|Trick or Treat
by Kellie Matthews
Rated NC-17 for graphic homoerotic (m/m) and polyamorous (m/f/m) sexual content written in loving detail. If you can't handle that, don't read it. If you can't handle that and you read it anyway, don't complain to me. Highlander is a trademark of Rysher Entertainment, characters not used by permission. No infringement is intended. This work is not to be marketed for profit. Note: This story is a direct sequel to Stirring the Embers.
Duncan checked his reflection in the mirror and adjusted his plaid across his bare chest so that the folds hung evenly. He'd taken his hair down and braided a thin plait on either side of his face, and painted an abstract pattern on his face with blue theatrical makeup, woad being in short supply in Seacouver these days. He looked pretty good, even if he did say so himself, and he was certainly more authentic than that Australian fellow, though in reality the Scots had stopped using woad as battle-paint several centuries before William Wallace had been born. He checked the clock, and called out to Richie
"You about ready? They'll be here any minute."
At his call, the bathroom door opened and the younger Immortal stepped out. "Taa-daaa!" he said, turning in a slow circle and spreading his arms so Duncan could see the full effect of the costume.
Duncan lifted an eyebrow. "Henry the Eighth would have loved that codpiece," he commented drily.
Richie grinned sheepishly and reached down to adjust the costume, trying to minimize the bulge a little. "I know, but Jenny's meeting me at Joe's after she gets off work, and she's coming as Batgirl, and told me to be Robin."
"I thought Robin wore green tights and little yellow shorts."
Richie rolled his eyes. "You ought to get out more, you're falling behind on your popular culture."
"I guess I must be."
"We should have a movie night one of these days. No art films allowed."
Duncan chuckled and nodded. "Sounds like a plan. I'll make popcorn, Methos can bring the beer, and no doubt Amanda will supply us with something a little harder."
"And I'll bring the chips and salsa," Richie said, then they both stiffened, sensing a new presence. A few moments later a knock sounded at the door. A little warily, Duncan advanced on the door.
"Who's there?" he called.
"It's just me," came the slightly exasperated-sounding reply.
Recognizing the voice instantly, Duncan unlocked the door and opened it, then stopped, staring, his mouth hanging open as his gaze traveled down the figure framed by the doorway. Methos seemed taller than usual. . . a fact that probably had something to do with the five-inch platform shoes on his feet. As his gaze rose slowly, Duncan took in the black fishnet stockings which sheathed surprisingly shapely legs, the skimpy black bikini brief below a glittering front-laced corselet that coyly bared a flat and somewhat hairy chest and navel, a set of ludicrously huge faux pearls, and finally the heavily outlined and rouged lips and brilliantly painted eyelids and eyebrows beneath a curly black wig. Duncan stared a moment longer, and then turned to look over his shoulder.
"Richie, your date's here."
"Very funny, MacLeod, or should I say Wallace?" Methos asked, pushing past MacLeod to make his entrance, his black satin, wing-collared cloak fanning out dramatically behind him to reveal its white satin interior. It caught on the umbrella stand and he tugged it free with one hand, sheathed in an elbow-length mitt made of the same glittery fabric as the corset and garter-belt.
"No, no, no, Methos!" Amanda admonished as she followed the older Immortal into the room. "I told you, you've got to swing your hips or you just don't get the right effect! Strut! Don't stomp!"
Mac gaped at Amanda's hair, which had been dyed a lurid shade of red, and at her face, which was made up in a manner reminiscent of a kewpie doll. She was clad in a gold sequined tailcoat and matching top-hat over a rainbow-spangled strapless shorts outfit not too dissimilar to some of her circus costumes. Incongruously she was wearing pale blue bobby-socks over sheer black stockings and her feet were shod in sequined tap-shoes that clicked on the wooden floor with every step she took. Listening to her walk, he figured it would be ten minutes, maximum, before the sound started driving him crazy. He closed the door behind them and stared at Methos some more. The outfit wasn't drag... not exactly, he was making no attempt at all to hide his sex. Duncan was a little bewildered.
