Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made here, no harm intended. That said, don't you think they really belong to each other?

Warnings: Schmoopiness! Hot burning sex of the m/m variety. Music is a central theme and song lyrics might be used. If you don't want extreme happiness with your slash, go somewhere else. Go to our X-Files page! LOL!

Set in no particular time period, feel free to make up one if it will make you feel better.

This is for Luminosity, for a million reasons, but most directly for buying me my very own copy of FWE III at the con. Thanks Lum!  To the beloved RSM- family, friends, partners in crime and slash, and the best damn bunch of women I have ever known. And, of course, the other half of my brain, my sister. Thick as Thieves, nance!

Many Blessings on Olympia's wonderful head for sparking my brain, letting me talk it out, and helping me formulate this baby.

Beta thanks to Lum, Olympia, Melissa, Amy, dearest MoonPuppy and anyone else who was kind enough to give their two cents while I was writing this.

Song title and Lyrics borrowed without permission from The Pogues and Shane MacGowan.

A Man You Don't Meet Every Day
By Zen&nancy

Music filled his apartment, as it often did in the wee hours of morning. The city lights of Seacouver that twinkled outside his third story window reminded Methos that he wasn't alone in his nocturnal habits. It was a comforting sort of company, completely unobtrusive, but still company of sorts. There was something in the air, or maybe in his blood, that had propelled his drinking along at an urgent pace tonight. He could feel life bubbling inside him, stronger than he had in decades, and each beer only fed his jubilant mood. It was bittersweet when he danced around his apartment with his half-full bottle of Newcastle, wishing at that moment that he had someone to share this unexpected mood swing with.

Usually, solitude meant freedom: he could be completely himself without worrying if he was exposing too much. The fact that no one really knew him, all of him, had always been a comfort, a form of protection. Tonight... tonight it gave him a pit in his stomach as a sense of isolation that overwhelmed him.  Stopping at the window, Methos looked out at the city, but only saw a blur of lights, his focus directed inward. He tried to imagine what Duncan or Joe would think if they could see him waltzing with his beer as the Pogues sang about the Old Main Drag. What would it be like to let them see him without his shields, his cynicism, his blasé attitude? Yes, these were all aspects of his personality, but he exaggerated them to keep people at a distance, keep them off balance. By this time in his life, it was second nature; survival instinct.

Yet here he was, pleasantly drunk and aching inside one minute, and then doing a jig the next. The music swept his melancholy up and danced it right out of him. He'd listened to this CD four times over already but still couldn't get enough. He felt raw tonight, as raw as Shane's voice as it took him from one emotional extreme to the other. Nothing was in between or mediocre tonight; every thought, every movement he made, even every belch he let out was intense and overwhelming. It was exhilarating, this emotional roller coaster ride he was on, but try as he might, he couldn't figure out where it had come from. After 5000 years Methos had become very good at controlling his emotions. He knew when it was time to lie to himself and when it was time to face the truths, and that was probably what had kept his sanity intact all these years. Maybe letting this emotional recklessness run its course tonight was just another part of maintaining that balance. Or maybe he was drunk and just trying to find a rationalization that would give him peace of mind.

Before another thought could run through his mind, Immortal presence swept over him; one with that unmistakable feeling of Duncan MacLeod to it. He hadn't lived over 5000 years and not learned a thing or two. Getting the feel for Duncan's signature on the buzz of presence hadn't taken more than a few encounters with the Highlander. A rush of dread ran through him, as he realized how dangerous it was to be this out of control around Duncan, but a thrill of joy was close on its heels. Caution be damned, Methos decided as he headed for the door, telling himself that he could use some joy in his life.

