Chapter Text
Methos lay in his cold, lonely bed thinking that payback was a bitch. He glanced over at the clock on the bedside table. Shit, three o’clock in the fucking morning, he shouldn’t even be conscious at this hour. But sleep had been something very difficult to capture lately. It was now three months since MacLeod had walked out of his life, and he was beginning to think he was becoming far to intimate with the knowledge of how an addict must feel when denied his drug of choice. Not only had the annoyingly upright, moral and judgmental Highland brat walked out of his life, but MacLeod had walked out of everyone else’s life as well
After the painful incident with O’Rourke, Duncan had said good-bye to them all. It had been very formal and Methos had felt the chill of a bad premonition slither down his spine when he had reluctantly left MacLeod’s barge that night, only to have the Highlander turn up at his apartment the following night.
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Methos’ Apartment.
3 months earlier.
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Methos straightened from his usual sprawl in front of the TV when the familiar buzz washed over his senses. The stresses of the last few days had exhausted his last reserves and he had almost nodded off watching the late news. He relaxed when he identified the presence as that of Duncan MacLeod, a guilty sliver of relief slithering down his spine with the recognition. He’d had a bad feeling about the Highlander’s mood yesterday, when he had fair-welled Amanda and Joe, who were flying out of Paris tomorrow morning, it had almost been as if Mac were the one leaving. But if the Highland child was here now it must mean that things were okay. So why was that feeling of dread and imminent disaster back nagging at the back of his mind?
His grim thoughts were interrupted by a firm knock on the door, and pushing his misgivings aside with an effort Methos hauled himself off the couch and went to open it.
Mac smiled inwardly at the sight of the Old Man, he had that rumpled just-woken-up look about him that Mac always found so endearing. It made his fingers itch to smooth the spiked hair and caress the pale face, ubiquitous glare and all. It made what he was here for all the more painful, but it was something he had to do.
“Mac, do you know what time it is?” Methos asked, going for grumpy even though he was pleased to see the big Scot. The fact that Mac didn’t take him seriously and just grinned at him while pushing past the door annoyed him just a little. “Mac!” He growled, pushing the door closed to follow his uninvited guest across the living room, his curiosity peaking when Mac didn’t stop at the couch but carried on into the bedroom. What was the man up to now?
Mac stopped in front of the bed debating with himself, was he right in doing things this way? The warm, inviting tingle of Methos old and seductive quickening just made the battle for a decision that much harder. He wanted time out, needed it desperately, to get himself back together again. He was also not sure he would come back, maybe Methos was right? Maybe Duncan MacLeod of The Clan MacLeod was too big a target? Maybe disappearing was the best thing he could do for those he loved, and himself? Maybe Tessa and Ritchie, even Charlie, would still be alive today, if he had not been there, despite the almost dream he had had about Fitz. It was all too much to assimilate, and just maybe a small nasty part of himself, that he was too ashamed of to acknowledge, wanted to pay Methos back for all the times he had disappeared and left him alone to worry and crave the older Immortal’s presence. Maybe he just wanted to see if his ancient lover would come after him? He wasn’t sure what his motives were, he just knew he had to get away.
Methos stopped, gazing at the man standing at the foot of his bed. Mac looked lost in thought, almost as if he were debating with himself. Moments passed and he approached the silent Scot. Reaching out a tentative hand he was almost reluctant to disturb MacLeod, a niggling feeling that he might not like the outcome of this internal debate. Laying a gentle hand on the broad shoulder he turned the other man to face him, shocked at the warring emotions that he saw in the large brown eyes before they were quickly shuttered against him and he found his mouth claimed in a savage kiss.
Two broad arms circled his waist and pulled him close possessing him, Mac’s arousal pressing against his groin, his dominating presence swamping him. Searching hands slid up under his sweatshirt and he inhaled sharply, the feel of Mac’s hands on his skin sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. The hot mouth continued to devour his, before slowly progressing along his jaw and down his neck. His breathing ragged, he desperately tried to step away from MacLeod’s overwhelming aura but the big Scot just crowded him closer to the bed, fingers tightening their grip on his arms. “Mac!” Methos gasped, twisting himself from the bigger man’s grasp. “What the Hell is wrong with you?” he demanded, his voice sharp.
Mac stood in a daze for a second his gaze focused on the moist, swollen lips of his sometime lover. His senses were aching at the loss of physical contact with the lean, strong body. God’s he needed this, this last night with Methos, storing up the memories for the loneliness to come. “I need you,” Mac pleaded.
