I Dare You
By Kiristeen ke Alaya *************** Disclaimer: Rysher et all own all rights to Highlander the Series, the characters, and this particular incarnation of Immortality. I'm a nobody who enjoys playing in their sandbox. I make no money from this. It is merely for the love of the characters and writing. I hope you enjoy. Warnings: This story includes the concept of a m/m romantic relationship, or at least the beginnings of one. If this idea squicks you, you'd best not read it. Rated: PG-13 for Lite sexual content and innuendo. **************** ********** Part One ********** Joe whistled to himself as he shined an already perfectly clean bartop, not quite keeping the silly grin off his face. He hadn't pulled a stunt like this since high school. **Scratch that,** he thought, **I've *never* pulled a stunt like this before.** And oh how he *really* wanted to be a fly on the wall when those two found out what he'd done. He stilled momentarily. Of course, he wasn't so sure he wanted to be here when they got around to getting even. While he wasn't *too* worried about the form Richie's revenge would take, Methos' -- that was an entirely different kettle of fish. Methos could be...well...vindictive. Now he wasn't so sure he should have done this. He threw the rag down on top of the bar and paced uneasily back into his office. The whole blasted thing had started out as a dare. He shook his head ruefully. At his age, he should *know* better than to give into dares. **Dares *always* come back around to bite you in the ass later on.** Sinking down into his desk chair, he closed his eyes against his own foolishness, and the retribution that was sure to come. He should have followed his initial gut instinct and backed out when it had been so hard to convince Methos.... //// "I don't *do* blind dates, Joe." "Come on Adam, you'll like this one -- a real looker." "Uh huh. Then why does she need you to set her up?" "Doesn't usually," Joe shrugged. "This is a special occasion." Methos eyed him warily. "What's so special about it?" Joe laughed. "You're awfully suspicious tonight." "I usually am when someone tries to set me up." "Quit being so cynical. You'll enjoy yourself." Sighing, Methos took a swig of beer then leaned forward onto his elbows. "So what's this "looker" look like?" "I'd have thought you'd have learned to look past looks by now, Adam," Joe retorted, chuckling. "I'm not the one that described this mystery woman as "a looker", now am I?" Methos smirked. "Besides, you're evading the question. Just answer, or I'm going to start thinking she's got two heads or something. Or, at the very least, has rotting crooked teeth." Joe bit his lip in an effort not to burst out laughing. "No rotting teeth. Has a great smile, in fact. And yes, the normal number of heads is accounted for." **Yep, two of them.** "Has Reddish blond hair, kinda curly, with intense, deep blue eyes." "Nice combination," Methos responded noncommittally. Joe rolled his eyes. "Come on, it's not like I'm asking you to get married or anything. I just want you to go out on a single date." Methos chuckled. "Good, because that's one you'd *never* convince me to do. What's the modern phrase?" he asked mockingly, then continued facetiously. "Been there, done that." "What?" Joe asked, startled. "You married someone you'd never met?" "Unfortunately," Methos replied drily. "Why? Where? When? No, wait a minute, never mind," Joe interrupted himself. "*You* are changing the subject. We'll get back to *that* after your date." "Oh, really, Joe?" Methos asked with mock indignation. "What if it's one or the other? Story or date." "Now *that's* cruel, Adam -- even for you." Methos shrugged. "Up to you," he replied, a knowing smirk tugging the corners of his mouth. Joe hesitated only a split second. He'd get the story out of Methos one way or the other -- later. "Okay, the date is set for seven o'clock, and you're supposed to meet at the Chez Roberts," Joe said, carefully watching Methos. He almost laughed as the smirk faded and the Immortal's eyes widened in surprise. "What?" "Be sure and dress nice," Joe continued, as if Methos hadn't said a thing. "You wouldn't want--" "Whoa! Wait just a bloody minute, Joe. I haven't even said I'd go." "Yes, you did," Joe immediately contradicted him, "when you left it 'up to me'." Methos groaned quietly. "Yeah, but--" "I was supposed to pick the story." "Yes," Methos replied firmly, "you were." "Sorry, buddy. I'll get the story out of you one later -- now that I know there *is* one. This way I get both." "I wouldn't bet on it," Methos retorted as he swiveled the barstool away from the bar. Joe watched Methos as the Immortal headed toward the door, unsure whether or not he'd won. Making it more a statement than a question, he asked, "I'll call and say you'll be there at seven, right?" He almost chuckled when Methos' shoulders slumped slightly. "All right, Joe," Methos answered quietly, then glanced warily over his shoulder. "You haven't exaggerated anything? She's not some horrible harridan is she?" "No, Adam, not a single thing I've said is an exaggeration. Your date is *not* a harridan, is not ugly, does not have crooked, rotting teeth. In fact, everything I've told you about your date has been the honest to God truth." Methos nodded once before turning back around and heading out. Joe, however, heard him mutter just before the door closed behind him. "It isn't what you told me that worries me -- it's what you left out." Joe laughed until his sides hurt. //// Joe glanced over at the clock. 6:45. He reached out toward the phone, only to let his hand drop back down into his lap. It was just a joke -- what was he so worried about? **Methos plus revenge equals embarrassment -- at the least.