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Sacred Trust, Lanning Cook[Duncan/Methos]
The Encyclopaedia, Beech
16 Again, SouthernChickie
I never liked Art in High School, Richiefic
Lost in France, Jennie [Duncan/Methos]
It's Probably Me, JiM
It's Probably Me 2, JiM [Duncan/Methos]
It's Probably Me 3, JiM[Duncan/Methos]
Bodypaint, Bartabs and Beer, Andie P
Sleepless Night, Diane [Duncan/Methos]
Kanas in August, Diane [Duncan/Methos]
Moments, Sleeps With Coyotes [Duncan/Methos]
You Asked, Chelle [Duncan/Methos]
Two Men and a Television, Chelle [Duncan/Methos]
No, Nay, Never, Sleeps with Coyotes
Eat Your Heart Out, Ernest Hemingway, Chelle [Duncan/Methos]
Talking to Joe, Ysanne [Duncan/Methos]
Face-To-Face, Ysanne [Duncan/Methos]
The Methos Chronicals, Mina-Clare Mosley

Warning, the following story contains boy-on-boy of the Duncan/Methos variety.

"Sacred Trust" - Lanning Cook

Joe felt himself starting to breathe normally again. At least Methos was acting a little more like himself, although Joe couldn’t imagine what had brought it about. He could only hope it would last. He hastily signaled to Maurice and threw some money on the bar. Maurice clasped his hands as if in thanksgiving and gazed heavenward.

Methos shook his head with a pained expression. "I may have been wrong about his acting. Let’s go."

Joe put an arm around Richie, laughing. "Relax, Rich. We’ll drop you off at your place in a few minutes and you can barf to your heart’s content."

"You’re all heart, Joe. The next time you need a babysitter, just forget I exist, okay? You probably won’t be far wrong." Richie took a deep breath through his mouth and exhaled, holding his stomach.

Sebastian nodded absently. "Go with God, Marcus."

"Which one?" returned Methos with a provocative grin, and Sebastian shook his head reprovingly, merriment in his eyes.

"I shall convert you yet, heathen child. Be gone!"

"Lie down!" snapped Joe, gesturing toward the couch with his cane. "Christ Jesus, you’re getting as pigheaded as MacLeod!"

"Worse," said Richie drily. "Come on, geezer, age before beauty. See? It won’t hurt you. It’s a nice couch." The young man patted the cushions invitingly. "Don’t be afraid. They can sense that, you know."

Joe cackled, and Methos swore in exasperation, pushing Richie aside to throw himself on the couch.

"Fall of Rome," said Joe softly.

Methos snorted. "Rome didn’t fall. Rome got itself drunk, staggered, and was pushed off a cliff."

"Sacred Trust" - Lanning Cook

"The Encyclopaedia" - Beech

"All I know is that he left here last night in the same funk that he's been in for weeks and then shows up this afternoon, bouncing round like Tigger on speed. He's been here half an hour, that's," he nodded to the full glass that Methos was bringing back to the table with him, "his fourth beer so far. The first two didn't even hit the sides."

The oldest immortal grinned in a way that made Mac wish he'd never left the dojo that afternoon. He always seemed to end up doing something stupid when Methos had that smile.

"Well, go on then," grumped Joe, "I've been waiting for Mac to show up so you would stop going on about beer and tell me what this project is."

Methos smirked condescendingly at the Watcher. "Ah, Joe. That's just the point. That is the project."

"This!" Methos triumphantly pulled a book out of his coat. "This requires a complete testing on each product on location and maybe some revision for any missing examples."

Watcher and Highlander looked in shock and amusement at the book now on the table as Methos finished his last drink.

'A Complete Encyclopaedia of World Beer'

"The Encyclopaedia" - Beech

"16 Again" - SouthernChickie

"Tomorrow? You can't honestly expect me to go back tomorrow," Richie groaned.

"Of course I can. We made a deal."

"No, you guys made a deal. I'm got blackmailed."

"Mac, this is awesome!" Richie exclaimed for the fifth time as he all but skipped across the arena parking lot.