"I thought the theme of the costume party was 'movie madness,'" he said cautiously,. wondering if he'd misunderstood.
"It is," Amanda said, looking at him like he'd lost his mind before turning to look at Richie assessingly. "Oooh, nice codpiece!" she said, staring openly.
Richie blushed. "It's just a costume, for God's sake!"
"Oooh, what a shame." She tap-danced her way over to where Richie stood and reached for the bulge.
He caught her hand and shook a finger at her with a ferocious glare. "Don't these two keep you busy enough?" he asked, outrageously.
Amanda's eyebrows went up. "My, my, the infant grows terrible, doesn't he?" She grinned to let him know she was teasing and planted a kiss on his cheek that left a bright red brand on his face. He chuckled and held her at arms-length to study her costume.
"You make a great Columbia, though to be honest my favorite of her costumes is the peekaboo pajama top."
"But these can be worn in public," she said, preening under his praise, before turning to Methos. "All in all, though, I'm not quite as good a Columbia as he is a Frankie."
Richie chuckled. "He's pretty good, but he needs to work on the walk."
Methos looked outraged. "I do not! I wasn't even trying when I came in here. I'm perfectly capable of strutting." He proceeded to demonstrate, with a long-legged, hinge-hipped walk that was mind-bogglingly appropriate to his garb. With a haughty flip of his curls, he lifted one glamorous eyebrow. "Well?"
"Very nice, Frank," Richie conceded. "But can you do the Time Warp?"
Methos grinned and executed a little dance move. "It's just a step to the right!"
"Would someone mind telling me what language you're all speaking?" Duncan complained, feeling left out. Three heads swivelled in his direction, with three nearly identical, astonished expressions. Amanda recovered first.
"Oh my god. . ." she whispered in a tone usually reserved for natural disasters. "He's a virgin."
Duncan stared at her, affronted. "I am not!" he declared emphatically. "And you bloody well know it!"
"Not that kind of virgin, MacLeod! A Rocky-virgin! Oh, is it showing anywhere tonight? We should take him! There must be a show, after all, it's Halloween!"
"Joe would kill us if we didn't show for his party just to take Mac to a movie. It's out on video, we can rent it sometime." Richie said, dampeningly.
"But it's just not the same without squirt guns and toast!" Amanda said, pouting.
"She has a point," Methos put in. "But so do you, so we'll just have to wait for the next showing. In a city this size it must get shown pretty regularly, right?"
"It's not as ubiquitous as it once was," Amanda said sorrowfully. "But we should be able to find it showing somewhere, eventually."
"Will someone please tell me what you're talking about?" Mac asked plaintively.
"The Rocky Horror Picture Show!" They all three chorused in unison.
"I can't believe you've never seen it!" Amanda said, shaking her head.
"I can," Richie told her. "Mac's got too much taste to watch Rocky. Too high class."
Methos rolled his eyes. "Mac's got a stunted fun-gland in his brain. We may just have to do a transplant." He waved a pair of pink rubber gloves in the air, not surgical gloves, but the kind one would use while cleaning a particularly nasty bathroom.
"After seeing you two, I'm half afraid to see this movie, whatever the hell it is." Now that they had identified it, Duncan vaguely remembered having heard of it once upon a time. Tessa had wanted to go see it but he had talked her into going to a concert instead. For a moment he felt that little twinge he felt whenever he thought of Tessa, but it wasn't as painful as it once had been. Time had a way of easing even the worst ache. Time, and new loves. He had a feeling neither Methos or Amanda would be as easily dissuaded from their plan as Tessa had been.