** He reached toward the phone once more. ********** Part Two ********** Methos paused long enough to survey himself in the mirror. Eyeing himself critically, he shrugged. He would do well enough, he supposed, although he still hadn't quite figured out just how he'd let himself be talked into this bloody date. Like he'd told Joe, he didn't do blind dates. Too many things could go wrong. ((Joe's your friend, that's how you got talked into it.)) Sighing, he pushed that thought aside and grabbed his coat, long habit making him double check the presence of his sword. As always, it was there. Before he could talk himself out of what he *knew* was a disaster waiting to happen he slipped out the door. In his empty apartment, the phone rang -- unheard. ***** Glancing down at his watch, Methos strolled through the entrance to Chez Robert's. Five minutes to seven. Just in time, he was smiling to himself, until he crossed the foyer and Immortal buzz danced along his spine. He tensed automatically, but forced himself to continue toward the hostess as if he were an ordinary person and completely oblivious to the fact that an Immortal was present. It was a tried and true tactic that had allowed him to go on unnoticed on more than one occasion, and unless he was the only person moving, it just might work again. He ignored the raised hairs along the back of his neck. He ignored the feeling of being the sole person in the center of a giant bullseye. *That* was only his imagination working overtime. There was absolutely no reason to believe he had been singled out. "Good evening, Sir. How many will there be tonight?" "Two," Methos replied to the hostess, "but I don't know if my date is here yet." "What's her name? Perhaps she left it here." Methos kicked himself mentally, just now realizing that in his surprise at being talked into this at all, he'd forgotten to get the woman's name. He grinned sheepishly when the woman in front of him smiled knowingly. "Blind date huh?" Methos nodded. "She's tall, athletic -- he said she worked out a lot," he explained, continuing on to give Joe's description of the mystery woman. An odd expression passed over the hostess' face before her smile quickly returned. "I'm not positive, but your 'date' might be waiting for you in the bar." "Thank you," Methos replied with a smile, wondering what Joe had gotten him into. If the hostess' reaction was anything to judge by, there was something very...odd about his date. For a fraction of a second he seriously considered asking the hostess about her reaction, but decided against it before the idea even fully formed. After all, what was he going to do if he didn't like what he heard -- duck out of the restaurant? He was, and had been, many things, but an insensitive jerk wasn't one of them. **At least not recently,** he admitted ruefully. He turned towards the bar, and his heart sank. He'd been wrong. He *had* been singled out. Of course, when the other Immortal in question knew you on sight, it was difficult to 'hide in crowd'. One young red-headed Immortal was watching his approach. Methos' step faltered for a moment when he noticed the similarities between Rich and the description Joe had given him. **Pure coincidence. Joe wouldn't do that.** "Rich," Methos greeted as he slid onto the barstool next to the younger Immortal. "What brings you here?" Richie shrugged, taking a long swig of his beer. "Same as you, I guess. Nice place to eat." Chuckling, Methos signaled the bartender. "Bit pricy for my tastes, actually," he admitted. "Then what are *you* doing here?" Richie asked. It was Methos' turn to shrug. "A favor for Joe." "No way!" Richie blurted in surprise. "How many dateless women does the man know?" Eyes narrowing, Methos ignored the bartender approaching them and rapidly reviewed the conversation he'd had with Joe, his memory replaying the scene word for word. "Rich, tell me, when Joe asked you to do this, did he ever, even once, use any of the following words -- she, her, woman, lady, or any *other* word that would suggest your 'date' was actually female?" "Of course he--" Richie immediately began. "No, Rich, not so fast. Think about it first." Methos smirked as Richie rolled his eyes, only grudgingly doing as Methos asked. Half turning toward the bartender, Methos quickly ordered two beers. Then, watching as Richie's eyes slowly widened in surprise, he ordered the younger Immortal a scotch. An idea slowly began to evolve in his mind and a wicked, secretive smile spread across his face. "Better make that two shots," he said. "But, Joe wouldn't--" Richie began, then stalled. "Wouldn't what -- 'Do anything like this?' " Richie simply nodded, quickly lifting his beer, only to find it empty. "Really?" Methos challenged, tilting his head curiously. "And just how did Joe, our friendly neighborhood bartender, describe your mystery date?" Richie opened his mouth to answer, only to abruptly close it again. The drinks arriving with a timing that could only be considered opportune, Methos snagged a shot and silently handed it to Richie, who smiled wanly and downed it. "I didn't realize I was that 'panic-worthy'," Methos pointed out wryly. "No, no," Richie hastily assured, shooting up from his stool, "it's not that." Methos chuckled, shaking his head. "Rich, sit, relax. I'm not gonna bite, just because Joe managed to pull one over on *both* of us." "Right," Richie replied sheepishly, immediately reaching for the beer Methos had pushed toward him, "sorry." "What I *would* like to do, however, is return the favor." Snapping his head around to stare at Methos, Richie's eyes lit up. A delighted smirk began twitching one corner of his mouth upward as he resettled onto the barstool. "Oh? And how would you suggest *we* do that?" "First of all, I suggest we get a table and order dinner." Methos held up a hand to forestall Richie's instant objection. "I think this calls for a splurge. Dinner's on me tonight." Richie blinked and his grin widened. "You're paying? I thought you said we were gonna pull one over on Joe, not you try and give me a heart attack." "Brat!" Methos replied, already standing. "Immortals don't *have* heart attacks." "Oh, I don't know about that, Adam," Richie retorted, following closely behind Methos. "I think mine's faltering from the shock right now." "Ha. Ha. Do you want dinner, or not?" "I won't say another word." ********** Part Three ********** Chuckling, Richie overturned his freshly emptied shot glass and blinked owlishly across the table at Methos. The older Immortal was lounging against the back of the booth in a relaxed sprawl that defied all the laws of bone and muscle. Richie watched him for several long moments, wondering how he managed it. They'd moved from Chez Roberts to Roger's Bar and Grill several hours, and an obscene amount of drinks ago, the evidence of their long, drawn-out planning session, stacked in a neat pyramid between them. Richie had been surprised when Methos ordered rum. He'd never seen the old man drink anything other than his treasured beer. He'd been even more surprised when Methos had consistently drunk two for every one of his. Staring at the rainbow colored sparkles the candlelight was reflecting off the empty glass, Richie reached a sudden conclusion. **Methos is cool when he lets down his guard.