The challenge had ended hours ago, but Duncan still couldn't shake the wired restlessness that a quickening always left him with, and this one didn't seem to want to settle. He'd stayed at Joe's bar after closing, and helped Joe shut down. He'd hoped that the physical labor of mopping and cleaning up would work off some of his energy, but he had no such luck. It hadn't been an extremely challenging fight, or even an especially nasty quickening; just a head-hungry kid with more testosterone than brains. Now he was driving aimlessly through the streets, not wanting to go home, but not knowing where to go at three in the morning. Duncan wasn't surprised when he found himself driving down the street that led to Methos' apartment building. Instead he just laughed at himself as he looked up to the third floor window, happy and a bit surprised to find the lights on.

Not knowing what he was going to say, but needing Methos' company badly enough not to care, Duncan headed up the three flights of stairs. It was an older building, with solid wood banisters to hang onto. The stairs had a nice, easy rise that made his feet want to climb faster. Before he knew it, he was flooded with the prickling feel of Methos' powerful presence and had raised his hand to knock on the door.

He didn't get the chance to connect with the door and almost knocked on Methos' nose, instead. Feeling foolish, Duncan just smiled sheepishly and waited.

"Mac!" Methos reeked of good beer and he looked incredibly happy about the fact that Duncan had dropped in on him at this ungodly hour. His face was flushed and his eyes, which were always guarded, were positively dancing. The sleeves of his frumpy brown sweater were pushed up, Methos' bony elbows sticking out.

Already off balance from this unexpected greeting, he stumbled when Methos grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. The crinkled smile on the old man's face was a rare sight, and Duncan felt as if his nerves had shifted gears. By no means was he feeling any calmer, but now his restlessness felt as if it had a place, as if it were welcome in Methos' home. He resisted the urge to push back the hair that was sticking out from behind Methos' ear.

"So, MacLeod," Methos spoke into his fridge as he grabbed them each a beer. "What brings you to my door at three in the morning?"

There was a welcoming tone to Methos' voice, and Duncan felt his tense muscles finally relaxing as he realized that he was finally where he wanted to be.

"Restlessness, I guess." Duncan shrugged as he took the offered beer. "I took a head earlier, hours ago. Just couldn't settle down. I helped Joe close up, then I just drove around."

Before Duncan could even try to explain how that led to his being in Methos' apartment, Methos cut him off. "I know the feeling all too well, except, for me it's walking. Sometimes I think I could walk the length of China. Christ, there's a thought! If you put together all the steps I've taken in my life, how far would it reach? How many times around the world have these feet walked?"

Much to Duncan's amazement and amusement, Methos held up his bare foot in his free hand and wiggled his toes at Duncan. The fact that Methos' feet were almost black on the bottom only made the gesture appear even more childlike, and ridiculously endearing. Duncan laughed, and shook his head, not sure if he'd ever heard Methos sound so confounded by his own age. Something had seemed off about his friend ever since Methos had opened the door, but instead of it putting Duncan more on edge, he felt more welcome than he ever had.

"What's gotten into you?" Duncan's laughter, that was frighteningly close to a giggle, took away any harshness his words may have held. "You're not yourself tonight."

Duncan's words made the hairs on the back on Methos' neck stand up, made him wonder what Duncan's definition of "Who Methos Really Is" would be. Maybe it was time to set the record straight. His survival instincts were staging a formal protest, but a small voice in his head kept repeating, // If you can't trust Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, who can you trust? // He realized that he was drunker than he had thought, when his rationalization to ignore this little voice was, // Formal protests are always such a bore. What the hell. //

"On the contrary, Mac, I am more myself tonight than I have been in a very, very long time. In fact, I am absolutely bursting with myself." The blatant honesty spilling from his mouth sent adrenaline rushing through him.

"I see." Duncan looked as though he'd just gotten a peek at the circus freak show's star attraction. He had that look of morbid curiosity, disbelief, and just a tinge of terror. He could have done without the tinge of terror, but otherwise Methos relished having pulled the rug from under Duncan's feet.

He answered with a laugh and headed back into the living room, knowing Duncan would follow.

"Methos, did something happen? Are you all right?" The honest concern was touching, and Methos found himself talking without thinking for the first time in centuries.

