but couldn't fight it. His red face went white and then almost blue.
"Let him go," Mac said, pulling on Methos, who batted him away with his free hand. Mac stepped back. "You're killing him."
"Maybe he deserves to die," Methos spat out. The man's throat turned yellow where Methos' fingers dug in.
"This isn't like you," Mac tried one more time.
Methos just looked at him. "Any more," Mac amended. "Please. He's an ignorant bastard, but he's dying."
Methos glanced at the man he still held pinned to the wall and realized what he was doing. The drunk dropped to his knees after Methos let him go.
"I want to go home," Methos finally said tiredly. He looked more sober than he had before they stepped out of the bar but also more exhausted. Mac replaced his arm around Methos' shoulders and led him back to the barge.
Once inside, Methos stayed at the foot of the stairs while Mac put on some music. Returning to where Methos stood swaying slightly, Mac asked his question again. "Now...would you like to dance?"
There was so much anger in his posture; suddenly, Duncan knew that Methos wouldn't be staying. They had lived together harmoniously for almost three months, but now the old man was growing edgy and caustic.... Duncan didn't like the change but knew there was nothing he could do about it.
"You know, you are a hopeless romantic, MacLeod." Methos' voice was bitter, but he sighed and rested his head on Mac's shoulder. MacLeod put his arms around him and held him as tightly as he could. Methos was going to leave. It wasn't Mac's fault that their love wasn't enough to kill the old man's need.
"I think you should go away," Mac whispered quietly.
"What?" Methos demanded, pulling away. He looked too guilty. He *had* been thinking it.
"Go away. Have some time to yourself. I can live without you for a week or so."
"Mac, I..." Methos sounded flustered.
Mac kissed him on the forehead. "I know," he said quietly.
Methos looked up at him for a second, and then a heartbeat later, every inch of Methos' body was pressed up against him. Mac ran a hand up under Methos' sweater and traced each muscle group before working his way down to his jeans. "Let's go to bed," he whispered quietly.
Methos parted his lips. "Oh, I'm all for that," he whispered.
Mac saw the actual tremor pass through the beautiful body when Methos saw what waited for him. Methos jumped on the bed like a child and picked up the first of the shackles as if it were a new toy. "Oh, Mac, you shouldn't have. Are these all for me?" he asked, testing the strength of them.
"I had to do something to guarantee you'd come back to me," Mac said, pulling off his sweater. Methos glanced down and realized he still had clothing on and tugged his own off. Mac watched appreciatively as the muscles on Methos' back flexed with the stretch and the graceful line of his spine was exposed. After a moment of tugging, Methos managed to emerge from the sweater with his hair only slightly tousled. The grin was purely demonic, though.
Mac flipped Methos on his back. His grin died to a nervous smile as Mac locked his wrists in place. Methos tested them, but there was no way out of the cuffs. Not even Methos' long fingers could reach the release catch. The metal chains clanked together as Methos tugged at it again. A second later, his upper body was immobile. "How long have you been--" Methos began.
Mac pressed a finger against his lips. "Hush," he said gently. He sat down on the edge of the bed, picking up Methos' foot, running a hand down the line of his calf muscle before tickling behind the kneecap. Methos kicked out, but Mac wouldn't let it go. He brought Methos' foot up to his lips and kissed the ankle bone. Methos kicked out again, but this was just a spasm. Mac ran his tongue down the arch of the foot, slowly, before kissing the ball of the foot. He sat up, blowing on the wet line his tongue made. "Mac...for God's sake," Methos hissed.
In an almost businesslike manner, Mac slapped on the ankle shackle and simply yanked on the right foot until it was in the right position before locking it in place. Methos tried to sit up, but Mac pushed him down again. "Oh, no you don't," he said, straddling Methos' body. He bent over, kissing his way down the blue veins exposed clearly on the delicate skin of Methos' forearm. He used his tongue to tease the sensitive skin of the inside of Methos' elbow.
Mac pulled away for a second. Methos squeezed his eyes shut, and his eyelashes were wet with tears. The smile had become almost angelic. Mac pulled away and knelt down between Methos' thighs.
Methos opened his eyes at the shifting weight, but the only sound he made was a grunt as Mac kissed his testicles right at the base of his cock. He sucked in his belly as Mac moved up to the weeping tip and licked up the first of the drops. Methos' ribcage stood out sharply from the rest of his body, and Mac placed a hand over the heaving abdomen before running his tongue down the thick vein on the underside of Methos' cock, and then ever so lightly running his teeth from the base to the tip.
The chains clanked again as Methos jerked against them. Mac smiled, climbing to his hands and knees. He used his left index finger to roughly trace Methos' lips, once, twice, before parting them. "Open up," he whispered quietly.
Methos' controlled his gag reflex well as Duncan slid his finger down Methos' throat.