Methos could not remain unmoved in the face of his lover’s obvious need, but the hidden reasons behind it had him worried. This was so unlike the MacLeod he had come to know, and love, he finished with a mocking inward smile. The man was so indecisive and distracted, his Quickening so volatile, and he feared that the last incident with O’Rourke might have tipped the usually self-assured and confident Scot over the edge. Stepping back up to the beckoning heat Methos reached up a hand and brushed light fingers over the handsome face, along the strong jaw before sliding his fingers to the nape of Mac’s neck to pull him back into a gentler kiss. “You have me,” Methos replied, pulling back and catching a brief flicker of anger in the depths of the brown gaze that made him shiver.
“Do I?” was the low, almost vicious growl as Mac crowded him further, stripping him of his sweatshirt before shoving him backwards onto the bed. Methos lay stunned, wondering at the meaning of the words, as the Highlander stripped quickly. His half-hearted protests were cut off by 200-pounds of aroused Scot landing on him, eager hands fumbling to open his jeans as the hungry mouth again latched onto his, sucking the breath from his body. This was a side he rarely saw of the usually restrained and considerate Scot and yet some dark part of him felt it was a side he could quickly grow to like. A red hot spike of desire drove into his groin when he saw the angry need smoldering in the depths of Mac’s eyes, the ungentle hands finally defeating the fastenings on his jeans as hot fingers closed around his aching shaft.
Mac heard his lover cry out as he gripped Methos’ hardened flesh, those three small words suddenly a cruel tease, and a wicked smile curled his lips as he began to stroke the twitching shaft. He nipped the vulnerable neck, sharp teeth almost but not quite drawing blood, as he vowed he would not be the only one to remember this night for a long time to come.
Methos moaned, as the hot mouth and savage teeth tracked down his throat to the juncture of neck and shoulder before scolding their way down his chest to his already aroused nipples, whilst Mac’s talented hand dragged him to the edge of release but not over. Mac paused at one of the already hardened nubs and after briefly teasing his right nipple his lover moved downwards. He groaned at the sudden loss of the glorious friction on his cock when Mac sat up and snarled at him.
“Turn over.”
The command came in that same low growl that again sent slivers of pleasure along Methos’ nerves. He obviously was not obeying quickly enough, because he found himself roughly turned and dragged up onto his knees. One of Mac’s hands held his hip in a bruising grip whilst the other snaked around to again embrace his shaft, gathering the fluid that was leaking from it to use as lubrication. He was roughly entered by two wet fingers, the pleasure/pain sensations forcing a strangled moan from deep within, followed by a grunt as the fingers were replaced by Mac’s hard urgent cock.
Mac groaned the sensations of sinking himself into the fiery heat of his lover’s body threatening to snap the thin veneer of control that was left to him. Deep inside the urge to punish this man for all the pain he had caused him warred with the need to protect and cherish him at the same time. The broken, incoherent sounds issuing from Methos as he thrust savagely into the slender form only serving to make the battle more fierce.
Methos’ world narrowed to that single point of connection with his savage lover and the harsh sound of flesh slapping against flesh. His own voice and that of his lover’s lost in the swirl of emotion and sensation. Then he cried out as a large, rough hand gripped him hard to match the speed of the forceful thrusts that rocked his body. It tore release from him before he was ready, the sharp pain of teeth on his shoulder the last thing he felt before blacking out.
The taste of blood in his mouth and the spasms of his lover’s body round him were enough to hurl Mac over the edge as well, the wave of a shattering orgasm washed over him, draining him of his strength and his anger at the same time. He managed to collapse sideways dragging a semi conscious Methos with him. Oh Gods, what have I done, Mac cried silently to himself.
Methos fought his way up from oblivion as he struggled to understand the soft murmur in his ear, he opened his eyes finding only darkness. Slowly he became aware of a warm, familiar presence at his back and the comforting feeling of being held by two strong arms while a hand stroked the smooth flesh of his chest and stomach, gentle strokes designed to soothe, not arouse. The soft voice that whispered in his ear sent tiny slivers of pleasure through his nerves as it was accompanied by warm wet breath, and it took him several minutes to comprehend that the words being spoken were in Gaelic.
“Methos, I’m sorry, so very sorry. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I never meant for things to be this way, but you make me so angry sometimes that I want to kill you and love you forever at the same time....”
“Mac?” Methos murmured quietly, his brain still not functioning on all levels.
An in-drawn breath followed by a deafening silence told him that he had not been meant to hear those words. “Mac, what-”
“Nothing lover, go back to sleep,” Mac whispered back.
“Mac-”
“Shhhhh, it’s ok. It’s nothing,” Mac interrupted placing gentle fingers over Methos’ lips. “Go back to sleep.”
Methos sighed, reluctantly willing to be put off. “This isn’t over MacLeod. Not by a long shot,” he finished and was greeted by a tightening of the embrace that held him. He thought he caught the murmur of words that sounded like ‘Isn’t it’ before the gentle hands soothing him forced his traitorous body to succumb to it’s need for sleep.