"Do I need to get a leash?" Duncan asked. Richie's behavior reminded him of an overzealous puppy.

"16 Again" - SouthernChickie

"I never liked Art in High School" - Richiefic

"Hold on. Right that you are seventeen or right that I was led to believe it?" Duncan demanded.

"Uh huh," Richie agreed. "See you in the morning."

Duncan made a mental note never to introduce Richie to Amanda.

"Richie, are you or are you not seventeen?" Duncan demanded.

"Yes," Richie protested. "Geez Mac, how many more times?"

Or Fitzcairn.

"Go to bed, Rich." Duncan reached out to ruffle his hair, but Richie stepped away. Duncan put his hand back down. "We'll talk about it in the morning." He turned towards his own room.

"You're not, like, going to make me go back to school or anything are you?" Richie called after him.

"We'll talk about it," Duncan called back over his shoulder.

"That's a yes." Richie muttered.

Tessa shook her head. "That's different. I'm trying to give up and besides, I'm .."

"Older than me?" Richie crossed his arms. "I was old enough to have coffee yesterday. Today. . . I'm a day older."

Tessa looked up at him. "I'm being ridiculous aren't I?" she smiled.

"Actually," Richie smiled back. "I think it's kind of nice. Just so long as you've stopped now. You have stopped now, right?"

"The shower in the living room doesn't count." She paused. "Except on very special occasions."

"Um. If you guys want to .. you know .. we can continue this some other time." Richie started to stand up.

"Sit down, Rich," Duncan laughed. "I'm sure we can contain ourselves for a few minutes."

"Surely we are not that bad," Tessa added.

"Do you want my honest opinion?" Richie smirked.

"No!" Tessa and Duncan chorused.

“Richie is not afraid of you.” Tessa shook her head.

“Not of me.” Frankly Duncan would have preferred Richie to be a little more awe stuck around Immortals. It might keep him out of trouble.

“You think he will choose to go to school?” Tessa shook her head.

“They have girls in High School.” Duncan pointed out. “Cute girls in short skirts.”

“Are you know this because ..?” Tessa narrowed her eyes.

“I’ve watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” Duncan said innocently.

The trick was to get the teenager to come to him.

And he had the perfect weapon.

The T-Bird.

Of course, Richie might prefer access to his Katana, but that was out of the question. He didn’t want the lad attracting any more attention from rouge Immortals than he did already. This was the next best thing.

"I never liked Art in High School" - Richiefic

Warning, the following story contains boy-on-boy of the Duncan/Methos variety.

"Lost in France" - Jennie

//Well, you old fool, you've really done it this time.// Why, oh why was I... WHAT the hell was my problem? I don't fall for straight men. Ever.

And, I'd have to search long and hard to find a man more rampantly heterosexual than Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.

Impatiently, angrily, I climbed out of the car and started inside. Realized that the walls of my small apartment would be claustrophobic right then and started walking. Once I'd gotten into my stride, I covered a lot of miles in the next few hours. Hell, after 5,000 years of practice, if there was one thing I did well, walking was it.

"Lost in France" - Jennie

"It's Probably Me" - JiM

"So why is she here? I mean, if she challenged you and you won ..." Joe let the thought trail off. "Did someone change the rules of the Game while I wasn't looking?"

"You," he stabbed a finger at Dawson, "are going to be checked out. And you," he waved his finger in Morgan's face, "look like hell; you're going to get a thorough going-over, too."

"And you," he focused on Richie, who swallowed nervously, "are going to explain this whole fiasco while we wait for them. Any questions?" he asked pleasantly. There was no arguing with the underlying steel in his tone.

It made him think of Richie's description of how he had found Joe that first night and he grinned a slow, crooked grin - "she tucked you in, Joe. First, she bashed your head in, then she made sure you wouldn't catch a cold! What kind of a woman does that?!"

When Mac heard him hang up, he sighed and tucked his phone back into his pocket. At Richie's questioning glance, he said ruefully, "In four hundred years, you'd think I would have learned a little tact."

"Maybe you should stop comparing yourself to the 400-year old pin-up boy," she suggested before flowing into his arms. After a breathless eternity, she pulled back and asked, "How old do you feel now, Joe?"