** They had actually *talked*, as in done more than just traded jibes. Of course, the fact that they hadn't really gotten much planning done was beside the point. As far as 'dates' went, this one had been more fun than most he'd been on recently. **Scratch that,** Richie thought with self-depreciation, **Better than most of my dates, period. Now, if only Methos was a woman.** "I think ish my turn," Richie said suddenly. Stirring slightly, Methos cocked his head curiously. "Your turn for what?" "To stack," Richie replied, rocking the shot glass between two fingers. Methos snickered before leaning far forward, whispering quietly, as if to impart a great secret. "It *is* your shot glass." "Oh, yeah." **I've had too much to drink, I think.** Richie eyed the shot glass still wavering in his hand, then the precarious stack on the table for long moments. "It looks like a Christmas tree." "What does?" "Huh?" **Oh *that* was intelligent,** Richie mentally kicked himself. Across from him, Methos shook his head, immediately closing his eyes. "What . looks . like . a . Chrismas . tree?" he asked slowly and carefully. "Too much to drink, Old Man?" Richie laughed. Methos' eyes snapped open. "Oh, look who's talking. You can't even stack your shot glass." "Can so." "Can not." "Watch me." "Go for it," Methos shot back, relaxing back against the booth. Eyes narrowing, Richie tightened his two finger hold on the small glass, and slowly held it out toward the stack. Holding his breath as glass neared glass, Richie tried to line it up, failed, and tried again. His tongue curled up to touch his upper lip as he held tight to his concentration. "It'd help if the table would quit moving," he griped. "You're drunk -- very drunk." "Am not." "Are too." "So are you." "And?" Richie forgot about his task as he suddenly realized he'd never seen Methos drunk before -- never seen him with that eyes-glazed-over expression that shouted 'my brain has been disconnected from my body'. "How come I've never seen you drink before?" "Never seen me drink?" Methos asked, his voice nearing incredulous. He cleared his throat self-consciously and straightened up before continuing in a more normal tone. "You've seen me with a drink almost every time you've seen me -- with a couple of notable exceptions." "No, no, no," Richie replied waving a hand in irritation. "I'm not talkin' 'bout the beers you nurse. I'm talking about *really* drinking." "I don't like being out of control," Methos responded after a long moment of intense silence. "It's deadly." Richie nodded. He could understand that. "So what's so special about tonight?" Watching, Richie was surprised to see several different emotions cross Methos' face. He couldn't have named most of them, even if his life had depended on it, but he could have sworn Methos didn't know how to answer. "It's a matter of trust," Methos finally muttered. Richie couldn't stop the silly grin that spread across his face, and he was mortified when he giggled -- *giggled*! "I'm 'onored," he said formally. "Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head." "Why?" Richie asked. "If I get a swelled head, won't you like me any more?" Methos blinked at him, that habitual smirk appearing in an instant. "If I didn't know better," he said, leaning forward, narrowing the distance between them conspiratorially. "I'd say you were flirting with me." Richie jerked backward, but the instant denial died in his throat as heat flashed through him. He swallowed convulsively. **He's a *guy*!** "Good thing you know differently," Richie said finally, leaning back on his side of the booth and trying to appear relaxed. **This is ridiculous. I'm drunk. That's it.** "Yeah, good thing," Methos nodded, mimicking Richie's action. "So, have you come up with any ideas about getting even with Joe?" Richie nodded. "Yeah, one. You?" "A couple," Methos likewise nodded. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," he sing-songed, raising a hand to signal the bartender for another round. Richie stifled the impulsive giggle that rose, and let out a strangled half-sound instead. "Better make those doubles, Adam," he managed in a choked whisper, glaring when Methos snorted. "So?" Methos asked, settling back into his seat. "What?" Richie responded, casting his mind back over their conversation. "What's your idea?" "We could fight," Richie offered. "Pretend to fight, I mean," he quickly amended. No way in hell did he *really* want to fight Methos. He'd walk away from *that* fight about a foot shorter. **Well, I wouldn't exactly *walk*,** Richie thought irreverently, bursting out in sudden laughter. "What's so funny?" Methos asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Nothing," Richie replied instantly, "absolutely nothing." "Ri-ight!" Methos responded skeptically. "Besides I won't do that." "Why not?" "Did it once. It didn't work out well," Methos said shortly. "Oh? What happened?" Methos sighed, closing his eyes against the memory. "Duncan talked me into helping him save the de Valincourts marriage." "How?" "By staging a fight with Robert." //// "It's finally happened. You've lost your mind." Lounging comfortably on the sofa, Duncan reached out and poured Methos a cup of tea "Well, come on, Methos, you'll be doing them an incredible favor." "Read my lips. N. O," Methos replied firmly. "OK. You'd be doing me a favor. Milk?" "Oh, now that's not fair, you're making it personal now. You think that I'll feel guilty when I say no?" "Sugar?" Duncan continued, as if Methos hadn't said a thing. "You're wasting your time," he informed Duncan pleasantly. "I haven't felt guilt since the 11th century. I don't even know these people!" "Yeah, well that's why I'm asking you," Duncan explained patiently, shrugging. "All you have to do is act a little." "Do I look like an actor?" "Well, you've been with the Watchers for years and no one's ever suspected you." Duncan replied, holding out a plate of cookies. "Don't you want to see Gina and Robert live happily ever after?" he pleaded, batting his lashes in mock coquetry. Unmoved, Methos nodded. "Yeah. But I want to see *me* live happily ever after even more." "Oh, come on, Methos, they won't even know who you are," Duncan cajoled. "You'll just be this Mysterious Immortal who's coming after Robert's head." Methos shook his head, not believing a word of it. "Robert and Gina's marriage is in your hands." "You're not listening to me. I don't give a damn about their marriage." "Well I do!" "Is it really that important to you?" Methos asked, his shoulders drooping. "Yes, it's that important to me" Duncan retorted. Methos shook his head. **It takes youth to have *that* much passion about someone *else's* love life.