Revenge Best Served Cold (Part 1)
Notes: Written for cashew's challenge #6, with the theme "Murphy's Curse". I think I went beyond the word limit thingy though, and I didn't even finish it. Granted, as it stands now, it *could* stand as a completed fic. But I want to give myself some time and maybe try to come up with some more ill luck to inflict. We'll see how that goes. Also, I guess this could be something of a sequel to the two short pieces I wrote for the GRE vocab challenges last year. I had two fics where Duncan was pulling one over Methos, and I guess now's the time for him to get his just desserts. ^_~
Genre: Light humor
Summary: Hurricane Methos descends upon Duncan's life and home one morning.
Warnings: Small hint of slashiness, but nothing emphasized or explicit.
Duncan MacLeod woke up in the morning with the vague feeling that something was not quite right. It persisted as he finished his usual morning ablutions and went downstairs for breakfast, and then nearly tripped over a duffle bag that he didn't own at the bottom of the stairs. It became clear then, there asleep in a bundle of wrapped up blankets on his couch, just where exactly the source of his disquiet originated. Methos. Duncan stared at the prominent nose of his friend and marvelled at how he could have possibly missed the arrival of another Immortal in his loft sometime in the night.
Then the puzzlement gave away to exasperation as he noticed the condition of the rest of the room. To be more precise, he noted the empty beer can on the table and the scattered items of clothing and couch pillows strewn haphazardly on the floor of his usually immaculate living room. Duncan glared at the bundle on the couch still in la-la-land as he automatically began to clean up the room. He briefly considered giving in to the urge to grab those blankets and pull, perhaps dumping the pesky intruder on the cold floor. But then he recalled the ancient Immortal's usual morning mood and paranoid tendencies, and decided that it would not be worth getting skewered by the sword that was no doubt near at hand. Immortal healing might make sure he came out undamaged, but it was still a pain to get blood out of the floorboard.
Once finished picking up the results of a certain Immortal freeloader making himself at home in someone else's home, Duncan stomped over to the kitchen area, preparing breakfast and coffee. Out of habit he made enough for two, before the thought occured to him that leaving the other to fend for his own breakfast might be just desserts. Well, unless Methos simply stole his breakfast... or wreaked havoc in his kitchen in response.
Duncan sighed as he gulped the first mug of coffee. He could already tell that it would be a trying day. He waited for Methos to wake up so he could lecture him on neatness (however in vain it might be) and interrogate him on whatever brought him here, so soon after he had switched identities.
Sure enough, as the sun rose higher into the sky and the light from the windows almost reached the couch, the bundle finally stirred. Methos blinked balefully at the late morning light, then lurched off the couch with the blankets still wrapped around himself, and stumbled in the general direction of the kitchen.
Duncan took in the other man's semi-aware state and put down his mug. He opened his mouth to say something scathing, when he was interrupted before he began by a pale arm suddenly snatching his mug out from his hands. He yelped in surprise as Methos swallowed the rest of the mug of coffee in two long gulps and then immediately turned and headed for the bathroom.
By the time he had recovered whatever he was going to say, the lanky form had already disappeared into the bathroom, having dropped the blankets carelessly on the floor in front of the door. Duncan growled something unintelligible and poured another mug of coffee as he heard the shower turn on.
He was just about done with heating breakfast when the shower finally cut off and the door the bathroom opened again. Duncan whirled around, intending to give the other man a piece of his mind, when he froze mid-motion with wide staring eyes as Methos emerged from the bathroom buck-naked. Drops of water from his still-damp hair dripped down his well-honed physique, that was too often hidden by purposefully loose and baggy clothing. The man was a living sculpture that wouldn't have looked out of place as a statue dedicated to Apollo or in a mural to Dionysus. Duncan felt his mouth go dry as his eyes involuntarily roamed over that glorious form, even as alarm bells began to ring in the back of his mind.
Methos, of course, seemed oblivious to both the stare and Duncan's aborted motion. He was rather intent on finding his duffle bag, which Duncan had swept up with the rest of his stuff and dumped in a corner. Then he took his sweet time, in Duncan's opinion, to dress himself.
"What's cooking?" Methos asked casually as he padded over to the kitchen and peered around Duncan at the stove.
Duncan was about to reply when he suddenly jumped as he felt a sly hand and deft fingers slip into the pocket of his sweatpants. He lurched away from the touch and made as if to swat the hand away, but Methos was already out of the kitchen with Duncan's car keys in hand.
"Got an appointment this morning. Can't stay for breakfast. Sorry, Mac. You don't mind if I borrow your car, do you?" The words tumbled out in a quick rapidfire as Methos stomped into his shoes and slipped out the door before Duncan could get a word in edgewise.
"Wait!!" Duncan belatedly glared at the door that shut behind the lanky form, still half-dazed in the aftermath of Hurricane Methos. He thought of running outside and throttling the other man, but he knew from experience that Methos was a capable (and experienced) runner; and besides, he could already hear the car starting up. A burning smell distracted him just then, and with a curse, he whirled around and tried to rescue the remnants of breakfast.