Valentine's Day challenge story
Here is my HL Valentine's Day story. Warning: This is slash. Thanks to methos_fan for beta duty above and beyond Thanks also to mackiedockie for additional comments and with amberleewriter for middle name and song discussion.
Basically this is just a simple holiday fic, any resemblance to a plot would be accidental.
“Waiting on a Friend” by adabsolutely
Jan. 16, 2008 Hey Adam,
I know this invitation is short notice to ask you to travel so far, but I also know you can be a spontaneous guy. You gave my sister happiness, and I’d like to share my happiness with you.
Love, Jeannie
Methos tucked the personal note back inside the wedding invitation, smiling and thinking back to the freckle-faced kid sister of his dear Alexa. Jeannie could have been angry at him, as had the sisters’ aunt and uncle been at first, when he had swept Alexa away on the greatest and final journey of her life. But Jeannie had delighted in the letters and postcards Alexa had sent from distant places and, by extension, loved Adam for this final gift to her older sister.
He stared out the window of his London flat at the persistent rain, umbrellas and leafless trees. Then glanced at his desk piled with translating texts, coffee cups and pizza boxes. His thoughts turned to Seacouver and slightly warmer rain, where Jeanie would marry her beau on Valentine’s Day amid the company of old friends who liked Adam. He smiled as he imagined cadging a drink at Joe’s and the look on MacLeod’s face as the Highlander strolled into the bar to discover Adam’s return.
But then the ten years that had gone by stirred his thoughts and he laid down the invitation next to an empty coffee cup. “You know, I don’t know who or what you are...” and he returned to his translating. ### “Princes of the Universe” in electronic jangle roused Methos from an uncomfortable nap at his desk. His neck hurt and he felt lethargic instead of rested. Fumbling for the phone in the dark he answered it with a grumbled, “Pierson.”
“Hey, Adam!”
“Joe?”
“You coming to Jeannie’s wedding?”
“I – ah –.”
“An old friend of mine is visiting and has agreed to go to the wedding with me. I’d like you to meet her.”
“OK,” slipped out easily. “Sure, Joe. I’ll have to get online and see what kind of ticket I can find. Flying to America is such fun now-a-days.”
“Ah you got plenty time. Three weeks till Valentine’s Day.”
“Yeah, half the time you’re supposed to give for wedding invitations. I wonder if this young man has compromised our dear little Jeannie. I may have to take him aside –.”
“Knock it off, Methos. You will behave yourself!”
“If you insist, Uncle Joe. Adam would never make a scene.”
“Not unless he thought it’d be humorous.”
He chuckled at Dawson’s accusation. “Yeah, I guess I might. Nice to know someone has me figured out.”
### He arrived in Seacouver on the twelfth of February and checked into a hotel Adam Pierson couldn’t afford. That evening, as he walked into Joe’s Blues Bar, he felt the sweet electric buzz of Duncan MacLeod’s quickening. And there they were. Joe on the inside leaning against his bar and MacLeod opposite him perched on a stool. Welcoming smiles warmed him clear down to the pit of the ancient soul he claimed not to have. He made his way across the black and white checkered floor and sat on the stool next to MacLeod.
Mac slapped his back and greeted him, “Adam! You’re looking alert for someone who started his day on the other side of the planet.”
“I slept like a baby the whole way.”
“That’s just unnatural.” Joe said.
“Nothing natural about me, or him for that matter.” Methos pointed to MacLeod who nodded in agreement.
“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a beer?”
“Joseph Michael Daniel Dawson!” Joe laughed while drawing a pilsner from a tap then sliding it into Methos’ hand.
MacLeod, still smiling warmly at the older immortal, asked, “What have you been up to in London?”
Methos’ laugh was self-deprecating and he shook his head as he explained, “I’ve been trying to translate the same damn scroll for the last six months. I’ve just about decided the scribe invented his own language. Of course, I’ve done the same thing on occasion when necessary.”
Joe wanted to know, “What makes the necessity – secrecy?”
