This story has everything to do with a song by Jonny Lang, and NOTHING to do with the movie "Superstar". The Father Peter mentioned therein is my nod to the sublime Father Peter Clifford, late of Ballykissangel. There is a blatant steal from a Denis Leary routine, write me and tell me if you can find it. I did not go to Catholic school but I was threatened with it.

The characters of Methos, Joe, and MacLeod belong to R:D/P and not to me. If they belonged to me, well, who knows what wackiness would ensue?

RATED NC-17 m/f for detailed descriptions of Methos gettin' his groove on -- with a girl -- and the abuse of a Catholic school uniform. And a little cussin'. If you're looking for a plot, try a good mystery novel. This is pure and simple Methos gratuity.

Timeline: not the series', mine. This follows Special Collections and Sex & Candy in the "my gal Charlie" PWP series. It helps to have read them, otherwise the questions will be begged: why is Methos shacked up with a librarian? And how come *I* didn't get that gig?

feedback is welcome

by Caile Donachaidh Kane
inspired by the song of the same
name by Jonny Lang

It started, as many things of the kind do, simply enough.

Charlie had gotten the job at the University Research Library readily, Methos had given her name and credentials to the search committee and they'd practically started drooling. She'd packed her beat-up old Saab with her important possessions and drove up the coast highway from San Francisco to Seacouver with nary a backward glance, as soon as her 2 weeks notice had expired.

Methos occasionally wondered what had possessed him to invite a near-stranger to share his life -- he who had survived 5000 years only by being stingy with his trust, had trusted Charlie implicitly from day one. She reminded him of Alexa in that way. The other way she reminded him of his late lover was the gusto with which she lived each day. Charlie let nothing pass her by, and getting to know her was half the fun.

"What," he asked her, the day he helped her decorate her office, "does the M in your name stand for?" He was standing in front of her desk, eyeing the several degrees he'd just hung on the back wall.

"Maureen. It's the first of my middle names, so it's the one I use." She puffed her hair off her forehead with a smile.

"Names? Plural? Just how many do you have?"

"Several." Clasping her hands in front of her, she recited: "Charlotte Maureen Bridget O'Hanrahan Burke. Although Bridget is my confirmation name, so I usually leave that out."

"Confirmation name?" he echoed, feeling a bit light-headed.

"Yeah, in the Irish Catholic tradition, you get a saint's name when you're 'confirmed' as a member of the Church. Maureen is my paternal grandmother's name, and O'Hanrahan was my mother's maiden name, so there you have it."

"Well. Wow."

"Hey, I'm from Woodlawn, what do you expect?"

"What's Woodlawn?" Methos sensed he shouldn't tread further, but plunged on, knowing he was probably about to get an education in the entire Irish-American subculture.

"The Irish neighbourhood in the Bronx. I was a Catholic schoolgirl too. Assumption Day School as a kid, then to high school at Our Lady of Perpetual Peace."

"Really." There wasn't much else one could say, was there?

"You must be Anglican?" Charlie fished.

"Blissfully non-denominational," he replied honestly. "About ready for dinner?"

"YES. I'm starved."

Charlie ate with gusto, too. She said it came from having to fight three older brothers for her meals.

("Three?" he'd asked. "Yep. Seamus, Riordan and Brendan. Two cops an' a fireman, in that order. And," she added wickedly, "all much bigger than you." She laughed when he paled.)

She stayed fit with the four miles she ran every morning, a venture that Methos adamantly refused to join her in. After a couple of weeks she started running with MacLeod. Methos rolled over after she left, buried his face in his pillow, and let them go. At night, Charlie read deliciously dirty poems to him in Sanskrit, or Persian if she was feeling inspired. He laughed at her Mandarin, though, and started tutoring her. Using the poems of a particular Ming-era concubine proved counter-productive, however, and the lessons usually ended in a flurry of papers and clothing as Charlie proceeded to act out the suggestions of the text while dutifully repeating the words.

All right, he admitted to himself, six weeks into their co-habitation. He was happy. Happy happy, joy freakin' joy. His students benefitted from his jollier mood the most, because now he was more inclined to give a D-minus where he'd previously have given an F.

Still, one thing niggled at him, and he didn't know what it was, 'til one morning, one fine Saturday am, he woke up from an extrordinarily vivid wet dream... and realised in a blinding rush what that last little thing he wanted was.

The time was 7:28. Charlie would be on her way back now, she was usually in by eight. Weekdays she had to be at the library by nine, but Saturdays she'd shower, then snuggled back in beside him. Not this morning, though. The world's oldest Immortal had a plan now, and nothing would sway him from his purpose.

Charlie came bouncing in at about 5 to 8, and stopped short at the sight of her lover sitting upright, in full-lotus, no less, at the end of their bed.

"My god. It lives." Her tone changed from teasing to concerned. "Did I wake you when I went out? I'm sorry."