"Oh, good!" Amanda said with an arch glance at Methos. "I like it when he's afraid. It happens so rarely!" Amanda surveyed MacLeod's costume with a sigh. "I know you're The Highlander and all that, but honestly, I thought you could come up with something less predictable for once!." She studied him critically, tapping a finger against her lips. "You know, if we tucked his hair up, stuck a pair of horn-rimmed glasses on him, and put him in a tux with a plaid cummerbund and bow-tie, he might just make a decent Brad."
Methos burst out laughing. "I'd much rather see him in the chorus line outfit. Can't you see it? Mac in Kabuki makeup, four inch heels and a feather boa?"
"Mmm, actually, yes, I can," Amanda said, her gaze going a little hot. "Definitely."
Duncan clutched his plaid protectively as he envisioned them attacking him with a with a tube of clown-white. "I'd rather not, if it's all the same."
"Spoilsport," Methos said, pouting exaggeratedly.
"I don't see anything wrong with my costume, anyway." Duncan said, looking down at himself.
"You wouldn't, since you've worn it to just about every costume party you've attended in the past hundred years," Amanda said sourly. "Show some imagination for heaven's sake! Buy a black sharkskin suit and scowl a lot and go as Steven Segal! Rent a charro outfit and be that guy in Desperado! Anything but that damned kilt!"
"It's called a plaid, no' a kilt," Duncan muttered mulishly, though he had to admit she was right. He had worn his plaid to an awful lot of costume parties. "Besides, it's too late to change."
"It's never too late to change!" Amanda said airily. "I should know. Methos, you and Richie go up to the storeroom and see what you can dig up to put him in. In the meantime I'll get him out of this and get that makeup off him."
Methos shrugged out of his cloak, revealing a colorful tattoo on one biceps of a dagger-pierced heart with the word "Boss" above it.
"I hope that's one of those temporary tattoos," Duncan said, aghast.
"What, don't you think it goes well with my Watcher tattoo?" Methos asked ingenuously as he started up the spiral staircase, with Richie right behind him. Duncan stared, shaking his head in bemusement, wondering how he managed to climb the stairs in those shoes. Amanda watched too, and sighed.
"It's just not fair for a man to have legs that good. Now, come on, where's your makeup remover?"
Duncan stared at her with what he hoped was a blank look. "Makeup remover?"
Amanda stared back ruthlessly. "Don't tell me you don't have any. That's stage makeup, Mac! You know as well as I do that it doesn't come off without remover!"
He sighed. Caught. He'd hoped to slip one past her, but she knew him too well. "It's in the bathroom. I don't want to change."
"Change is a necessary part of life, Duncan." She grabbed the end of his plaid and started pulling. His kilting started to untuck from under his belt and he made a grab for it.
She grinned. "Are you regimental?"
"For a Halloween party? Are you kidding?" He unfastened his belt and the rest of his outfit fell to the floor in a spiral of wool. He felt rather odd standing there in nothing but a pair of bicycle shorts and face-paint.
Amanda caught his hand and pulled him toward the bathroom. "Come on, lets get busy."
He accompanied her, reluctantly, and stood still while she smeared cold-cream on his face and removed his carefully applied designs. As she was wiping his face like a three-year-old's, he heard Methos and Richie come down the stairs.
"Got a couple of choices here," Methos said from behind him. "This one, and this one."
Amanda plopped the washcloth over Duncan's face so he couldn't see as she pondered the choices. Finally she spoke. "Well, I always like him in a tux, and he could always go as James Bond if he refuses to be Brad, but I like the one on the left better. He can do the Daniel Day-Lewis thing."
Duncan tried to think of what movies Daniel Day-Lewis had been in, and could only remember My Left Foot and A Room With a View. He wasn't partial to Edwardian fashions, straw boaters definitely weren't his style. Plus they'd been up in the storeroom and he sure he didn't have a wheelchair up there, which ruled out the former film. So, what had they found, besides his tux? Amanda finally let him go and stepped back to survey her handiwork. With a satisfied nod she moved to let him out of the bathroom.