He nodded. “Yes, or just because you can.”
MacLeod suggested with an amused smirk, “The kinda trick someone with too much time on their hands might come up with.”
“Guilty – on occasion. And what about you two – what have you been doing to stay out of trouble – or not?”
“Same ole, same ole. Tending bar, playing a little blues, watching this guy.” Joe jerked a thumb toward MacLeod.
Methos gave MacLeod an “and you?” look.
“Not a lot. Keeping my head down. Though the last couple of weeks I’ve begun searching for a warehouse to buy. I’ve finally decided that the only way I’m going to sort through Connor’s accumulation of things is to bring the crates out here so that I can go through them a few at a time.”
Methos shook his head. “ 'Things are in charge and ride on the back of mankind’.”
“You better believe it! Five centuries worth. I hate to imagine what fifty centuries of accumulation would look like.”
“I’ve found that if you just leave your possessions behind, you can go back later and visit them in a local museum – or the British.”
“You must have a few warehouses.”
“Nope. Libraries, cellars – the occasional monastery, but a warehouse is too deliberate a, ‘I’m saving these things’ for me. Pack light and survive.”
“Except for weapons,” Joe said.
“Weapons weigh nothing.”
“If you say so.”
Joe poured them all another round and they continued to catch up. Joe told Methos about Betsy coming to visit him and attending the wedding with him on Thursday.
“Her kids are grown and, well, she and John have split up. She’s still working – loves her job, but wants to come visit a few times a year.”
“See if you can light the old spark.”
“Oh, they’ve already done that.”
Dawson glared at MacLeod. “Betsy’s a lady.” A warning growl.
“She certainly is – and with a better disposition too!” MacLeod teased.
“Well when do I get to meet her?”
“Her flight’s in at 9:30 tomorrow morning. If all goes well we could all meet for lunch. I’m taking her shopping for a dress to wear to the wedding in the afternoon. I have absolutely no idea where to take her.”
In unison, Methos and MacLeod said, “Call Amanda!”
“Oh-kay! Can do. You going to the wedding by yourself?”
“Yeah, who knows, a pretty young bridesmaid might take sympathy on me.”
“I don’t know. What do you think, Mac? Sympathy for this guy?”
A fiendish smile spread on MacLeod’s face as he declared, “I believe in miracles!” He struggled to suppress a laugh, but not Joe, who laughed with gusto.
Methos pursed his mouth and glared at them. “Well, maybe I should take Mac as my boy-toy so that no one feels sorry for poor Adam."
“I’m afraid my boy-toy threads are at the cleaners.”
Methos sighed dramatically. “Well! I guess I’ll just have to pray for that miracle. OK guys, it’s been fun but I’d better get back to the hotel before I turn into a pumpkin.”
“I’ll drop you off at your hotel.”
“No thanks, Mac. I have a rental. Is that good Greek restaurant on Marine Drive still there? It would be a great place to all meet up for lunch tomorrow.”
So plans were made and Methos left the bar feeling pleasantly mellow, albeit with the occasional pang of nervous anticipation.
### “There’s nothing better than Greek seafood – except Greek lamb.” Methos said between bites of his crown roast of lamb. “So, Betsy, what was Joe like as a kid?”
The conspiratorial gleam in Methos’ eyes was hard to resist. “Oh, he was perfect! The perfect boyfriend.” She returned the impish grin.
Joe laughed, delighted, but shook his head and denied Betsy’s testimonial to his perfection. “We were so damned young.”
“Everyone starts that way, or so I understand.” Methos again.
Betsy asked, “Remember the Byrds’ song you used to sing? ‘We were so much older then...’.”
“‘I’m younger than that now’.”
The topics of conversation wandered freely.
MacLeod suggested, “You should have Joe take you to Bev’s Chocolate Shop near the bar, since chocolate is a Valentine’s Day requirement.”
Betsy asked, “This place where the wedding is taking place, it sounds like it could be cold in February. I’ve been living in southern California a long time.”