** Sinking down to sit, Methos eyes light up in deviltry. "Okay. I do this for you...And you give me the barge." "Right, like you're serious," Duncan laughed, not believing a word. "Yeah, I'm serious," Methos baited. "Hey, I need a place to live. That's the deal, take it or leave it." Duncan opens his mouth to reply then snaps his jaw shut, a look of uncertainty crossing his face before his expression firms to one of agreement. "Fine. If that's what it takes." "That's what it takes," he replied firmly, nodding once. "Fine." "Good." **Damn!** "Good." "Right." **Bloody hell. He's not going to back off.** "You'd better make it look good," Duncan threatened. "Like you say, darling," Methos hammed, wearing a silly grin. "I'm an *act-or*." "Oh," Duncan replied intelligently, "good." /// Richie laughed hysterically, only just managing to swallow the last of his drink. "Oh, right, it's real funny," Methos said sourly. "Yes, it is. So what happened? When you guys fought, I mean." "It went fine until Gina didn't follow the script!" "What? Didn't she get her copy?" "Ha . Ha. No! Apparently, MacLeod doesn't know women's reactions as well as he thinks he does." "Oh, no! Don't tell me she came after you?" "That's exactly what she did," Methos exclaimed, then smiled mischievously. "What?" Richie asked warily. "Oh, nothing. We just turned it around on them." "We?" "Gina and I. We made Duncan and Robert believe she'd killed me." "You didn't!" "Yes,--" The arrival of the waitress cut off the rest of Methos' reply. "I'm sorry, but we're closing," she said quietly. "Can someone call a cab for you?" "No, no, that's quite alright," Methos said, rising slowly to his feet. Richie followed suit, groaning and grabbing the edge of the table when the room spun wildly around him. He waved Methos off when he saw the older Immortal **my date** watching him with concern. "I'm fine, just got up a little too fast." "Are you sure I can't call a cab for you?" the waitress asked again, reaching a hand out to steady Richie. "I can't let either of you drive home like this." Richie shared a look with Methos before reassuring the woman. "We're walking." ********** Part Four ********** Richie lagged behind, and found himself wondering just how Methos managed to walk that gracefully, despite the fact that the other Immortal had to be nearly as drunk as he was. Methos was *sauntering* out the door -- without an apparent wobble, and *he* was barely managing to stay upright. He shook his head, groaning in response. He hadn't been this drunk since before the first time he'd 'come back' -- ** Revived? No, too tame. Resurrected? No, too religious. Crossed over? Nah, that's vampires.** Richie snickered quietly -- at least he'd thought it was quietly, until Methos twisted around to look at him, an odd expression on his face. "Just thinking about vampires," Richie explained, moving to join Methos. Methos appeared to think seriously about Richie's comment for a moment. "Hmmm, somehow I don't think biting necks to survive would be much better than sliding a sword through them," he commented lightly before turning back down the street. Richie frowned. He'd never really thought about it that way before. **What *is* it with necks?** Richie's steps faltered as he suddenly pictured himself, a vampire, gently tilting Methos' head to the side, slowly lowering his head and sinking his razor sharp fangs into the graceful curve of the older Immortal's neck. Methos would arch-- "Jesus, Ryan! Get a grip," Richie muttered, resolutely closing his mind to the highly erotic images that were mercilessly playing through his mind. It didn't work, and he couldn't figure out what was the matter with him. He'd never thought such...odd things before. *No, I am NOT going to think any more about that,* he thought, and hurried to catch up. Perhaps having Methos right next to him might curb his overactive imagination. Weaving only slightly, he slowed once he was even with Methos, attempting to match the other Immortal's easy gait. "How can you walk like that?" he asked impulsively. "You've got to be nearly as drunk as I am." "Like what?" Methos asked, wearing a wicked smirk. "Like-- ah hell, never mind." "Practice, brat. Practice." "You *are* drunk, then?" Methos snorted, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Of course I am. No one can drink as much as we did and not be -- at least for a little while." "Good!" "Good?" "Yeah, good." "Why?" Methos asked, perplexed. "Because that means that the diff'rence isn't cuz I can't hold my drink." Methos nodded, though it didn't seem to Richie that he really understood. "So, since we're *not* going to fight, I thought--" "We could kiss," Richie blurted. **Holy shit! Did *I* just say that? Say no way, Methos, pleeaaase!** Methos laughed...and laughed. Wrapping his arms across his stomach, he doubled over, gasping in air between bouts he visibly tried to control. "Are you finished now?" Richie asked drily, when Methos began taking slow, deep breaths. "I think so," Methos replied, not looking up. "Okay, so maybe you can tell me what was so *damn* funny about it?" **Shut up!** "I just got this mental picture..." Methos' voice trailed off as he looked over at Richie. **Don't say it, Ryan.** "Again I say -- What's so funny?" Methos folded his arms across his chest. "You'd never be able to carry that off." "Me?!" Richie squeaked. **Does that mean he's kissed a guy before?** "Yes, you," Methos answered firmly. "Have you ever kissed a *man* before?" he went on to ask, startling Richie with the parallel to his own thoughts. "Of course not!" Richie retorted, before his brain could catch up to his mouth. His jaw opened and closed twice as he tried to come up with something to say that wouldn't put his foot further in it. "Thought not," Methos replied smugly, that damn smirk firmly back in place. "Doesn't matter." "It doesn't?" "No, it doesn't--" Richie began. **WHAT am I doing?