Mac couldn't control his own shudder as Methos' very talented tongue curled up around the finger. Mac had to pull away before he lost control as well. He sat back down, dipping his head down to kiss the line that attached Methos' body to the beginning of his thigh, and then nudged Methos' legs slightly further apart. He took the pre-moistened finger and pressed it up into Methos' opening. Methos groaned again but couldn't quite force his body further onto the finger maddeningly working on the ring of muscle.
Duncan pushed in slightly further, to the second knuckle, before all but withdrawing. "So hot," Mac whispered, and then suddenly thrust his entire finger inside Methos. Methos thrust his hips forward at the same time Mac took him in his mouth. Mac found Methos' prostate, massaging it from the inside as he swallowed Methos' length.
He hadn't actually expected that to cause Methos to lose control, but it did. Mac swallowed out of surprise and waited for Methos to stop shuddering before pulling away. He left Methos asleep in his shackles with a child-like expression of joy on his face and fixed himself a scotch while he waited for Methos to wake up again.
It was almost an hour before Methos began to stir; with the bed raised, Mac could see the first waking tremors. The old man went to stretch his shoulders and was stopped short by the chains. Still mostly asleep, Methos jerked against them, and the sound of metal woke him fully.
"Mac?" he called, trying to pull himself up as much as he could.
Mac put down the half-finished drink. "Yes?" he asked, returning to the foot of the bed. He enjoyed standing over Methos with the other man lying so exposed on his bed.
"Are you going to untie me?" Methos asked. It almost sounded as if Methos was really afraid he wouldn't. "Please?"
"Eventually," Mac promised. "Not just yet." The hour break had killed off some of the urgency, but seeing Methos tense in his chains made him hard again. He oiled his cock quickly, gathered up extra lubrication on two fingers, and thrust them inside Methos. Methos winced, and Mac stopped for a moment.
"Sorry...you surprised me," Methos said, and then stretched out as much as he could. "Please, continue."
It took a minute to unlock Methos' legs and adjust his body so Mac could fuck him more easily. And Methos didn't seem to mind having his knees pressed against his chest. For the first time, Mac was completely selfish in his fucking. Methos was nothing but a warm, accepting body for his thrusts. He squeezed his eyes shut and heard grunting. It was probably his, because Methos' sounds came from much higher in the throat.
Methos was so tight against him, and the heat around his cock was incredible. The sound of flesh on flesh, mixed with the sounds of the shackles and Methos' occasional involuntary gasps of pain/pleasure, was too much. Mac couldn't stop his last grunt and all but collapsed against Methos as he came The pressure had built so much in his balls that the release was almost painful. The next thing Mac was aware of was the feel of Methos' internal chuckle against his cock. "Unromantic as this is...my arms are starting to fall asleep," Methos said, and then moaned as Mac pulled out of him. MacLeod felt the exhaustion in his joints, but he pushed up to unlock Methos. He took off the right one first, but Methos rolled onto his side before could reach the other one. "Oh, leave it," the old man said.
It had a quick release button on it. "You could unlock yourself any time you want," Mac pointed out, running a hand down Methos' flank before letting it rest just above the hip bone.
"Just pretend," Methos whispered, already half asleep. Mac nested down behind him, and Methos pushed back against him just before he fell asleep. It was the last thing Mac remembered, too.
MacLeod woke up, jerking away as the first thing he saw was Methos, staring down at him. "You're awake, then," Methos drawled, smiling slightly. Mac reached up and touched the old man's cheek, running his finger down Methos' cheekbone. Methos was amused again. Good. His bad mood had lasted a long time.
"Would you like me to drive you to the airport?" Mac asked quietly.
"Is that your subtle way of asking where I'm going?" Methos asked, and his smile grew a little larger.
Mac dropped his hand to caress Methos' neck. Methos rubbed against it like a cat and closed his eyes for a minute. "If it worked..." Mac whispered.
"It didn't. But you can drop me off at the train station," Methos stayed still for the touch a moment longer and then stood up, stretching.
Mac had an irresistible urge to kiss the hip right in front of him, so he did. Methos put his hand on the top of his head for a second but then pulled away. "Any time in the next fifteen minutes or so," Methos said, wandering off.
Mac threw himself out of bed and got dressed. He saw the packed bag by the door and wondered when Methos had had time to pack it. Methos threw it in the back of the car and slid into the passenger side. Mac put the car in gear. He knew Methos would probably take it wrong, but he had to ask anyway. "Would you...call me and let me know you're all right?"
He heard Methos draw in a quick breath. Mac waited for the explosion, but nothing came from the other side of the car. "I'll...try," Methos said, eventually.
"Only try?" Mac asked. He tried not to feel hurt, knowing it was only Methos' nature, but it still stung. He heard Methos exhale.
"Okay. I will. Damn you, MacLeod, you are going to turn me into a housewife if it kills you, aren't you?"
"You know I love you."
A long silence. "Me, too. And I am coming back," Methos said.