"Something happen? Not really, no, I just feel... incredibly alive." He threw out his arms and spun around as he spoke, illustrating how he felt much better than his words ever could. "Maybe it's something to do with the planets, or in the air." He came to a stop in the middle of the room, and turned to face Duncan, who had wandered to stand in front of the window. "Ever feel as though you were about burst out of your skin?"

Methos was happily surprised when Duncan took a step closer, his face as open as Methos' soul felt. "Is that how you feel?"

Duncan was always asking such simple questions that had so many meanings. Did Duncan really want to know how he felt? Inside or out, Methos wondered. Any other night, any other time, Methos would have conveniently changed the subject, or come up with a reply that would have Duncan blushing like a fool and backing down at lightning speed. Not tonight, though. Maybe fate had taken special care to plot this evening out so it all fell perfectly into place, or maybe this was all about to blow up in his face. Either way, Methos was flying on the adrenaline rushing through him, flying on the reckless freedom he was feeling, and his decision was made even before the song changed, the music slow and lilting.

"Want to know how I feel? Really want to know? I think we've been dancing around each other for years, MacLeod. Why don't we do it for real?" He quickly closed the space between them and wrapped his arms around Duncan's shoulders, swaying to the music against Duncan's body, which seemed to be frozen in shock.

An excruciatingly long minute passed, and just when Methos thought he was going to be tossed across the room, Duncan's arm's curved around his waist, and then warm, callused hands were under his henley and exploring his back. Layers of scent pulled Methos even closer. Blood, sweat, dirt, smoke and liquor smelled wonderful on MacLeod, but before Methos could get lost in the experience, Duncan's words caught him by surprise.

"If this is the real you, then who is that infuriating twit who's been teasing me relentlessly for years?" Duncan was growling, pausing to lick Methos' neck between his words.

Duncan's hot breath sent a shiver down Methos' spine and straight to his groin, his tongue leaving a trail of fire down Methos' neck. Their bodies were pressed tight and slowly dancing, each shift of Duncan's hips making Methos' cock harder and harder. "That was Adam Pierson. He is a twit, isn't he?"

Duncan's laugh vibrated through Methos, sparking his own laughter. This blissful, heady feeling couldn't be attributed solely to beer, and Methos marveled at the high he felt from throwing caution to the wind. Emotional recklessness had its strong points. Their laughter quieted, and Duncan's face grew serious, and Methos could feel those deep, brown eyes searching his face.

"Who are you then?"

Methos echoed the lyrics of the traditional Irish song. "I'm a man you don't meet every day."

"Aye." Duncan's voice was deep and smoky, and Methos realized that he wasn't the only one who was letting down the barriers tonight. "You are that."

Then Duncan started to lead, to really dance with him. Closing his eyes as Mac's cheek pressed against his own bony cheek, Methos could hear the floorboards creaking under their feet as they slowly swayed and rocked to the music. Even though Duncan's movements were calm and flowing, Methos imagined that he could feel the quickening rushing through Duncan's body. His fingertips tingled as they stroked the back of Duncan's neck, and as they burrowed under the ponytail that was pulled tight at the base of Duncan's skull. As Duncan slowly danced them around his living room, Methos worked the hair free from the ponytail. As the song ended, he pulled his face away from Duncan's so he could look at the man.

His breath quickened from the way Duncan was looking at him. There was fire in MacLeod, and even though he'd always known that, he'd never had it all directed on him before. If he'd felt as if he would burst out of skin earlier, now he was sure that it was happening. Methos knew his face was red, but it wasn't from embarrassment, it was pure lust that colored his face. The music was still sweet as the next song began, "A Pair of Brown Eyes" making Methos wonder about fate.

Duncan closed the space between them, his hand curling around the back of Methos' neck. He barely heard Duncan say, "I have to," before his lips were devoured.