** "--I could pull it off." "You think so?" Methos drawled in patented disbelief. "Yes, I do." **Why the hell am I trying to convince him?** Richie swallowed and sincerely wished he hadn't had so much to drink. He could really use the ability to *think* right now. His mouth was running away with him, and his brain was falling wa-ay behind. "Prove it," Methos challenged, startling Richie out of his thoughts. "Huh? What?" Methos shook his head. "I. said. prove it." "How?" **Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no!** "Kiss me." "What?!" Richie demanded incredulously, shock pumping adrenaline through him. "Here?" Methos simply nodded. Wanting to smack the know-it-all smirk off the older Immortal's face, Richie's ire rose. And right along side it, the increasing desire to prove him mistaken, wiped aside most of Richie's concerns. "Fine!" he said. If Methos wanted a kiss, he was gonna get a *kiss*. He took a step forward and reached out, but Methos' upheld hand stopped him. "Now, a little 'peck' isn't going to convince Joe," Methos said. "You realize that, don't you?" Bristling at the condescension he heard, Richie's resolve firmed. He was going to treat this as he would *any* date. He was going to forget the fact that this so-called date was a joke on them. He was going to forget the fact that Methos was a guy. He was going to reach out and deliver a kiss that would have Methos tingling to his toes. He turned on the charm. "Oh, yes, I most certainly realize that, Adam," he said smoothly. Closing the remaining distance, he smiled seductively. "Now, come here," he whispered. Pulling Methos against him, he trapped the other Immortal's still raised hand between them. Even through his shirt, the heat radiating from the pale hand felt like it was marking him somehow -- branding him. Methos' eyes widened and his mouth formed a silent 'oh' of surprise as Richie wound a hand behind his neck and ever-so-slowly brought their lips closer together. The ease with which he pulled Methos forward sent a forbidden thrill through Richie, and he shivered in response. Never breaking eye contact, Richie touched his mouth to Methos', gently capturing the other Immortal's upper lip between his, tracing his tongue along its moist, sensitive line. Methos moaned quietly and leaned into him, parting his lips in eager acceptance of Richie's kiss. Richie instinctively pulled the other man closer, deepening the slow, sensual kiss. With a hand at the small of Methos' back, he held Methos tightly against him, melding their bodies until they were a seamless whole. He swallowed Methos' quiet sounds of enjoyment, as Methos swallowed his. Richie flashed hot and cold. First he felt like he was on fire, then was certain he was going to shake apart with cold. He couldn't get enough. Without conscious thought from Richie, the hand on Methos' back slid down over the firm rounded curve of the older Immortal's ass, sqeezing lightly and trying to pull him even closer. Methos jumped and gasped into Richie's mouth, sending bolts of electric pleasure straight through the younger Immortal. Suddenly, Richie felt himself shoved away from Methos. He stumbled backward, only just catching himself before falling. Trying to catch his breath, he stared worriedly at Methos. Had he done something wrong? "You've proved your point," Methos replied breathily, then turned and strode away. Richie stared, open-mouthed, after him. **What the hell?** Once again hurrying to catch up, Richie ran after Methos, his thoughts swirling in chaotic confusion. Okay, he hadn't done anything wrong. So, what was Methos so pissed off about? Something hovered at the edge of Richie's thoughts, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. He knew only that it would tell him exactly what was going on. Unfortunately, even his Immortal metabolism hadn't cleared all the alcohol out of his system yet. Consequently, his brain was still a bit fuzzy around the edges. **At least I'm walking straighter,** he thought, then almost laughed again. **I just kissed a guy -- and enjoyed it -- and I'm worried about how straight I'm walking.** ********** Part Five ********** Joe paced uneasily, glared at the phone, and paced some more. He hadn't been able to reach Methos, -- **Damn him for actually being punctual.** -- He'd almost called the restaurant several times, once getting as far as dialing all but one number before hanging up again. **Inconsiderate Immortals, why don't they just come and get their revenge and be done with it! Surely they don't intend to wait until tomorrow to let me have it?** Joe froze, rapping his cane against the floor in a sudden burst of irritation. That was it! They were going to make him wait! *That* was their revenge. They were going to stay away, not say a word, until he was half crazy with anticipation. Then, and only then, would they come back. And *then* they wouldn't do anything, and his worrying would have all been for nothing. He'd have done their revenge for them. "Forget that!" Joe yelled to the empty office. "I'm not going to drive myself crazy, just so you don't have to lift a finger to get back at me. Lazy-assed Immortals!" Joe chuckled suddenly, realizing just how crazy he *did* sound. With a last half-hearted glare at the phone, he headed for the bar. He jumped as the phone rang shrilly behind him. Turning so swiftly he almost lost his cane, Joe made himself pause, and take a deep breath. **You're not going to do it for them...remember?** "Right," Joe said softly to himself, purposely letting the phone ring twice more before picking it up. "Joe's. Joe speaking." "Oh my god, oh my god! Joe, you're not going to believe what I just saw!" "Whoa, slow down, Theresa. Wait, I thought you were taking the night off?" "Are you kidding me?" Theresa responded breathlessly. "After you took those idiots up on their dare, no way in hell, was I going to miss *this*!" **Damn! What happened now? And what did she see that she wasn't supposed to?