"No, I woke up about 20 minutes ago, I just couldn't get back to sleep. I've been thinking."

Charlie grinned. "Well, babe, I could help tire you out again?"

He shook his head. "C'mere. We need to talk."

Her eyes widened. "The four most ominous words in a relationship. What is it, Adam?"

"Don't worry," he assured, patting the bed beside him. "Just come sit."

With obvious reluctance, she obeyed. Methos took her hands in his, and looked searchingly into her face. "Charlie... what... What would you do to make me happy?"

She blinked. "Anything," she replied. "Anything that doesn't involve snakes. I hate snakes."

He nodded. "No snakes, I promise. Okay. I have, um...a really... really strange request, and I hope we trust one another enough at this point in our relationship that you won't be freaked out by it."

Charlie bit her lip. "Is this the part where you tell me that you've been wearing my panties?"

"You don't wear panties."

"Good point." She bit down again, harder. "Have you been...." her voice was strangled, "combing your nose hairs with my toothbrush?" The end of the last word came out as a squeak, and she burst into laughter.

"Jesus." He flung down her hands. "I'm serious, here!"

"All right, all right." She hiccupped, then covered her mouth. "It's just, honey, when you lay on a buildup like that... Just ask, whatever it is."

The moment of truth. He took a deep breath. "Do you still have your Catholic school uniform?"

"Yes," she replied immediately. "Do you want to wear it?"

"I want you to wear it."

She stared at him for a long, breathless moment. "Okay." She bit her lip again, then her shoulders started to shake, and her eyes grew wet...

"Oh, Charlie, don't cry!" he exclaimed, taking her hands again. "It's not a big deal, if it bothers you that much..."

She pulled her hands away and opened her mouth, and a hoot of laughter came out. She laughed 'til she was nearly choking, and Methos sat shaking his head, disgusted.

"Fuck you," he spat, and she laughed harder.

"No, no..." she gasped. "It's just... I can't believe my... mild-mannered history professor has a... a naughty school-girl fetish. It's always the quiet ones." She chuckled, fanning herself with her hand. "No, I'll do it, Adam..." ::hee hee:: "on one condition."

"What? Name it."

"You find yourself a priest's outfit."

Methos' eyes bulged. "You're kidding."

"You weren't kidding, why should I be? Let me tell you, my senior year of high school we got this new priest..." She sighed dreamily. "Father Peter. Good god. I tried to seduce him in the confessional."

"Really?" Now this had to be good.

"Really." She flopped dramatically into Methos' arms. "He was so hot."

"Did you succeed in this venture of yours?" he inquired, only a little jealously.

She grinned up at him, eyes twinkling. "Find some clericals and maybe I'll confess."

Methos wanted to get his scheme underway as soon as possible, and Charlie agreed to dig out her kilt and blazer that afternoon. "Get goin' on your costume, bucko," she directed. "Confession is at 8 sharp."

He called Joe. "Have you, in your Watcher travels, ever had to pose as a priest?"

"Why?" Joe asked suspiciously.

"Fancy-dress party. I drew 'priest'."

"Hmm. No, don't have anything like that. What you could do, is get some white poster board, and slide it into the collar of a black button-down shirt. Add black trousers, and voila."

"You don't suppose Mac has a priest's outfit?"

Joe snorted on the other end of the line. "Two words that are not conjunctive: Mac and priest. Try the poster board."

Methos sighed. "Later, Joe."

"Later, old man."

In the end, he tried the posterboard. It didn't look too bad. It was going to have to do. Charlie started getting ready in the bathroom after dinner, with much laughter to be heard through the door. At one point she hollered out, "You want me to look EXACTLY like I did at 17?"

"EXACTLY," he yelled back. Why there was a warning note in her voice he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

At eight sharp, "Father Adam" was waiting in a chair by their bed to hear confession, candles and incense burning for a more churchy feel. The bathroom door opened as the clock chimed, and he craned his neck to get a look at her.

"If you laugh, I will cut off your head," she said quietly. Methos shuddered, even though she had no idea how potent a threat that really was.

Charlie stepped into the bedroom.

Her long auburn hair was in braids. Her eyes were lined in black, making them seem huge in the candlelight. Her white blouse was half-undone over a black push-up bra, and the buttons that were done threatened to pop. The navy blazer, embroidered on the left lapel with a white cross, fit more like a bolero than a jacket. And the skirt... The blackwatch skirt left nothing to the imagination, barely covering her ass by an inch, revealing her long, tanned legs. Clunky loafers with the kneesocks pushed down completed the ensemble, and her lips were painted a lush, Lolita lollipop red.

"You looked like this in high school?" he choked.

She looked at the floor poking at the rug with the toe of her loafer, hands clasped behind her back. "Sister Mary Agnes said my skirt was too short," she said in a voice that was simultaneously girlish and throaty, "and I should come see you, Father."