MacLeod answered, “Well it’s a screened-in pavilion in Livingston Park. Many couples get married there year-round. I imagine they’ll build a big fire in the fireplace. Shouldn’t be too cold. Wear long sleeves.”
Methos added, “ I don’t think Jeannie is one to drag things out. I imagine it will be a short ceremony. Have you got the song down, Joe?”
Joe nodded. “I’ll be practicing it tonight at the bar if you can’t find anything else to do.”
“I don’t know, Joe, my dance card is kind of full.”
“I’ll see ya then, Adam.”
MacLeod insisted on paying the luncheon bill, while Joe provided a gratuity. Outside the restaurant MacLeod and Methos each kissed Betsy before Joe led her away to hunt the malls of Amanda’s recommendation in quest of a dress warm enough for Betsy to be comfortable during the wedding.
They watched the couple depart. Betsy tucked a hand next to the Joe’s proffered arm. Laughter filtered from their direction as they sauntered away, heads tilted together.
The immortal’s stood there watching until the brisk February weather reclaimed their attention.
“So, MacLeod.”
“So, Methos.”
“Wanna go some place warm where I can ply you with alcohol in order to talk you into attending this wedding with me?”
“Sure. I’ll go with you. Will Jeannie be alright with that?”
“Definitely. Jeannie is big hearted like Alexa was. But even tougher. She certainly wouldn’t put up with anyone dissing that poor romantic fool Adam.”
MacLeod smiled at that. “I know this can hurt – being with the family.”
“It’s OK. I don’t mind the hurt, so much, not that I’m a masochist, mind you, but I know the odds are that if you dare love a mortal you will lose them too soon.”
MacLeod nodded. “Come on follow me to my house. I have a few beers with your name on them.”
“Ah, good man. Lead on MacLeod.”
They climbed into their cars. Methos, in his rented Taurus, followed MacLeod in a new hybrid to his bay side fixer-upper house. It was a Craftsman-style from the 1930's suffering from stick-house ageing, so common in the damp Pacific Northwest. Standing outside it together, MacLeod pointed out the solar panels on the roof that he had recently installed.
“Now all you need is for the sun to peek out.”
MacLeod smiled at that and led the way inside. The house was a work in progress. He showed Methos his remodeled kitchen and the beer stash. Beer bottles in hand, they continued the tour of the house, checking out the repair progress and future project list.
After the tour they sat at opposite ends of Mac’s couch, facing each other, comfortably quiet sipping their beer..
“Have you ever driven a semi-truck and trailer?” MacLeod asked out of the blue.
“Can’t say that I have. Don’t tell me – you’re going to drive across country yourself to bring Connor’s crates here! Mac you can have them shipped –.”
“Of course I could, but I –” he shrugged as though he was at a loss to explain it. “I just thought it might be interesting.”
Methos nodded. MacLeod grinned at him expectantly. “Oh, my word .” Methos laughed a bit then said, “You’re serious. Hmm. I don’t know. It might be interesting. We’ll talk.” A little more laughter and head shaking.
Methos said, “Thanks for coming to the wedding with me.”
“I love weddings.”
“I could have guessed that about you. I admire your bravery in love.”
“I’ve seen you fall.”
“It was a rare thing. I was really pretty old when they invented love.”
“Silly old thing.”
“Only one man in a billion would I let say that to me.”
“Will I have to beat off the other six guys?”
“Where the hell is this conversation going?”
“You know damn good and well where it’s going, Methos.”
“Oh.”
“I love that expression on you.” He began to edge closer to his old friend.
“Fish gasping for air?”
“More like deer in the headlights.”
“Oh. Duncan, I – .” MacLeod had crawled onto Methos’ lap and moved in for their first kiss in ten years. Methos forgot what it was he planned to say, if he had ever known. The kiss was soft and beer flavored and at its conclusion he asked, “So all I have to do is let this happen.”
“You already have.”
“Smug bastard.”
MacLeod pressed another kiss on him, then said, “I’d have had you yesterday if I could have gotten you alone.”
“Pushy!” As MacLeod pressed against him.