Methos had hung his tux on the wardrobe door, and draped their second choice across the bed. It lay there, beads gleaming against the mellow buckskin, fringe trailing. His jaw tightened. It had been a very long time since he'd worn that outfit. It had a lot of bad memories associated with it. Still, it also had a lot of good ones. He really needed to stop dwelling on the bad ones. He was pretty sure it would still fit, buckskin stretched a little. On the other hand, it didn't breathe well. On the other-other hand, it had plenty of ventilation. Pretending annoyance, he sighed.
"Oh, all right! I'll wear it, but one of you has to tell me who I'm going as and what movie I'm supposed to be from, because I haven't a clue."
"Honestly, Duncan, you're pitiful!" Amanda said in exasperation. "It's Natty Bumpo, from Last of the Mohicans!"
He felt like an idiot. He'd even seen the damned movie, he'd just completely forgotten about it. He shook his head, smiling ruefully. "Too bad I can't blame that lapse of memory on senility. Now, get out of here and I'll get dressed."
Amanda hooked a finger in the waistband of his shorts and snapped it sharply. "These are coming off first."
"I'm not going to a party with my ass hanging out!" Duncan protested.
Amanda leaned close and put her lips against his ear. "Oh?" she asked, her breath feathering warmly into the convolutions of his ear, perversely provoking a shiver. "Why not? I rather like the idea, myself. . ." she began to slowly slide a hand down his chest toward the shorts. "Methos, want to help me convince him?"
Richie cleared his throat. "I think I'll just wait outside."
Methos chuckled. "Settle down, Ryan. We weren't planning on ripping your costume off."
Richie grinned. "Good, 'cause this thing's rented," he said, chuckling. "But I still think I'll wait outside."
Duncan reached out and grabbed him by his utility belt. "Oh no you don't! You're not abandoning me to the whims of these two. I'll end up in heels and lipstick!"
Richie laughed. "You never know, Mac, they might look good on you." At Duncan's ferocious glare, Richie held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll stay and defend your virtue."
By the time they got to Joe's, the party was in full swing. The place was packed with costumed partygoers and the music was loud enough to wake the dead... appropriately enough for Halloween. Mac lounged against a wall near the bar, his backside carefully shielded by the concrete, his tunic-length fringed shirt, and nothing else. As usual, Amanda had won the argument.
He suspected he was going to regret it before the night was out, which was why he'd chosen a position where he wasn't particularly accessible. Plus, the damned breechclout thong was sort of uncomfortable. It was amazing what you forgot about after a hundred years of not wearing something. Still, on the whole the outfit was more comfortable than some things he'd worn over the years. Regency jackets for one, so tight you couldn't raise your arms without splitting a seam, not to mention the god-awful cravats.
The waitress came by and handed him the scotch he'd ordered, and he reached into his belt-pouch for money to cover the cost. His fingers brushed the soft leather over his thigh, and he shook his head in amazement that it was nearly as supple as it had been when he'd first worn it. Though he had never really intended to wear them again, neither had he wanted to seem them grow stiff and shrunken, a reminder of how much time had passed. So, like the rest of his treasures, he'd always made sure the leathers were well cared for, and thanks to a conscientious clothing conservator he'd sent them to a few years earlier all the quilling and beadwork were firmly attached so he didn't have to fear loosing bits and pieces everywhere he went.
Their entry into the bar had been greeted with raucous cheers and demands for the band to play the Time Warp. Someone in a hideous polyester tuxedo and plaid bow-tie Mac assumed to be the infamous "Brad" had grabbed Methos and Amanda, hustling them over toward a blonde woman who looked as if she would be more at home at a 1950's church social than a rowdy bar. Her demure suit was accessorized by a straw hat, gloves, and a hard-shell pocketbook. The four of them laughed and greeted each other by names that weren't their own, and as Duncan had turned to ask Richie who they were, he'd found he'd been deserted by the younger half of the Dynamic Duo. After a moment he'd spotted the Boy Wonder standing next to a curvaceous young woman in skintight black with a bat-mask. He assumed she was Jenny, though it was hard to tell under the mask. He tipped his drink back and sipped the Glenfiddich slowly, savoring its peaty smoothness.