Mac relaxed slightly. Methos opened the door before the car stopped and winged Mac with his bag as he pulled it over the seats. "See ya," Methos called, throwing the bag over his shoulder. Mac froze, stunned by the exit. Methos laughed. "Just kidding," he said, leaning back into the car. He almost had to crawl across the front seat, but he kissed Mac hard. He pressed his forehead against Mac's for a moment and then pulled away. "I won't be long," he whispered.
"Is that relative or absolute?" Mac asked. Methos was leaving him. It didn't help that he was coming back; the fact that he was leaving still hurt, and Mac didn't bother to hide it.
"Two weeks, maximum. I can't be away from you much longer than that."
Mac caught Methos' wrist. He felt the old man's pulse for a minute and then let him go. He wanted to say something about hunting Methos down if he didn't come back, but he didn't trust himself to make it sound teasing enough. Methos touched his chin for a second and went into the station. Mac waited until a parking attendant told him he had to leave the loading zone before putting the car in gear. Methos was gone.
Three days later, the phone rang as MacLeod was leaving. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's me," Methos' voice was scratchy. Mac could hear a crowd in the background. "I'm here, I'm safe, and I'm still coming home," he said.
"I--" Mac didn't know what to say. Suddenly he felt like a complete idiot and undeserving of Methos' love. "Thank you," he whispered, humbly.
"What was that?" Methos almost had to shout.
"I said...nothing. Look, I have to go to Seacouver for a couple days. I should be back by Tuesday."
"What?"
"I'll be home Tuesday," Duncan shouted.
"Why?"
"Small fire at the dojo."
"Really? Do you..."
"No, I won't be long."
"'Kay. I gotta go. Love ya."
"I love you," Mac said, and hung up.
It was raining in Seacouver while MacLeod went over the damage to the outside of the building. Other than the blackness on the brick from smoke damage, there was hardly anything wrong with it. It only took a morning to settle the insurance, but while he was in Seacouver, he attended a few sales.
The loft seemed empty with just him in it, and the bed was huge. But he didn't want to show how desperate he was for Methos, so he forced himself to stay the entire length of his intended stay. Even if he did return early, Methos wouldn't be back.
Still, when he let himself into the barge, he felt himself relax. Methos would be home soon. Not that the old man added anything special to the barge; except for the added clothing in his closet and the new desk, there was nothing to show that the old man even lived with him. MacLeod saw the lap-top on the desk and smiled for the first time. There was no way Methos would ever leave without it unless he was coming home. Mac started a fire and sat down on the sofa. He could wait.
Methos didn't miss MacLeod. At least, not exactly. Well, okay, he missed him. He missed looking up and seeing the concern in Duncan's eyes. He missed stretching out and bumping into Mac under the table. He wanted to be able to stroke some innocent part of Duncan's body and watch the blush start from the roots of his hair. He glanced down at his watch...but it was still only Sunday. He couldn't even call until Tuesday. Screw it. He'd been away for almost a week. Mac wanted him happy, even if it meant that Methos had to leave. He was about to gather up his stuff to go home when a young, haggard looking woman sat down at his table. She was pretty, if not exactly beautiful, with her medium-length black hair and her green eyes, but she looked tired. "I'm sorry, do you speak English?" she asked, flushing slightly.
"I do," he said, his warm thoughts of MacLeod making him benevolent.
"Would it be too much to ask if you can speak German as well?" she asked.
"Wasmoechten Sietun?" Methos asked.
She looked at him helplessly. "What do you want?" he asked again.
She gave over a sheet of paper. "What does this say?" she asked, smiling nervously. "It was on my car."
Methos glanced down at it. "Strafzettel," he looked up. "It's a parking ticket. Go down to the police station with 30 marcs, and they'll take care of it. It's no big deal."
"The police station?" She paled. "Look, Mister--"
"Pierson. Call me Adam," he said, offering his hand.
"Jennifer Reins." She shook his hand; her palm was warm and dry. "Mister Pierson, please. I don't want to be the stereotypical helpless female, but I don't understand a word of German and...." She scrunched up her face for a second. "Did that sound as pathetic as it did in my head?" she asked.
Methos laughed. "I'm afraid so," he said, gravely. She was cute, in a flustered kind of way, and she couldn't have been more than twenty five. Oh, well. It would be diverting.
She smiled and blushed more deeply, waiting for him to gather his things and follow her out to her car. It was quite large for a European model, and he was able to stretch out his legs.
It only took a few minutes to sort out the ticket, and the girl paid the fine.
"Thank you, Mr. Pierson. Can I buy you a drink?" she asked, leaning against her car.
Methos recognized the signals she was sending and shook his head. He knew MacLeod would never find out, and yet, he still wasn't interested. He thought he liked the change in himself. "No, thanks," he said.
She opened the door to her car. "No? Can I drop you off at your hotel?"
"Uh, no. I'll walk."
"Adam...wait, just a second," she started digging through her back-pack. "Just let me--"
He held out his hands. "You don't have to--" he tried to protest, and then he saw the gun -- and the silencer. At least it wasn't going to hurt his ears.