Duncan's first kiss was gentle and sweet, and Methos' heart skipped as those warm, full lips curved around his, and then pulled back, only to return again with so much urgency he forgot to breathe. Duncan's mouth was tasting him, and he greedily opened himself for a thorough ravishing. As they sucked and bit on each other's lips, Duncan's hands were again on his bare back, holding him almost painfully tight as they never settled in one place. Mac was in constant, frantic, erotic motion; his mouth and tongue were furiously claiming in their consumption, and those strong hands were grasping and kneading every bone and muscle in his back. Methos felt as if he'd walked straight into a Highland hurricane, and he wondered if he would find a calm in the eye of the storm, but hoped that if there was one, it would take a very long time to get there.

As Duncan's mouth traveled across his jaw and down his neck, Methos realized that it had been far to long since some one had fucked him into a boneless, unconscious sprawl, and desperately hoped that MacLeod was up to the task. Then teeth sank into his neck and all thought vanished as he lost himself in the sensations of pain and pleasure that started at the point of contact, and then danced throughout his body. His long, shaky moan sparked a wonderfully evil chuckle from Duncan, which sent a series of shivers down his spine. He felt Duncan's hands follow the shivers, as if he knew the exact effect he was having on Methos.

He was disoriented as Duncan quickly pulled the sweater off of him, then pulled off his own with even less care, and grabbed Methos by the shoulders. Mac's fingers dug into his skin as he started to push Methos backwards.

"Now. I want you now- no more games," Duncan panted at him, his lips swollen, hair a mess, eyes wild and dangerous.

As his back hit the cold wall, Methos let out a hiss of pleasure; the cool plaster was a welcome contrast to the fire that had consumed his body. "You always seemed like a willing player, MacLeod. You could have tossed your cards on the table anytime."

As Duncan pinned him to the wall, holding Methos' shoulders tightly and grinding his hips into Methos', Duncan growled in his ear, "I'm ready to play my ace in the hole."

The combination of Duncan's voice against his ear and Duncan's hard body pressed into his sent Methos' head involuntarily flying back, his head hitting the wall with a thunk. Even that felt good, as he heard Duncan chuckle in response.

"God you're easy, Methos."

Duncan's hands let go of his shoulders, his skin going instantly cold from the loss. Duncan was making fast work of Methos' jeans, roughly pulling them down around his knees. He used his feet to get them off the rest of the way as he struggled with Duncan's zipper, which was being hindered by the impressive bulge of Duncan's erection. With Mac's help, he triumphed over the zipper.

Methos itched to touch, and the first thing his hands went for was Duncan's incredibly hot cock. As his fingers wrapped around Duncan's length, Methos had one of those moments where his perception took a step back, and he was astounded to realize that he was, without a shadow of a doubt, stroking Duncan MacLeod's heavy dick, and making the man even wilder than he had been before. Duncan's head fell forward, leaning on Methos' chest, tickling it, and he was watching Methos' fingers slide up and down on him.

Without warning, Duncan took a tight hold of Methos' wrists. His instinctive reaction was to let go, and the split second after he loosened his hold on Duncan's cock, his arms were pinned above his head, flat against the wall. Duncan's body slammed against him, and was instantly in motion. Duncan pulled back a little to fit their cocks against each other, and then started humping Methos in true alpha male form. He reveled in the wild, jerky movements of Duncan's hips, the careless way his shoulders were bitten and gnawed, but the best surprise of all were the words that filled in the spaces between the biting.

"Should've done this" - bite - "years ago." - suck- "So good." - bite - "You taste so," - lick up the side of his neck - "so bloody fantastic, Methos."

His hands were numb from Duncan's tight grip, still pinning them above his head, but there was a warmth to the feeling, an old, familiar side of passion that he had sorely missed the past few decades. Having Duncan molest him like this was beyond any of his fantasies, and there had been many over the years. All sense of direction was lost as he let his eyes fall shut, a sense of floating, and then everything disappeared as Duncan's mouth tore into his. Duncan sank his tongue as deeply into Methos' mouth as he could, and he was drowning in Duncan MacLeod. All he could feel, taste, hear, and smell was Duncan, invading every inch of him penetrating him with only his tongue. He sucked greedily on Duncan's tongue, and met Duncan thrust for thrust, their sweaty bodies sliding against each other. With each thrust from Duncan's hips, Methos could feel his naked ass sliding against the cold wall, but rather than being a distraction, it was just another piece of the erotic mass their bodies had become.