** He'd purposely picked tonight for this because Theresa, Richie's Watcher, had asked for this specific night off weeks ago. Joe's heart twisted and sank low into his belly. Had she seen something that blew Methos' cover and revealed 'Adam' to be an Immortal? **It's her blasted anniversary. Why can't she be like a normal person and refuse to work on it, no matter the provocation?** ((She's a Watcher,)) came a dry voice in his head. Odd though, it sounded suspiciously like Methos at his most caustic. "What happened?" he asked, dread filling him. Half of him wanted her to spit it out, so the worst was over, but the other half was screaming for him to slam down the phone. If he didn't hear it, he wouldn't have to do anything about it. If he didn't hear it, maybe it hadn't really happened. ((Yeah, Right!)) "You're not going to believe it!" **Damn it all to hell, and back again! Methos got in a fight.** "Spit it out, girl!" Joe barked into the phone, the side wanting it simply to be over winning out. "Oh, yeah, right. Sorry 'bout that." Joe impatiently held his tongue while she began with their meeting at the restaurant bar, admitting she hadn't been close enough to hear what they said to each other, but that their expressions had been classic when they figured out they'd been set up. By the time she'd gotten past the details of how rip-roaring drunk they'd both gotten, he was literally biting his tongue to keep from snapping at her again. **Methos drunk?! Shit!** "And *that* is when it happened." **Finally!** he thought with nervous relief. "I almost dropped my tape recorder, Joe. Richie *kissed* Adam!" "What?!" "You heard me right!" Theresa exclaimed, a conspiratorial giggle escaping. "You mean Adam kissed Richie, right?" "No, I don't. Well," she amended, "Adam sure as hell kissed him back, but *Richie* started it!" Joe felt faint. He was absolutely certain he was going to pass out. **Richie started it?** He leaned against the desk, glad of its support. "I swear on my mother's grave, Joe, that I have *never* seen such a seductive kiss in my life! I felt like a voyeur." **Oh, now *that's* just too much information.** "Just get it all down," Joe replied weakly, "and I'll read it later." **Like hell I will. That one's going straight into the trash bin. May I be forgiven for breaking my oath, yet again, but this just doesn't belong in the chronicles -- not the ones for 'public' consumption anyway.** Joe mumbled a few more nonsense replies to Theresa who continued to babble, his mind too busy trying to absorb what she'd already told him to try and concentrate on what she was saying now. "Well, look, I gotta go. I bailed on Johnathon at the last minute." "Right, right, Theresa, you do that," Joe said distractedly. "Say hi to John for me," he added at the last second, hanging up without waiting for her reply. How was he supposed to react? What the hell was he supposed to say to them? Should he say anything at all? "I need a drink," he said to no one in particular, resuming his aborted trip to the bar. Although, this time, it was for a far different reason. ***** Richie kept casting sidelong glances toward Methos. He just couldn't figure the man out. Only one idea kept resurfacing in his mind, but he kept pushing it aside. It simply wasn't possible...was it? He snuck another look. "What *is* it?" Methos asked, exasperated. Richie jumped. "Nothing," he replied, "just thinking." "Good luck," Methos muttered sourly. "Hey!" Richie protested. "I resemble that remark!" Methos opened his mouth for a retort before Richie's exact words penetrated. He snickered softly and shook his head. "Well, at least I got you to smile. You gonna tell me what's bugging you?" Methos sighed deeply. "No, Rich, I don't think so." "Why not? It sometimes helps to share." "This wouldn't." "You sound awfully sure of that." "Oh, believe me, I am." "I think I know what it is," Richie stated. "Really?" Methos asked drily. "One evening spent together, half the time drunk off our collective bums, and you think you've got me figured out, do you?" "Maybe not," Richie replied, hurt coloring his tone, "but I'm not stupid, and I'm not blind either." Methos stopped walking, and Richie was willing to swear his shoulders slumped. "Look, Rich, I'm really not up to this show and tell session. Could we--" "You liked it." Methos snapped his head up. "Liked what?" Richie rolled his eyes. "The kiss." "Yeah, well..." Methos replied, shrugging. "What wasn't to like?" Richie couldn't stop his smug grin, but was completely non-plussed. If that wasn't it, then what was? Suddenly the idea that had kept popping up since Methos had taken off after 'the kiss' reared its head again, and Richie's eyes widened. It *did* fit the facts. Methos did a sudden about-face, and strode off in the direction they'd originally been heading. Richie thought about pushing, but decided that this time discretion really was the better part of valor. Since he didn't want the same thing, it would be mean to push Methos into admitting it. ((A little smug aren't you? What makes you think you're right? He's 5,000 years old. *You're* just a kid. Why would he be interested in a punk like you?)) Richie's step slowed a bit as confusion reigned. Why should that thought disappoint him? Methos was a full block ahead of him, nearly at Joe's, before Richie snapped out of it. "Wait." Methos stopped, turned, and waited, his expression completely unreadable. "So," Richie said, casually shoving his hands into his pockets, "are we good to go? Or have we given up on the idea of revenging Joe?" An odd look crossed Methos' face before he answered. "You actually think you could do that, where you know Joe will see it?" Richie shrugged. "Why not? If I can actually do it in the first place, what difference does it make where it happens?" Methos chuckled wryly. "Frankly, I didn't think you'd be able to at all." "Surprised you, huh?" Richie crowed, grinning from ear to ear. Then, slyly looking side to side, he leaned in closer to Methos. "Confidentially, it surprised the hell out of me, too!" Methos laughed fully. "You're just full of surprises tonight, aren't you?" Richie shrugged. His expression thoughtful, Methos looked from Richie to the door of Joe's bar, and back again. "It would get an...interesting reaction," he said, the smirk reappearing. Moments later, by mutual, silent agreement, Methos and Richie entered the darkened, empty establishment. Methos ducked behind the bar, and snagging two beers, quickly rejoined a patiently waiting Richie. Crossing the room, they