The devil was back in his eye. "Like I'm 18 and my jeans are too damned tight."

Richie nodded. Morgan sighed and said, "And here I thought I was just getting involved with a couple of nice kidnappers who had a weakness for fancy swords. Why couldn't it be that simple?"

They were both still laughing when Dawson and MacLeod came into the room.

While the three men were busy plotting MacLeod's next move, Morgan also created four special accounts and padded them comfortably. She herself was untroubled by stealing money from the Mob, but both Joe and MacLeod seemed to have an excess of morality in some areas. She hoped that they wouldn't kick too much later on when they discovered themselves to be modest millionaires.

Besides, Karnauer owed them all. He was just going to be paying his debt with his employer's money, something done by many improvident people in positions of unwarranted trust. Idly, she wondered what the Mob would do to him when they found out about the embezzled funds. She hope it was sustained and very painful.

"And I won't interfere with *Karnauer*." MacLeod heard the limits Joe had placed on his promise. Dawson might not stop Karnauer, but his Watcher oath did not prevent him from 'interfering' with Karnauer's mortal thugs. MacLeod had noticed that Joe's interference often came in 9 mm bursts.

"It's Probably Me" - JiM

Warning, the following story contains boy-on-boy of the Duncan/Methos variety.

"It's Probably Me 2" - JiM

When MacLeod returned from his morning run, he came to the back door. The sensation of another Immortal hit him as he turned the key and he swore, knowing that his sword was in its sheath, inside. He opened the door as quietly as possible and slid inside. When no blade whistled through the air to greet him, he closed the door, calling softly, “Amanda? Cassandra?” No answer. A few steps into the loft and he saw the flight bag, then noticed the wet overcoat. Ah, Methos. He spotted the long figure, clean limbs elegantly sprawled across his couch. MacLeod crossed the room, intending to shake him awake and demand to know why *his* loft was always the chosen Bed and Breakfast for visiting Immortals.

“And Morgan is…?” Methos prompted.

“Joe’s current home handicraft project,” MacLeod offered in a bland tone.

“Mac,” Joe growled.

“They met while she was handcuffed to my desk-chair.”

“MacLeod!” the Watcher snarled.

“That was after she stabbed Richie.”

Methos nodded sagely and sipped his beer, trying hard not to smile.

“How are you?” MacLeod asked softly, surprised at how much the answer mattered to him. Methos shrugged. “As usual, I guess. I’ve been translating one of the older Methos Chronicles, written by a Watcher named Niceaus.” A faint savor of outrage crept into the Immortal’s tone. “You wouldn’t believe the lies that man wrote! I distinctly remember that period and I certainly didn’t have half as much fun as he seemed to think.” He drained his glass and reached over the bar to refill it.

“Something I’ve wanted to ask from the beginning, Methos.” Joe called his attention back. “Why did you create the thing in the first place? It was against every rule in the book. And it ran contrary to Methos’ First Law, as near as I can tell.”

“Which is...?” Methos’ cool voice was not inviting, but Joe continued blithely on. “Self-preservation Through Anonymity.”

"It's Probably Me 2" - JiM

Warning, the following story contains boy-on-boy of the Duncan/Methos variety.

"It's Probably Me 3" - JiM

Joe shook his head. “Back off, MacLeod. Let’s dissect *your* love life instead. What’s with you and Methos?”

MacLeod shot his Watcher an innocent, counterfeit, and intensely irritating grin. “Why nothing, Dawson. Whatever do you mean?”

"It's Probably Me 3" - JiM

"Bodypaint, Bartabs and Beer" - Andie P

He was forcefully delighted about the fact that he had, at some point during the night, gotten up and sung "Auld Lang Syne" while draped over a Scotsman. Just before surrendering to the suddenly irresistible force of gravity and spending an hour or so studying the underside of a table and poking Immortal kneecaps with his cane until a broadsword had slammed into the ground about an inch from his groin. He was fiercely, grimly, ecstatic that Mike had had a video camera in the bar, and had captured his small "eeeep" of terror to be Immortalised (excuse the pun) for all eternity

"Give the man a break, Methos." He handed Joe a coffee and stared disapprovingly at the Old Man. "If you drive him into suicidal despair, I'll have to spend ages breaking in a new Watcher." He rolled his eyes at the petulant look the Ancient turned on him at the reprimand. "And if he kills himself, the new owner of the bar will almost certainly make you pay for your beer."