Too soon, Methos felt his climax building, spreading, his balls pulling up tight, and then an explosion of shudders throughout him, every nerve on fire. He ripped his mouth from Mac's to let out a shout, his ecstasy demanding a voice. As he cried out, his come splattering them, he felt Duncan tense up, slam into him one last time, and then add to the hot, sticky mess they had become. Duncan's orgasm went on and on, and as he trembled in after-shocks, he pulled Methos' hands down, letting them go so he could wrap his arms around Methos, holding him close. As the blood rushed back to his arms and hands, he clung to Duncan, spellbound by the power of Mac's passion. It had rocked them both to their foundations, and it was all he could do keep from falling, hanging on to Duncan like a drowning man.

The weight of Methos hanging onto him was anchoring Duncan, the only thing keeping him from floating, or falling. The realization that the games were over, that he could just take what he wanted and that Methos would give it up so easily to him... it had his heart soaring and his body aching for more. Methos didn't seem interested in moving, the weight of his head on Duncan's shoulder seemed to be increasing. In fact, Duncan was beginning to wonder if he had fallen asleep standing up.

Sleep was the last thing Duncan wanted. As his eyes wandered up and down the body that was draped over him, all he wanted was to take. Take and keep Methos, this Methos, the one that finally let his guard down. The one that was nibbling on his neck. The one that Duncan wanted to fuck unconscious, and then maybe take out to breakfast and discuss the future, but right now, all he wanted was more of Methos, as much as Methos would give.

"Knew you had it in you," Methos chuckled against his neck.

"You haven't even come close to seeing what I have in me." Duncan did his best to purr the words into Methos' ear.

He got the reaction he wanted, and he felt his body recovering very quickly as Methos pulled his head up, looking Duncan in the eyes.

"Show me." Methos' words sounded like a dare, an invitation and permission all wrapped up in two simple words.

"Gladly." Duncan's pulse was racing again. The smell and taste of Methos and sex filled his head as the strange energy this night had to it swept through him again.

Overcome with a renewed sense of urgency, he turned Methos around, faced him forward, and grabbed his shoulders to steer him to the bedroom. As he propelled Methos forward, Duncan was thrilled to feel Methos pick up the pace, even if the man was stumbling over his own feet. Duncan knew he didn't need his ego stroked, but it still gave him a rush to see the effect he had on Methos.

As they walked into the bedroom, Duncan didn't slow down. He just continued to walk Methos right into, and then falling onto, the bed. He let his body fall on top of Methos, who was face first in the mattress, and laughing. Duncan made himself slow down, just a little, and take time to appreciate the feel of finally having Methos beneath him. He stroked Methos' short, sweaty hair, and the body under him seemed to melt into the bed. His legs were between Methos', and he felt the muscles that had been hard against his legs go slack, sending a shiver through him as his half erect cock settled against Methos' warm, soft ass.

The moan that came out of Methos made Duncan ache to hear more, to have Methos moaning and writhing beneath him. He realized that if he wanted to get to that point he was going to have to scrounge up some sort of lube from somewhere.

"Don't move, not a muscle." As Duncan got up he was pleased to see Methos laying still as a statue.

Straight to the kitchen to pull the olive oil out of a cabinet, and then back to Methos in less than a minute. He had to stop for a second to take in the erotic picture of Methos spread out and ready for him, his body a perfect composition of sleek lines and defined muscles. Duncan crawled back onto the bed, sitting on his knees between Methos legs. He set down the olive oil and ran his hands up Methos legs, which spread wider in invitation. He leaned into the motion, digging the heels of his palms into Methos' thigh muscles as his hands pushed up further to grab each ass cheek and knead them.