“Subtle doesn’t work with you.”
“Well you can’t be too careful.”
“Yes you can.” Their third kiss ended the banter and Methos responded, kneading MacLeod’s shoulder and neck while deepening the kiss. They shifted about, legs and arms finding alignment till Methos was stretched on his back well nestled into the plush couch with MacLeod covering him. Methos’ breaths were shallow for multiple reasons and he forced himself to relax, tuning out the voice of survival always nattering at him, allowing the physical pleasure of loving Duncan to rule.
Their sweaters had hitched up allowing bare stomachs to touch. Such a nice sensation, so they removed the sweaters as to be flesh to flesh from chest to waist, which was also nice. By now Methos had lost count of the kisses, but was just beginning to feel a little smashed down when MacLeod lifted his weight off him, stood and pulled Methos with him, tugging his hand, urging him to follow upstairs to the master bedroom and its king size bed. Backed up to the edge of the mattress, Methos allowed himself to be tipped over, but was appreciative when Duncan landed supporting most of his weight on his hands.
Duncan’s smile warmed every part of his body and soul. “Do you know what I’d like?”
Methos stopped himself from saying something silly or sarcastic and answered quietly, “What would you like?”
“Remember the first time?”
“Of course. I hope you don’t want to stop and fly to Paris before we do this?”
“Talk to me in your oldest language.”
“Oh! Yes!” And so Methos took over, rolling Duncan to his side and undressing him slowly, speaking softly, explaining to his lover how perfect he was in an ancient melodic language that he believed was his first, fifty centuries past. Duncan responded with little sighs of contentment and shivers of pleasure as his slacks and briefs were removed.
Soon though, MacLeod needed to feel the glide of flesh so again reversed their positions and finished undressing Methos – pulling at his tight jeans, working them down long legs with Methos complying best as he could, lifting himself here, then there, as MacLeod tugged them all the way round the bend of his knees at the edge of the bed and finally to the floor. Gently he lifted the stretchy waistband of Methos’ shorts over the head of his rigid flesh, pausing for a kiss that caused a gasp and arched back. Methos praised Duncan’s efforts in his most ancient language and pleaded for haste.
MacLeod responded in Gaelic-whispers and pressed soft touches to keep his lover calm, so as to continue building the tension. He encouraged Methos to move up the rest of the way onto the bed, making it easier to lie together. A lull in the motion as they held each other increased the level of need to a tingling glow. MacLeod reached a small tube on the bedside table without too much disturbance of their comfortable arrangement and held the tube in his fist to warm the contents. Still, Methos was surprised when slippery fingers began exploring. He laughed softly in pleasure as Duncan’s touch caused him to tremble. He suggested an increase in speed for the best result and Duncan understood the meaning, if not the language. Methos tried to roll over, but Duncan trapped him on his back, pushed his knees up and rose to slide his thighs slightly under Methos’ bum. Duncan leaned over for a kiss before joining with him. They lost a moment watching, eyes wide open. Then Duncan made his move, entering slowly, passionately taking. Methos keened softly as Duncan moved off, then returned gently touching just the right spot to cause waves of electric warmth to wash through his body. They moved together, Methos reaching the finish first, Duncan watching the face of ecstasy before letting go himself, pumping freely toward a shuddering release and collapse. The world stopped.
Finally Methos had to roll MacLeod to his side, to take a deeper breath and wished him, “Happy V day, Duncan.”
###
February 14th, at 2:05 in Livingston Park Pavilion they sat together waiting for Jeannie to appear before her friends and family. Finally at 2:06 everyone rose as the young bride with a huge smile marched into claim her husband and new life.
The minister spoke and prayed. Then Joe sang “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” A tear ran down Betsy’s face as she watched and listened.
Methos could not help but think of Alexa and his eyes also welled. He wondered if Duncan thought of Tessa and their wedding plans. He briefly squeezed Duncan’s hand. There and then he decided he would go with him on his long haul adventure. Learn how to drive a semi-truck. Be there when he was needed.