"Of all the gin joints in this town, you had to pick mine," came a raspy voice, butchering the classic Bogart quote. Mac grinned and turned to look at Joe, lifting his glass in salute as he studied his costume. The outfit; a trench-coat, fedora, and cynical smile, matched the quote.
"Rick Blane, I presume?" Duncan asked.
Joe nodded. "Nice to see you guys made it, I was about to give up."
"Sorry, we got a little delayed."
"Had trouble finding shoes for Frankenfurter over there?"
Duncan shook his head. "No, he came fully equipped, but Amanda didn't like my choice of costume."
Joe snorted. "Don't tell me. . . Rob Roy?"
Duncan grinned ruefully. "Close, William Wallace. Tell me, does everyone around here think I have no imagination?"
Joe pretended to ponder that a moment, then nodded. "Yep, pretty much." He studied Duncan, reaching out to finger some of the dangling fringe, and lifted an eyebrow. "I have to say though, this one surprises me. I mean, I know you and Methos are kind of an item, but when did you join The Village People?"
Duncan groaned and put his head in his hand. "Please! It's Last of the Mohicans."
Joe nodded, sipping his beer. "I should've figured it would be something literary. You couldn't just have fun, could you?"
"I have a lot of fun!" Duncan protested, stung by that comment which was annoyingly similar to the one leveled at him by Methos and Amanda.
"Yeah, but you don't want anyone to know you do. It might spoil your image."
Duncan sighed. "I don't get no respect."
Joe shook his head. "Sorry, I know you too well for that."
"What is this? Pick on MacLeod night?"
Joe chuckled. "Sorry, you're just such an easy target sometimes. Come on and sit down for a while. There's a free table."
"No thanks, I'll stay here."
Joe stopped, looking puzzled. "Why?"
For answer Duncan pointed at his leggings. "They're authentic."
MacLeod drew aside the edge of the tunic momentarily to flash bare hip. "That's why."
A look of comprehension came over the Watcher's face and he chuckled. "You can have the seat next to the wall."
"Thanks. Walk behind me?"
"How do you know I'll keep my hands off?" Joe asked suggestively, following Mac toward the table. MacLeod stopped and looked back at him, eyes narrowed, one hand holding the back fringes of the shirt as if to keep it firmly in place. Joe laughed and held up both hands. "Relax, MacLeod, it was a joke. You're not my type."
Duncan studied him a moment longer and then shook his head, chuckling. "I'm never sure about anything any more." He pulled out the chair and sat down, careful to place the wall at his back before arranging his shirt carefully.
Joe nodded sagely as he took his seat facing the Highlander. Duncan looked past him, out over the sea of bodies to find the tallest one in room, cloak collar framing his starkly made-up face. Next to Methos was a smaller figure sporting neon-red hair. He found himself smiling. Joe noticed the direction of his gaze and grinned.
"You know, it's nice to see you enjoying yourself. Maybe I shouldn't say this, but it seems like since Tessa died, you haven't let yourself enjoy life.
Duncan thought about that seriously, and nodded. "No, you can say it, in fact, you're absolutely right. I haven't. I think in a way I've been punishing myself for her death. I did the same thing when Little Deer died. I think it's my way of dealing with death."
"Not a very healthy one, Mac," Joe said gently.
Duncan sighed. "No one ever said mortals have a monopoly on unhealthy attitudes."
Joe chuckled and saluted him with his beer. "Ain't that the truth?" He tipped it back and took a long draw from the bottle, then set the empty down with a deep, satisfied sigh. "How come you're not dancing?" Duncan just looked at him, one eyebrow lifted, until Joe chuckled. "Oh, right. The outfit."
"I always knew you were smart." Duncan said drily.