After a few minutes of watching the mildly entertaining spectacle of seeing Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod go a quite endearing shade of purple and become utterly incoherent for about 5 minutes, Joe turned to the Methos with a appraising look. "So, just what were you doing in Duncan's bed last night?" Methos tore his eyes away from the Highlander, hoping he wasn't missing any more unexpected colour changes.

"Never underestimate the power of Immortal healing, " Methos lectured absently, still watching in fascination as the Highlander flushed even further at his words. Methos was entranced, he'd never seen anything like it in 5000 years and wanted to savour every shade, after all it was extraordinarily rare for him to find anything he hadn't seen before. He idly wondered if the Highlander radiated any more of his body heat from his face, whether he would lapse into a hypothermic coma and die. As it was, he had no doubt that every spy satellite over America had registered the huge heat spike, and that sinister men in black suits were going to come and ask leading questions regarding a small thermonuclear detonation in the dojo.

Joe was choking more loudly by now, and Methos tried to look reassuringly at MacLeod. "Look, don't worry. I'm sure the policeman really appreciated the lesson in ancient Celtic full-body art, even if he only briefly caught a glimpse of it between the time you stole his horse and the time you fell off it and into the fountain." He grinned at MacLeod impishly, and looked over at Joe, who was guffawing loudly, tears streaming down his face. "You got all that for his chronicles, Watcher?"

"Oh yeah. Like that little mental image is something I'm gonna forget in a hurry." Joe managed to choke the sentence out past chortles, and wiped at his eyes.

"No!" Methos' voice was slightly muffled by the solidness of the Highland chest pressed against his face. "This is evidence so that Joe can fill in a gap in your chronicle. Now stop being infantile and let me go!"

Amanda raised an eyebrow. "Hanky panky on the couch, on top of a sword. You're weird, Methos. And in front of a Watcher as well."

"I haven't blushed since the sixth century, MacLeod. Centuries of meditation in a Buddhist monastery taught me to control such impulses." Methos looked at him seriously. "Useful way to spend your time." MacLeod shook his head, composure restored.

There was a moment of contemplation from the two Immortals as they regarded the elder, broken by Richie's, "Hey, Wise Dude, do you know if it's possible for anyone to die of laughing? I mean really die. 'Cos if it is, I think Joe's about to do it."

They looked at the spluttering, wheezing, chortling man collapsed in the chair beside Richie.

"My God." Methos sounded awed. "I think we just killed Dawson."

Mac rolled his eyes. "Oh, thank you, My Lord, your generosity is truly humbling, to so grace me with hot water in my own bathroom. I'm off to get rid off this bloody stuff; try not to annoy Amanda into killing you, all right?"

He flopped back onto the sofa with a deeply contented sigh, and closed his eyes. I've terrorised Joe, Mac and Amanda, I have beer, I have a sofa, I haven't had to cut off anyone's head in weeks, and have managed to steer the damn Scot away from hopeless causes, so I haven't lost a sweater to inexplicable sword, water or blood damage in well over a fortnight. Aah, life is good.

Pheromones. Man must put out pheromones. She caught her breath slightly at the sight of both hazel eyes looking at her with calm intensity.

"Don't even think about getting in a contest with me, dear. You will lose." The silky voice was low and dangerous and Amanda swallowed slightly.

Lots and lots of pheromones.

Joe had been watching, as was his wont, and his awe of the Old Man went up a notch or a thousand. Seduction by sitting down. He shook his head in amazement. Thank God, Immortals are sterile. He shuddered at the thought of 5000 years worth of mini-Methos' then grinned as another thought occurred. Of course it'd do wonders for the beer industry.

