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“The man who would make love to Death finds himself entwined with corruption.”
~
Duncan startled awake, gazing into blackness with his katana in his hand. No sound reached his instantly straining ears, but a vague impression of movement to the left, a darker shadow in the unlit room made him roll to the right as silently as long training would allow.
“Oof! Damn! No more haggis, MacLeod,” said Methos, beneath him.
“I almost skewered you,” said Duncan, furiously.
Methos wiggled a little.
*Suggestively.*
Duncan felt his face heat, and thanked a God he did not believe in for the darkness. He could almost see the smirk on the old bastard’s face. But the tone was perfectly innocent when Methos said,
“You still can if you need to.”
Damn.
And then his latent brain functions came fully awake and demanded he ask Methos just why he was in his, Duncan’s, bed. Apparently naked, if that thing which felt like a bare thigh wedged between Duncan’s own was, in fact, a naked thigh.
He would ask, too. In a minute. But by the time he was ready to do so, Methos’ voice husked in his ear “I’m sorry, Mac,” and something really hard (the ceiling?) landed on his head and all opportunity for answers was at least temporarily lost.
~
Duncan startled awake, gazing into blackness with his katana in his hand. No sound reached his instantly straining ears, but a vague impression of movement to the left, a darker shadow in the unlit room made him roll to the right as silently as long training would allow.
“Oof! Damn! No more haggis, MacLeod,” said Methos, beneath him.
“I almost skewered you,” said Duncan, furiously.
Methos wiggled a little.
*Suggestively.*
Duncan felt his face heat, and thanked a God he did not believe in for the darkness. He could almost see the smirk on the old bastard’s face. But the tone was perfectly innocent when Methos said,
“You still can if you need to.”
Damn.
And then his latent brain functions came fully awake and demanded he ask Methos just why he was in his, Duncan’s, bed. Apparently naked, if that thing which felt like a bare thigh wedged between Duncan’s own was, in fact, a naked thigh.
He would ask, too. In a minute. But by the time he was ready to do so, Methos’ voice husked in his ear “I’m sorry, Mac,” and something really hard (the ceiling?) landed on his head and all opportunity for answers was at least temporarily lost.