grinned at each other as they slid into a booth. Stools at the bar wouldn't work for this. The illusion of privacy was needed. That, and Joe's reappearance to close up for the night. "You think he's doing the accounts?" Richie asked in a whisper. Methos only nodded, listening intently for any sign their mortal friend was headed their way. ********** Part Six ********** Richie and Methos sat whispering quietly, their hands mere inches from each other when they finally heard the office door open. Both men surreptitiously watched Joe as he emerged. Waiting until the mortal Watcher started to turn toward them, they snatched their hands back. Each took a quick swig of their beer, trying to look as innocent as possible. They failed -- miserably. Methos swiveled his head to look sideways at Joe, eyeing him with sarcastic amusement. "You *do* realize, don't you, that this means war?" Joe nodded, an uncertain grin on his face. "I don't suppose you could let it go with a 'you got me', could you?" he asked, continuing toward them. Richie slid over, allowing Joe room to sit beside him, struggling not to laugh out loud. Methos' smirk grew more pronounced as he simply shook his head. "Thought not," Joe sighed, slipping into the seat next to Richie. "It couldn't have been all bad," Joe replied casually, looking from one to the other. "I mean, you guys stayed out awfully late." "Yeah," Richie supplied unhelpfully. "All the better to plot our revenge," Methos finished. Joe groaned. "I'm dead, aren't I?" "No," Methos replied, "not at all. You may *wish* you were by the time we're done." Richie and Methos shared a small smile, quickly glancing back to Joe. "Tell you what -- why don't I pull out my best bottle," Joe offered, rising as he spoke. "Trying to bribe us, Joe?" Richie asked, laughing. "Damn straight I am!" he retorted, then paused. "Is it working?" Methos snorted. "It might be." Joe shook his head and headed for the bar counter. Once Joe's back was too them, Richie and Methos nodded to each other. It was time to up the ante. Methos, sitting closer to the outside of the table, toed off one shoe, and began running his foot up the outside of Richie's leg. Richie jumped, despite the fact that he'd been expecting the move. Clearing his throat quietly, he grinned sheepishly. What he hadn't expected was that the touch of Methos' toes on his leg would actually turn him on -- that the slightest touch would send a sensual thrill straight to his groin. He clamped his tongue firmly between his teeth to keep from gasping aloud. He was getting far more than he'd bargained for. It was as if Methos were touching him far more intimately. The kiss he could understand, but this? Why was this affecting him so strongly? **Well,** he thought, **two can play that game.** ((That's not in the plan.)) **Your point is?** Momentarily forgetting that this was simply for show, Richie set about getting a reaction out of Methos. What had been simple child-like fun became something more. This game of footsie became a challenge, and Richie's focus changed from understanding what was happening, to giving Methos the same erotic pleasure the older Immortal was giving him. Confining his movements to the parts of his body hidden from Methos' view, Richie struggled to get his laced shoe off without alerting Methos that something was up. He wanted it to be surprising. He wanted to see a *real* reaction, not the controlled response he suspected he'd get if Methos knew what was about to happen. Unfortunately, that wasn't as easy as it sounded. Especially when Methos switched tactics, beginning a lazy journey up the inside of his leg. Richie's shivered, the sudden heat racing through him in spiral waves surprising a quiet hiss out of him. Across the table Methos' smirk grew more pronounced, and instantly Richie knew what it would take to give as good as he was getting. As Methos' toes lightly traced circles along his inner thigh, Richie allowed a soft sigh to escape him. Fully giving himself over to this new experience, he let his eyes drift half-closed. Then, parting his lips, Richie wet them with the very tip of his tongue. Dropping his head back, purposely baring his throat to the older Immortal, he continued watching Methos through the veil of his eyelashes. The young Immortal saw, more than heard, Methos' sharp inhale. As satisfaction surged through him, leaving him painfully aware of just how tight he wore his jeans, Richie slid down in a vain attempt to relieve the increasing pressure. All he succeeded in doing, however, was bringing that torturously talented foot into direct contact with his erection. He held his breath against the nearly blinding jolt of arousal that coursed through him. **Jesus! What is happening to me?** Richie tried to look away from Methos. He wanted to see what Joe was doing. He was dying to know whether the Watcher was noticing anything, but couldn't tear his attention away from the Immortal sitting on the other side of the table. Methos had become the very center of his universe. **I shouldn't be reacting this way,** he thought uneasily. Swallowing to wet a very dry mouth, Richie finally remembered his original plan, surprising Methos when he began tracing his own slow path up the Immortal's leg. As he watched Methos' eyes widen and his lips part ever-so-slightly, Richie couldn't help remembering their kiss, and how it had made him feel. **Could anything that felt *that* good, possibly be wrong?** Richie jumped guiltily, instantly straightening in his seat when Joe suddenly appeared at the table, only partially mollified by the fact that Methos had also been surprised by the Watcher's appearance. "So," Joe asked cheerfully, as he slid back into his seat and set the unopened bottle on the table, "what shall we drink to tonight?" **Doesn't he notice *anything*?** Richie thought, consternation pursing his lips. **He's a *Watcher* for crying out loud!