"So you don't remember this!" He brandished a smallish rectangle of paper like an Immortal brandishes a sword, another hangover-thought urging him to shout, 'I am Joseph Dawson of Joe's Bar" as he did so. Wisely, he resisted the urge.

"Bodypaint, Bartabs and Beer" - Andie P

[this isn't the site I originally found it on. it was much better formatted on the other site, but I can not find it anymore]

Warning, the following story contains boy-on-boy of the Duncan/Methos variety.

"Sleepless Night" - Diane

"Did I wake you?" Duncan asked.

"You usually do." Methos yawned into the phone. "I cannot imagine what I've done to earn this singular honor. Some people have alarm clocks. I have Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod giving me wake up calls. Feel like I wandered into the Immortal Hilton Extraordinaire. It's totally strange."

Methos started unloading three 12-packs into the refrigerator. "I was bored in Paris," he replied, lightly. "You and your headhunters make life ever so much more interesting. And why on earth are you scowling? Did I do something?"

Now, that would be astonishingly whimsical behavior even for him. Fly from Paris to Seacouver. Take cab to Mac's loft. Stare at it. Take cab back to airport. Fly back to Paris. Make arrangements to have self carted off to looney bin.

"I never said I didn't want you here. I just don't understand why you couldn't tell me you were coming. Did you think I'd pack my bags and leave town?"

Methos put his head to one side and considered. "Actually, that never occurred to me as one of the possibilities," he said. "Never thought you'd flee your lair even if one of the unwelcome approached. You're entirely too primitive and territorial. You'd beat the unwelcome one off."

"Methos!" He heard the Highlander roar behind him. He heard Duncan thundering after him, but kept going. He smashed open the door to the outside just as hard hands caught him by the shoulders, spun him around, and slammed him into a wall.

A wild, stray thought occurred that, just for once, it would be nice if Duncan would follow up this particularly masterful move by kissing Methos full on the mouth. Said thought almost elicited a burst of hysterical giggles. Methos managed to control himself and turned the grin spreading over his face into an impertinent smirk, tilting his head to one side and raising an eyebrow.

A shot hit the open door, and Duncan disappeared back inside. Methos sincerely hoped the other Immortal was going after more fire power-- like maybe a grenade launcher. He did not like the odds.

"Get out of here," Duncan ordered. "There's glass all over the floor and you're bare foot."

"I heal, MacLeod," Methos said, and yes, it will be a bitch to get these little shards of glass out of my freaking feet, but oh, it is so worth it to get that look of totally fried and frayed frustration on his face. Oh, too flipping funny

"I have to teach a class in about an hour. I have to leave."

"You understood what I said," Methos said happily. "Fuck the damn class."

Duncan started laughing helplessly. "There's at least 12 sophomore girls and two boys who would be just delighted if I fucked them," he choked out.

"Sleepless Night" - Diane

Warning, the following story contains boy-on-boy of the Duncan/Methos variety.

"Kanas in August" - Diane

Methos shrugged. "Joe, sit down," he said simply. "I can do this."

Joe looked at the Immortal with amazement. "You're going to work? You're not just going to sit on your butt and make smart ass remarks?"

Methos went behind the bar and started setting it up for the lunchtime crowd. The jukebox continued playing.

Joe grinned again as he realized that Methos obviously knew all the words to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun."

"You." Duncan's gaze was only on Methos. "Were going to get some sleep."

"Couldn't sleep."

"And I told you that if you left, I'd track you down and kill you," Duncan said quietly.

By the time Duncan finished the story, Joe was laughing helplessly. "You, you of all people, were blowing up cars?" he sputtered.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Duncan found himself laughing too.

"Kanas in August" - Diane

Warning, the following story contains boy-on-boy of the Duncan/Methos variety.

"Moments" - Sleeps With Coyotes

Now, however, he had to laugh out loud, because Methos was holding up a bag of marshmallows with a terribly expectant grin, just waiting for Duncan to make fun of him for it. Never one to disappoint, Duncan shook his head. "You want to toast marshmallows?"

"Sometimes, MacLeod," Methos said with a superior sniff, "I despair of your ever reaching old age. Lighten up! Enjoy life. Have a marshmallow."