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he thought, borrowing one of his lover's favourite expressions. She's into it. And I... I'm lovin' it.

"It is bit short," he said, trying to sound priestly. "We'll deal with that later. Have you come to confess?"

She crossed to in front of him, and dropped to her knees before his chair, bowing her head. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I just blew Father O'Grady at 5 o'clock confession, what should I do?"

"You mean Father Peter?" he inquired, still having to push out the words. Looking down at her, he could see into her blouse, see the full round curves of her breasts. It was a wonder he didn't burst his trousers.

"Yes, Father Adam." Her voice caught. "I don't know how it happened. I was confessing about the cigarettes I've been smoking between classes, and the next thing I knew I was sucking his cock."

"I see." What else was he going to say? "Ah... you know that that is wrong, don't you my child?"

"Oh yes, Father. I just... " And here she lifted her head, turning those luminous green eyes up at him. "I just couldn't help myself."

Methos wondered if this Father Peter had had this much trouble trying to get around the rock in his pants when Charlie was around. How the hell did she make it through school without being raped?

"I know that the Church teaches that fellatio is a sin, Father," she continued, "but I love it. I can't stop. Father, what should I do?"

"Uh... say ten Hail Marys."

"Oh, Father, I don't think that's punishment enough. Isn't sucking off a priest a deadly sin?"

That had to be a hint. "Yes," he murmured, "It falls under lust I believe..."

"Please, Father!" Her eyes grew damp. She must've been in the Drama Club. "Father, I'll do anything!"



The moment he'd been waiting for. Probably the same moment that rat Father Peter had waited for. He eased down his zipper and pulled his throbbing erection out of his pants.

"I think you know what to do," he intoned.

Her head tilted to the side. "Funny," she whispered, "that's just what Father Peter said."

Charlie inched forward on her knees, the tips of her braids sweeping across his thighs. Methos tilted his head back, hands falling to cup her head as her mouth closed over the tip of his cock. Just the faintest touch. She raised her head a moment and he looked back down at her; she smiled through her lashes and lowered her head again.

More than a touch this time. She went no further than the head, swirling her tongue around and around in dizzying spirals, running over the corona roughly. Then suddenly she opened her lips, sucking the entire length in. He gasped, and she was back at the tip again. Swirling, tasting. She slid her mouth down each side, applying just a little pressure of teeth at the base, and he moaned. Back to the tip. Lick, lick, lick.

"Charlie, please..." he begged.

"Shhh..." she whispered, her voice a tickle against the tender flesh. "Sister Mary Agnes might hear."

Fuck Sister Mary Agnes, fuck this dramatic buildup, "Oh fuck!" he cried out as her mouth enveloped his cock again. He pushed downward on her head, trying to fit deeper into her mouth. She bobbed up against the pressure, and he pushed her down again. Sliding her tongue down the underside of his cock all the way. They moved in that motion for quite some time, and then that glorious mouth was gone. She was looking up at him.

"Do you want...?"

He nodded. "Finish it," he growled.

No sooner said than done. She took the length of his cock into her mouth again, sucking with more force than before, not even bothering to move her head. Her tongue and that sweet suction was doing all that needed to be done. With a strangled cry he came, vaguely feeling her swallow his seed.

When coherent thought returned, Charlie was sitting back on her heels, fixing her lip gloss with a compact. "Father?" she said with another tilt of her head.

"Yes, my child?" he ground out.

"Have I atoned?" She pushed her lower lip out into a pout.

He nodded, raising his right hand. "I nomini Patri..."

Good mornin' little schoolgirl
Can I go home with you
Tell your mama and your daddy
That I'm a little school boy too
Baby I love ya', I just can't help myself
You're so good lookin' pretty baby
I don't need nobody else
Good mornin' little school girl
Can I go home with you?


My mobile rang as I was leaving work.

"Scully," I answered.

"Beanie!" came an exuberant male voice.

"Methos," I replied flatly.

"You are the best best best!!" he enthused. "And here I thought you said you'd never write fanfic again!"

"What can I say, Jonny Lang caught me on an off day. Can I go home? I've got carpal tunnel from this little gift to you."

"I'm just so pleased! I can't be pleased? I mean, it's usually slash slash slash, and then you hook me up with Charlie again without my even asking..." He paused. "Hey wait. Without my asking? I usually have to beg you for het action." His tone turned suspicious. "What's going on?"

"Nothin'. I'm hanging up now..."

"Nonono! WHAT are you about to do to me?"

I sighed. "Go get a copy of Jonny Lang's 'Lie To Me'. Throw on track 9. Get out the lube. That's all I'm telling you. 'Bye!" I hit end and then power. Let him fill up my voicemail with protests. I was going to sleep well tonight on a job well done.