** Methos shrugged offhandedly, reaching out to turn the bottle. After only a quick glance at the label, his smirk disappeared and he looked up incredulously. "That's a 40 year old bottle of scotch, Joe!" "What?" Richie choked. Joe laughed. "I didn't pay for it, if that's what you're wondering. It was a gift, with the specification that it be shared with friends." He looked between the two Immortals once more. "Well, since neither of you can come up with anything appropriate to toast to," he said finally, rising slowly. He carefully opened the bottle and poured a glass for each of them. "I suggest we drink to...oh, how about... to new discoveries and broadening one's horizons," Joe continued, raising his glass to Methos and then Richie. Richie's mouth fell open, his hand only halfway toward his own glass. Methos fell back against the booth's cushions and laughed. "You did notice!" Richie accused, which only made Methos laugh harder. "Of course I noticed, Richie," Joe chuckled. "I'm a Watcher, remember?" "I could have *sworn* you didn't notice a thing!" "I'm just glad it worked out, that's all," Joe replied, deadpan. Richie blinked twice, his thoughts swirling. "You mean," he began slowly, "you didn't set us up as a joke? It was because you thought--" Richie broke off, suddenly sliding out of the booth. "I'm outta here," he muttered, brushing past Joe, and was out the door before either Joe or Methos could say a word. Methos jumped up as Joe grabbed for the table to steady himself, catching the mortal's arm. "You okay there?" he asked, casting a quick glance at the exit. "Yeah, I'm fine," Joe replied, setting down his glass, and heading toward the door. "Let me, Joe?" Methos asked quietly. Joe hesitated, then nodded. "All right." Quickly ducking under the table to grab his shoe, Methos came back out chortling. "What?" Methos held up a forgotten shoe as he slipped his own on. "I think he's gonna miss this," he offered wryly, already headed away from the table. Joe snorted as the picture of Richie walking down the street wearing only one shoe momentarily forced away his feelings of guilt. "Methos, you can tell him from me, it *was* a joke -- a dare actually." Methos nodded, his lips twitching. "It was a good one, Joe. You got us both," he admitted ruefully. Joe half-smiled, watching as Methos continued toward the exit. "Oh, and Adam?" he called out when the Immortal was half way through the door. Methos turned, looking questioningly at Joe. "Yes?" "I was tipped off." Methos snorted and shook his head. "I should have known. Who?" "Richie's watcher, Theresa." Methos frowned. "Wasn't she supposed to be off tonight, her anniversary or something?" Joe nodded. "She heard about the setup." "Oh, I bet her husband just *loved* that," Methos said drily, stepping out and letting the door close behind him. Joe stood watching the closed door for several moments before turning back to the table. The three glasses of 40 year old scotch sat abandoned on the table, a mute testimony to why he *never* gave in to dares. What had started out as a dare, as 'all in good fun', had ended up hurting someone. He walked over to the table, shaking his head, and slowly began cleaning up. It had been a long night, but thank God, it was nearly over. Tomorrow was a new day. He would be able to patch things up with Richie then. ***** Methos hadn't gone more than five steps when he felt Immortal presence sweep over him. He stopped and slowly scanned the area around him, hoping it was Richie and not some random encounter. He *really* didn't need that right now. There had been enough highs and lows tonight without adding Immortal combat into the mix. "Over here," Richie said from his right. Letting out a quiet breath of relief, Methos casually strolled over to where Richie leaned up against a brick wall. He held out the shoe, letting it dangle from one finger. "You forgot something." Taking it, Richie squatted down. "Yeah," he replied as he put it on, tying it quickly. Methos watched in patient silence. "Sorry," Richie said when he had finished. Straightening, he awkwardly shoved his hands into his pockets. For all the world, Richie looked like a lost little boy who'd gotten caught stealing the cookie jar. Methos sighed, fighting the urge to simply wrap the younger man in his arms and offer comfort. "For what?" he asked instead. Richie shrugged. "For over-reacting," he replied, glancing down. Methos cocked his head, watching Richie carefully. "Why did it upset you so much?" Richie just shrugged again, not looking up. Inside, Methos cringed, but he made himself speak casually, forcibly keeping his expression neutral. "Of course, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he said, turning away. "I'll see you around, Rich. It was fun." **While it lasted.** Methos heard a swift inhale behind him and stopped. "Because Joe was right," Richie said in a rush. "I *am* attracted to you." All the breath rushed out of Methos. Had he heard right? He tried to turn, but couldn't. It felt like all his muscles had melted into puddles of jello. He wasn't even sure his legs would keep him upright. "What?" he asked. "You heard me," Richie said softly. Those words, and the quiet rustle of cloth against cloth, were the only warning Methos had before Richie's hands came to rest on his shoulders. "I never noticed it before. Or maybe it's just that I'm seeing new things tonight..." Richie's voice trailed off uncertainly. Then Methos heard him take a deep breath. "This is all very new to me. I can't make any promises--" "Who's asking for promises?" Methos whispered. **Oh, but I want to ask. I want to ask for every promise that is yours to give.** "I just don't want to hurt you." **Was it *that* obvious?** Methos thought as he turned around, Richie's words serving to free him from his paralysis. "Shh," he said, laying a finger across Richie's lips. "There are no promises to make," he continued. "Nothing lasts forever." Richie grazed the end of Methos' finger with his teeth, then darted the tip of his tongue out to soothe it. "Yes, something does," he said softly, his eyes growing dark. "You do." Methos' heart clenched deep in his chest and it was a moment before he could draw breath enough to answer. "No," he denied, shaking his head minutely, "not even me. Some day, someone better than me is going to come along -- someone I won't be able to fast talk my way around, or run from." Richie shook his head. "I don't want to think about that time." The smallest of chuckles escaped Methos, and one corner of his mouth twitched upward. **Neither do I!** "What do you want to think about?" "Kissing you," he replied, slowly leaning forward. "Oh, I think I can accommodate you," Methos replied hoarsely. Suiting actions to words, he met Richie halfway. The End Return to story index Return to main page |