Yadda yadda. This is rated NC-17 for explicit hetero sex. If you're offended by such sexual situations, go no further; and if you're looking for a plot, try a good mystery novel. This is pure and simple Methos gratuity. :)

Methos is the property of Davis/Panzer, Rysher, et al, and he'll have plenty of fun while I have him. I make no profit from this story. Please don't repost, forward or publish without my express permission. ::deep breath:: All the pleasantries accounted for?? Onward!

feedback is welcome

by Caile Donachaidh Kane

Methos slammed the door behind him angrily. "We need to talk," he snarled.

I looked up from my desk in surprise. This wasn't the first time the ancient Immortal had shown up in my office, but it was the first I'd ever seen him so perturbed. "What?!" I asked worriedly.

"This!" he exclaimed, waving a finger at the pile of papers on my desk. "Kronos stories, Joe stories... what AM I? A potted plant?! You haven't written a word about me in months!"

"That's not true," I answered hotly. "You were in that Kronos story. You were on almost every page."

"Oh! Small comfort! I didn't even get the girl!"

"Listen, Methos," I soothed, "I gave you a whole comedy series. I gave you a novella for heaven's sake! Can't the others have some fun?"

He snorted. "Well, that's what I'm here about. I want some fun."

"Oh really. With Kronos' big story ready for posting? You're out of your bloody mind."

"Aw, come on, Beanie," he wheedled.

"I thought I forbade you to ever use that nickname."

"If you don't write me something really down n' dirty, I'll tell everyone... Beanie."

I blanched. "You wouldn't."

"Care to test that theory?" he cooed back.

"Fine," I sighed. "You bloody mercenary. Kronos can wait a day or so. Did you have anything particular in mind?"

"Lemme whisper it to ya...."

Methos hiked his knapsack up on his shoulder again and climbed the last set of stairs. Bloody people would have decided to put their Special Collections on the fifth floor. And they wouldn't have a damned elevator, would they?

As he pulled open the door that lead into the hallway, he ticked off a mental list of the day's other irritations. The only library on the West Coast that had the texts he wanted had to be in San Francisco, a city he was not overly fond of. Too many flippin' hippies. All that tie dye made him itchy. His rental car had konked out a block from the airport, and he'd had to trek back to demand a replacement.

Once at the library, he'd had to sit and wait half an hour for a reference librarian to come out and inform him that he wanted the 5th floor. "Ask for Charlie," she'd explained impatiently. "And if Charlie's not in, come back tomorrow."

Methos shook his head as he stomped down the hallway. If Charlie wasn't in, he'd come back all right. Come back and kill the bloody bastard.

He rounded the corner at the end of the hall, coming face to face with a heavy pair of double doors. There was a neat hand-lettered sign on the door that read, "Wipe Your Feet." He grumbled a descriptive curse and pushed the doors open.

The driving groove of the Doors' "Roadhouse Blues" filled his ears, vibrating off the walls. He turned his head wonderingly side-to-side, taking in a library that rivaled his own. There were shelves floor to ceiling, regular ones, glass cases, flat shelves... and everywhere books, packed tight into each spare spot. He could smell the leather, parchment and glue in the air. Somewhat unsure of what to say or do, he walked slowly back through the stacks to find a large desk and work table in the far corner.

There was a striking woman sitting at a computer, tall with masses of gently curling auburn hair. How she heard his steps over the sound of the music he had no idea, but she turned as soon as he stepped from the muffling carpet to the bare tile.

"HI!" she shouted, smiling. Her eyes were a bright and mischievous green behind small round glasses, and she had a smattering of freckles across her nose. She waved to a chair across the table, indicating that he should sit. She then turned down the stereo, and swiveled her chair 'round to face him.

"Can I help you?" she asked with another winning smile.

"I'm looking for Charlie," he growled. "I was told I'd find him here."

She grinned with amusement and pointed to the nameplate he'd overlooked on the desk. It read, "Charlotte Burke".

Methos ducked his head to hide a burgeoning blush, embarrassed at his mistake. "I see, I apologise."

"No need, it's a common mistake. That straightened out, what can I do for you?"

He explained to her briefly that there were three Persian texts he needed to work with, that he understood were in her collection.

She nodded. "Of course, come with me." She stood and beckoned for him to follow her.

Methos couldn't help but allow a sweeping glance of appreciation to roam over her form. She was nicely shaped, long well-muscled legs shown off by cut-off shorts. Her feet were bare in a pair of Asics running shoes. He was distracted by the way the tight denim hugged her ass, and he wondered idly if she was married.

She found the first book for him, then the other two, commenting knowledgably about their contents. He answered her questions without bothering to hide his surprise.