Sitting tailor-fashion, Methos had his elbows propped on his knees, his stick held in both hands with his fingers laced together. The look of concentration on his face as he browned his marshmallow was terribly comical, and Duncan had to bite his lip to choke back his mirth. "Some people," Methos lectured mock-seriously without looking over, "have no patience to do this properly. They either stick theirs right in the fire and have marshmallow flambe, or they stop too soon and have a nastily solid center. People who can't properly toast a marshmallow should never be put in charge of any group or affair, though they may occasionally prove useful if you're in the protection racket."

"What are you plotting over there?" Methos demanded, brandishing his stick menacingly. The marshmallow skewered at the business end of it did nothing to increase the man's credibility.

"Not plotting," Duncan corrected with careful dignity. "Planning."

"Moments" - Sleeps With Coyotes

Warning, the following story contains boy-on-boy of the Duncan/Methos NC-17 variety.

"You Asked" - Chelle

"I'm bored. No bad guy's come looking for your head in almost three months, and I can't recall the last time you had a really amusing moral dilemma."

"You Asked" - Chelle

Warning, the following story contains boy-on-boy of the Duncan/Methos NC-17 variety.

"Two Men and a Television" - Chelle

"What do you want?"

"To fuck you." Duncan leaned closer to his friend. "You've been wandering around in those ass-hugging jeans with that 'come fuck me' strut of yours for years now, and quite frankly, it's time to either put out, or start walking like a normal human being."

"Joe warned me not to watch that show with you." Duncan's words sent warm breath trailing across his skin.

"Did he?"

"Hmmm." Duncan lazily kissed the back of his neck. "Said that you and I and homoeroticism were a dangerous combination."

"Two Men and a Television" - Chelle

"No, Nay, Never" - Sleeps with Coyotes

"So, which flight did Amanda say she was coming in on?" Joe asked with a smile, taking a sip from the beer Methos had slid across to him. "Someone really ought to meet her at the airport--"

"Oh, so you heard about the exhibit this weekend," Methos grinned wickedly, already hearing Amanda's voice in his head, protesting that she needed a collection of 16th century Russian jewelry more than some dusty old museum ever could.

"I won't say it hasn't crossed my mind," Joe muttered darkly.

"And you were hoping to preempt her?" Methos crowed. "That does it--tomorrow, we're going to find you a kilt!"

"Are you calling me a Highlander?" Joe demanded in his best 'Are you talking to *me?*' voice.

"Hey, Adam!" a deep voice called out over the noise of the crowd, the singer waving Methos over with a grin. "Get over here and have a drink with us, man!"

"Actually," Methos grinned as he slid his tray onto the band's table, "that's exactly why I'm here."

"Adam! I knew there was a reason we loved you," the fiddler crowed, toasting him before tossing back a healthy swallow of his Guinness.

Dies Eire played until closing time, even going so far as to mangle several Christmas carols towards the end of the night. Methos didn't think he'd ever be able to get the idea of Rudolph as an Irish drunk out of his head, but even that had a silver lining. At the very least, he'd have something to laugh at next year when the mindless repetition was driving him to distraction.

"No, Nay, Never" - Sleeps with Coyotes

Warning, the following story contains boy-on-boy of the Duncan/Methos variety.

"Eat Your Heart Out, Ernest Hemingway" - Chelle

"Fitz."

"What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

"So why weren't you here last night when Amanda tried to drown me?"

"Unfortunately, I failed," Amanda said, pushing back the covers and exposing her long legs. She stretched, raising her arms over her head.

Methos watched her closely.

Climbing from the bed, she started toward the bathroom.

Methos turned slightly, continuing to watch. "That sweater needs to be shorter," he muttered.

"And thinner," Fitz added.

The bathroom door opened. Amanda stuck her head out. "Duncan, sweetie, would you bring me some clothes?"

"I'll do it," Methos said, a little too eagerly in Duncan's opinion.

"Hand me something, too?" Fitz asked.