More moans from Methos, deep and shaky, had Duncan grabbing for the olive oil and slicking up his now throbbing dick. As he tossed to bottle of oil out of the way, he found himself putting his needs before his lovers' for the first time in centuries. He was immediately overcome by the need to be inside Methos, now. He quickly took himself in hand and positioned himself against Methos' ass, then spread Methos wide and slowly pushed himself in.

The pitch of Methos cries rose a bit, but he pushed back on Duncan's cock, and as Duncan shoved forward he was sunk deep in Methos' hot ass. Duncan waited only a second, as Methos shifted his hips higher, giving Duncan an even deeper angle. Then Duncan remembered Methos' words from earlier, feeling as though he was going to burst out of his own skin. Fire ran through his veins as pulled back and slammed into Methos, holding nothing back.

"Yeeessssss!" Methos yelled the word, his head coming up off the bed, his neck straining back.

Duncan growled, the sound starting as a feeling from deep in his gut. Slamming himself into Methos again and again, Duncan was lost in haze of passion and hunger and need; years of denied yearnings finally being quenched. Methos was stretched out, his arms reaching above his head, his fists twisted in his sheets. Duncan took hold of Methos' angular hips and set a steadier pace, still fast and hard. His head was filled with the animal noises they were making, grunts and wails bouncing off the walls. It all swirled around him, time slowing down as his body sped up.

Suddenly, Methos pushed himself up on his elbows, his body going stiff. He hung his head and howled as Duncan felt his muscles spasming with orgasm. He was surprised that he had the self control to wait for Methos to start to relax before he started to fuck him again, this time with no rhythm or grace, just brute force and a feral need. As Duncan lost himself in his own climax, his vision went blurry, and his muscles suddenly lost all their strength. He fell on Methos, still shooting come into him. When his body finally started to come back down to earth, Duncan thought that the word satiated had never had so much meaning before.

He was starting to gasp for air, but Methos still wanted to feel Duncan collapsed on top of him, didn't want to lose the feel of the man against him. It wasn't as though he could do anything about it himself; his bones seemed to have turned to pudding and he'd yelled himself hoarse. Besides, he couldn't remember ever being quite this happy, and he desperately hoped that it wouldn't have to end. As his brain started to come back to life, after having all it's circuits fried, he wondered why they had waited so bloody long in the first place.

Duncan moved, slid a bit to his left, and Methos was suddenly able to breathe again, but he still had the security and warmth of Duncan draped over his back. He turned his head to look at Duncan, and pulled his hands together under his head, as a pillow. Duncan was smiling at him, beaming like a love struck fool, actually, and Methos savored it. He just hoped that once the afterglow wore off, Duncan's morals weren't going to get in the way. Worse yet, he'd start apologizing to Methos for every wrong he thought he had done Methos in the past. All Methos wanted was for them to be like this, comfortable and honest, friends and lovers, for as long as time would give them.

"You're not going to go all regretful on me in the light of day, are you?" Methos couldn't help but ask, kicking himself for breaking the mood.

To his shock, Duncan laughed at him.

"No, you old fool, why would I do something stupid like that? We've finally dropped all the pretense and side stepping. Why would I want to screw that up?" Duncan reached up and stroked his cheek, the gentle touch making Methos feel as foolish as the words.

"Just thought..."

"Well don't," Duncan cut him off. "This is where I want us to be, just like this. No bullshit, no posturing, no contests, just us rutting like animals and then going out to breakfast and being the friends that we always have been. Give me a little credit, will you? I may be one-tenth your age, but I'm not completely daft. Besides, I'd like to devote the next couple of decades to making you howl like that." Duncan's warm, throaty chuckle went deep inside Methos, and he marveled at how simple this had been, after making things so complicated between them for so many years.

"I like it when you make me howl, Mac, believe me, I could quickly become addicted to it. Besides, we haven't even got the part where I make you howl yet." Methos gave Duncan his best lecherous grin. "How about we start with a shower, though?"

"Right you are, Methos. A clean start."

The End

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