"If you like, you can use my work bench." She piled the heavy volumes into Methos' arms. "I'm sorry, but you can't take 'em out of here."

"That's all right," he assured her. "I won't get in the way."

"Do you mind the music?"

"No, no." He dredged up a smile from the bottom of his bad mood; a mood which, he had to admit, was starting to improve thanks to Charlie's presence.

She went back to her computer, adjusting her reading glasses. Methos settled in at the table, opening the books and his notes. They both worked in silence for quite some time, until Charle said something highly unlady-like in Sanskrit, apparently directed at her computer screen, and Methos' eyebrows nearly raised off his forehead.

"Does the poor machine really deserve such an epithet?" he asked.

She flushed but grinned. "'Poor machine' my ass. It's pure evil."

He laughed. "You're a surprising woman."

"Thank-you." She pushed her hair from her face, shrugging. "Hey, what's your name anyway? I don't usually let a man handle my books without knowing his name."

"Adam Pierson," he replied, the name and the lie coming easy to him. "Working on my PhD."

"Should've guessed. Mine's in Vedantic studies."

He grinned at her. "Should've guessed," he echoed. "You curse like a native. But I'm curious, what was your thesis?"

To his surprise, she blushed again. "Um, I didn't really have one. I was awarded my doctorate for my translation of the Rig Veda."

"Not the Kama Sutra?" he teased.

"That's Sanskrit, not Vedantic," she returned. "Besides, it's been done."

"So what's a PhD like you doing in a dusty corner like this?"

She leered. "I have a weakness for academics." Her double meaning was obvious.

"Do you mind if I take a look around?" he asked, changing the subject. He could sense where this conversation was headed. "I could use a stretch, and I'd like to see if there's anything else I can use."

"Of course. But do be careful of the ones under glass."

"Oh, yes, I will."

He wandered the stacks, ambivalently grateful to move away from Charlie. There was something about her very presence that made him ache uncomfortably in all the right places. Or wrong places, depending on how you looked at it.

Still, it had been too long. He was getting gradually more frustrated as time went on. Over a year had passed since he'd lost Alexa, and there'd been no-one since. He was starting to feel the need acutely.

He didn't hear Charlie coming up behind him over the music, and he jumped at the unexpected feel of her hand on his shoulder.

"Bit narrow through here," she said apologetically. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right."

"Lemme squeeze by."

Methos flattened himself up against the shelves, and still Charlie's hips brushed against his buttocks. He felt his cock stiffen slightly, and knew she was blushing behind him.

The brief touch had been electric, and he was certain she'd felt it too. He turned, and caught her eye. "I noticed you have a coffee maker back there?"

"You want a cup?" She smiled and took down the book she was looking for.

"Yes, please." He followed her back to the corner, and she excused herself to fetch water.

When she was gone, Methos smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. "What ARE you doing?" he muttered to himself. In the back of his mind he'd already formulated a plan to seduce this woman. And the notion was utterly absurd.

He heard the doors slam shut, and wondered briefly if he was imagining the sound of a lock clicking. Charlie appeared momentarily with a pot of water, and smiled at him. "Put those books on my desk, eh?" she said as she set the coffee to brew. "No drinking near the books."

"Of course." He transferred the volumes to Charlie's desk, then sat down.

They chatted uncomfortably 'til the coffee was ready, the conversation somewhat stifled by the obvious tension in the air. Methos was sure he'd heard the doors lock, and the idea was driving him nuts. If she had locked them, why? The only answer that came to mind made him look away from her gaze.

"Anything in?" Charlie asked when she'd poured him a cup.

"Black, please."

"My kind of man." She sat on the edge of the table with a falsely casual air, handing him his cup.

He took a sip; it was hot and strong, a Celebes blend. Just the way he liked it. "Good," he said.


There was a strained silence as they both drank their coffee. Methos looked at the floor, Charlie stared into her cup.

"Charlie," he said suddenly, just as she said, "Adam."

They both laughed. "You go first," she said.

"Okay." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "You have got to be the sexiest librarian I have ever seen," he blurted. There. Not exactly the grand seduction he'd had in mind, but he'd gotten the point across. He opened his eyes.

Charlie was blushing again, and the sight sent a thrill running through his body, straight to his crotch. He'd never seen a woman blush so easily.

"I have to say... " she replied softly, "you're the sexiest researcher I've ever had in my collection."

There was another moment of silence as they stared into each other's eyes. Then slowly, deliberately, she kicked off her sneakers and reached out with her bare foot to rest it in his lap. Her toenails were painted silver, he noticed, just before she moved her foot.

