It Was Mutual It Was Mutual
by Amy Fortuna
Rating: PG-13
Archive: Yes.
Fandom: Highlander, Duncan/Methos
Summary: Methos considers Duncan's intelligence quotient.


We tease. Each other. Mercilessly. Trade quips, practical jokes, and beers with the ease of people who've spent much longer together than we actually have. Laugh at each other. Usually I'm the one laughing at him, but, believe it or not, the Highlander's got a wicked sense of humor. Well, in the right mood he does anyway.

Hell, we've even flirted a bit. He's the one who's done most of it, I can't flirt to save my life (well, maybe to save my life, but not for anything else). And with all of that, I'm *sure* it's never crossed his mind that I maybe, just maybe, am looking at him as a damn fine beautiful specimen of manhood. That I don't just adore his scintillating wit, but also the way his ass moves under those jeans.

So I steal his beer and beat him at chess with frightening regularity, and he doesn't notice the way I follow him with my eyes whenever he moves about the barge. It's a mutual unspoken agreement.

Is Duncan one hundred percent straight, that's the next question. Pardon me while I roll my eyes. Any man that spends weeks redecorating a barge, fussing over curtains -- curtains! -- is no way jose *exclusively* interested in women. I'll not even bring up Fitz here, I don't need to, but will just note that the man would have fucked anything that moved close enough. And generally did.

Conclusion: Duncan's got no problemo with men, no problem with teasing me and pretty much keeping me in his barge in luxury (the man's even learned to buy the beer I like, and lots of it), what is the problem? Why not snatch me up in that Highlander way and carry me off to his bed?

Honestly, I don't look like a pleasure boy. Not now anyway. Is that why? Am I simply not appealing to the protective instincts of kilt-boy? Not pretty enough?

Could be. But unlikely. Mac's not one to judge *solely* on looks.

Well, is he harboring some kind of weird awe for the Methos, the five thousand fucking year old relic? Haven't I done enough to shatter that image? Expect to see a 5000 year old man in your barge stealing a beer or twenty? Like the kids say these days, puh-leeeease. The awe was dispelled when we first met. "Mi casa es su casa." He tells me now it should have been "your house is my house" instead.

Enough of this. I'm tired of wondering. I'm asking him tonight. The worst he can do is kill me a few times.


"Have a beer or four," Duncan says as I settle on the couch and he prepares to go back to work on some research thing.

"Not tonight, I think," I say, and god does that ever get his attention!

"What? You don't want a beer?" he says, eyes wide. "Are you feeling all right?"

I lounge farther into the couch, spreading my legs just a bit, trying to look as seductive as possible, and then ruin the effect by biting my lip anxiously.

"Come here, Duncan," I say slinkily. He gazes at me with a quizzical expression, trying to determine whether I'm safe or not, then steps over next to the couch. I place my hand on his thigh and slide it upward slowly as I speak. "I had in mind a different...beverage for this evening." My hand is caressing his inner thigh, and he breathes out in a rush.

Highlanderlike, he goes stammery on me, staring down at me as though I'd just lost my mind. I break the spell by grinning, not a I'm-not-serious-haha grin, but a I'm-coming-to-get-you-so-watch-out wolfish smile.

He moves back. I sit up, and inch forward. He takes another step back, and bangs his leg on the coffee table.

And before I know it, we are both on the floor, dying of laughter. This at least has broken the tension in the room. Apparently I can't do a seduction scene, not to save my head.

He smiles at me from the floor. "Are you this smooth with women?" he asks.

I tackle. Grab his hair, push him down on the hard floor and kiss him like I haven't kissed in centuries, my tongue diving between his lips as though it were searching for that last little bit of the Chinese we had for dinner.

He's not resisting at all, and if his mouth wasn't otherwise occupied, I swear he'd be grinning at me.

Oh, Highlander, Highlander. I suddenly wonder who exactly was seduced here.

It was mutual, is my last coherent thought, as he tugs my pants down and starts in on me like a king's feast.

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