Methos ignored him, taking some of the clothes Amanda kept stored at the barge to the bathroom. Duncan wondered how he'd known where they were. Returning to the armoire, he tossed Fitz a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

"Hey, these are dirty, and no one wears a Who shirt anymore."

"Get Fitz to make you something."

"Me?" Fitz entered the living area. "Cook for her?"

"Why not?" Amanda asked.

"Because you pushed me into the river!"

"You tried to take advantage of me."

All three men turned to look at her. For an instant there was absolute silence, then all three began to laugh.

"How do you want your eggs?"

"Poached."

"Fried."

"Poached."

"Fried."

"Waffles."

Duncan glared at Methos.

He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "I know I'm going to regret this, but what were you doing in the river?"

"Looking for Kalas," Fitz replied, haphazardly spraying his waffle with whipped cream.

"In the river?"

"Seems like a likely place to me," Methos said.

Amanda stood as well, pushing him aside. "I'll put on something slinky. MacLeod, where's my cat suit?"

"We're trying to catch Kalas, not Batman," Fitz said, pushing back.

The word was yanked open. Adam glared at them, one after the other, and one by one they fell silent. The door shut with a decisive click.

"Now, you've done it, MacLeod."

The door opened. Adam stared at him. Swallowing, Fitz took a step backwards. The door closed.

"I can't believe you sleep with him."

"Amanda!"

"Well--"

The door opened. Adam stood there, tossing a roll of duct tape into the air.

"What's up with that?" Richie asked.

The other Immortals all raised their fingers to their lips. "Shhh."

"Eat Your Heart Out, Ernest Hemingway" - Chelle

Warning, the following story contains boy-on-boy of the Duncan/Methos variety.

"Talking to Joe" - Ysanne

"What?" asked Joe innocently. He was enjoying having the upper hand on the old man for once. "You're going to make me ask, aren't you?" said Methos incredulously. "Thought I might," smirked Joe.

Methos stared at him in disbelief, then sank his head into his hands. "Hollyhock Lodge, for god's sake," he muttered, "near Chipping Campden. Can this be any cuter?"

Joe was laughing again. "Don't sweat it, pal, he's probably changed the name to Warrior's Keep or something."

"Talking to Joe" - Ysanne
I haven't been able to find a new link to this one. Sorry guys.

Warning, the following story contains boy-on-boy of the Duncan/Methos variety.

"Face-To-Face" - Ysanne
I haven't been able to find a new link to this one. Sorry guys.

"What brings you to England, Methos?" he asked politely over his shoulder as he re-built the blaze, glad that the color burning his cheeks could be written off to fire tending. Just followed my heart and other interested bits of me, Methos silently answered

His drowsy relaxation had exploded into fiery bits the moment he had seen Methos climb from that ridiculous car. He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to seek some kind of calm center, but he was too rattled to find it. Quickly abandoning the idea of meditation he got another glass, piled shortbread on a flowered plate, told himself to get a grip, and then took them in.

"Biscuit?" he offered, wincing inwardly as one corner of Methos' mouth lifted in amusement. The plate was taken from his hand and placed on the table with their half-full glasses. "No," Methos replied firmly, "no biscuit."

"I'm glad to see you, too, Methos," Mac said huskily, proving himself to be a mind reader after all.

"MacLeod, you're an animal," panted Methos, laughing helplessly at the sounds being made against his neck. He had no idea that Highland warriors actually giggled when provoked.

"Face-To-Face" - Ysanne
I haven't been able to find a new link to this one. Sorry guys.

"The Methos Chronicals" - Mina-Clare Mosley

"I've moved here," Amanda said casually, "I've had a bit of trouble in New York and Paris. I thought England might be a good place to hide out."

"Oh no...." Methos got up. "Get out, get out now."

"But Methos--" Amanda started.

"You guys always bring trouble. Get out."

Dawson shook his head. "Haven't you learned yet? You're never going to get rid of us."

Methos covered his face with his hands. "Oh God...."

Amanda hugged Methos. "We're going to be around forever and ever...."

"Just take my head now. Please. It'll be so much easier."

"The Methos Chronicals" - Mina-Clare Mosley
Another one I can't find anymore.

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