A small groan escaped as he felt her run her toes up the length of his hardening cock, then run then back down it. He tipped his head back, eyelids fluttering shut, and she continued the delicate stroking until he could barely think straight.

"Come here," he choked after a moment.

She shook her head and withdrew her foot. "No."

The small defiant note in her voice snapped Methos from his reverie, and he surged to his feet."Come here" he repeated, pulling her into his arms. She managed to stay on the table, though, and she wrapped her legs around his hips.

He looked searchingly into her face before he kissed her, and saw nothing but surrender there. When her lips met his, he was lost. There was the taste of black coffee at first, then only Charlie. The kiss was deep and urgent, their tongues tangling in a passionate duet. Methos pulled back, gasping for air, then kissed her again, harder, biting her lip.

She moaned, tightening her legs around him, and he ran his fingers up and down her smooth bare thighs. Her skin was warm, tantalisingly so, a promise of the heat between her legs. He took his lips from hers to nibble at her earlobe, then to trail butterfly kisses down her neck to her collarbone. Her hands pulled at his shirt, tugging it from the waistband of his jeans, and he leaned back only long enough to pull it over his head.

Her fingers found his nipples immediately, twisting and pinching them 'til he groaned with pleasure. Then her hands moved lower, fumbling with the buttons of his jeans, and she giggled against his mouth.

"What?" he mumbled.

"I hate button flies."

In answer he reached down and popped the buttons himself, then moaned as he felt her hand on his cock through the thin cotton of his boxer shorts. He pushed himself against her hand, willing her to reach inside. She didn't, instead cupping his balls, rolling them between her fingers, and for a moment he had to clutch her shoulders tightly to regain control.

He tore at her shirt, trying to get it over her head, and succeeded to find only a scrap of a white silk bra. He leaned in to suckle her nipples through the fabric, and she clutched his hair with one hand, still stroking his balls with the other. With a deft flick of his thumb, Methos popped open the catch of her bra, and she threw it aside quickly, anxious to return her lover to her arms.

But he'd stepped away from the embrace, kicking off his boots and pulling down his jeans hurriedly. Then he stood naked before her, and she opened her arms to him. "You're beautiful," she whispered in her ear.

The denim of her shorts was rough against his cock and he rubbed eagerly up and down between her legs. She rested her hands on his firm buttocks, running her fingers down the crease, as he again bent his head to suck at her breast. When he bit her nipple she moaned, and her fingernails dug into his flesh. Again, and she ran her nails up and down his back, hips rising automatically to buck against him.

He slid a hand inside her shorts and found her bare ass, and took a moment to silently thank whatever god it was who made women that didn't wear panties. "Charlie," he gasped. "Please, let me..."

She cut him off with a brutal kiss, then wriggled out of her shorts. "Now. Fuck me, Adam. Good and hard."

He cupped her ass and lifted her slightly, finding the angle he wanted by rubbing the head of his cock up and down. He took a moment to tease her clit with it, and her ass went crazy in his hands.

"Now, please, now," she moaned, trying to guide him into her.

But he teased a little longer, enjoying her moans of frustrated pleasure. Then he lifted her again, placing slight pressure on the opening. Her head was tilted back in ecstasy, her hands grabbing at his ass.

"Fuck me, Adam, please," she pleaded.

He slid in about an inch, and she was hot and wet and nicely tight. Then another inch and so on, 'til he was all the way inside her, and she was trembling in his arms. He pulled out quickly, then slammed back in, the tip of his cock reaching her cervix with the force of the blow. She cried out, digging her nails into his back, and he slammed into her again.

Over and over, and still she begged him to fuck her harder, and her nails were drawing blood on his shoulder blades. He felt her come, her ass spasming in his grip, and soon, soon, he felt it too. A deep shuddering orgasm that started tight in the muscles of his thighs and shivered upward 'til he spilled over into her.

He collapsed forward, landing hard on his elbows, trying desperately to catch his breath. She laughed suddenly, gasping for air.

"Wha?" he inquired, kissing her neck.

She kissed the top of his head. "Do come visit my collection again some time."

He grinned into her shoulder, damp with sweat. "I'm looking forward to it already."

continued in Sex and Candy

back to immortal tales

a small explanatory note, by request: as a child, i was very tall and thin. string-bean, right? also, i had this doll i dragged everywhere, which was a bean-bag doll, that i called beanie. between the two, my childhood nickname became 'beanie'. methos found out when we were hanging out with my brother to do research for an as-yet-unposted novella (my bro is a gay paramedic, i wanted the main omc to be a gay paramedic) and channing called me beanie. methos has tortured me with it ever since. and now you know the rest of the story.