Joe signaled the waitress and ordered another beer, and another Scotch for Duncan, and they sat in a companionable silence watching the crowd and occasionally commenting on particularly good costumes. Several women approached the table to ask Duncan to dance, but he turned them all down. Joe ordered another round for himself, and for Duncan, who was a little surprised by his unexpected beneficence but accepted it, not being one to turn down free drinks.
Mac felt restless, and a bit left out. He saw Amanda dancing with a well-built young man dressed as Conan, and his eyes narrowed. Somewhere along the line she'd shed her golden tailcoat and was down to just the bustier and shorts. Almost against his will, Duncan looked for Methos, and found him leaning against the wall near the door chatting intimately with the Cleaveresque blonde. He scowled and tossed the rest of his drink down, not really tasting the fine scotch. Another glass was placed at his hand, and after a couple of sips he found himself tapping his foot, which also annoyed him.
"Somethin' wrong, Mac?"
"No." Duncan snapped, and returned to watching the crowd.
"Just askin'," the Watcher said with a lifted eyebrow. "It's time for my set, I'll see you later."
Duncan nodded curtly and watched his companion make his way toward the stage. Now he really felt abandoned. Methos was talking to a guy with a bad haircut wearing a trench-coat and tennis shoes, and carrying a plastic toy sword. He looked vaguely familiar, but Duncan couldn't place him. Richie was dancing with Jenny, and Amanda had a new partner, a good-looking Asian guy wearing nothing but a loincloth. Duncan guessed he was either Tarzan, or Mowgli, from The Jungle Book. Amanda seemed to be dancing with all of the most scantily clad guys in the place.
As the set ended, Amanda sent a pouty glance his way, as if to chide him for leaving her alone on the floor, and he suddenly started to feel a little sheepish about his paranoia. Compared to some of the guys she'd been dancing with, he was nearly smothered in clothing. Unless he started dancing on the tables, no one would be able to tell how vulnerable he really was. Besides. . . even if Methos and Amanda did have some mischief in mind, would it be so bad? They hadn't yet done anything to him that he hadn't ended up enjoying.
Decisively he stood up and stalked across the dance floor toward Amanda just as Joe picked up his guitar and started to play a rollicking blues line, his smoky voice growling lyrics, something about burning a house down. Duncan grabbed Amanda's hands and drew her hard against him, bending to plant a heated kiss on her startled mouth before pulling her onto the dance floor. He kept their bodies together as they danced, moving to the driving beat in a way that would probably have earned an NC-17 rating in a film. With some amusement he remembered that once upon a time, Parisians had called this 'Apache dancing.' He wasn't sure it had ever caught on in the States, but at least his costume was appropriate for it.
Amanda followed his lead, her strong, flexible body moving with his, echoing every motion, her eyes sparkling with humor and excitement. He was so close that he could smell the rich, primitive scent of her, and wondered if it was just because he knew it so well, or if she was just really turned on. The idea of the latter began to work on him, and he found himself glad that the fringes his tunic came to mid-thigh. He kept her close and low, bodies always touching, always moving, their movements sharply dramatic. He felt a little wild, a little hazy, as if he'd had too much to drink. . . perhaps he had, but it didn't matter. He was enjoying the dance too much to care. It was like making love in public. He let his mouth graze her bare shoulders and throat as they danced, and knew by her responses that she was feeling as feral as he was.
By the time Joe finished the number, they were the only couple on the floor, and the end of their dance was greeted by thunderous applause. Exhilarated they bowed, and other couples moved onto the floor as Joe began a new piece. Amanda tugged Duncan toward the dance floor again but a strong hand on his shoulder checked him.
"Oh no you don't," Methos said, grinning. "No more of that for now. I doubt Joe wants this party turning into a full-fledged orgy. I bet he hasn't got the right license for that, and you know how people are about permits these days."
Amanda pouted, crossing her arms huffily, but Duncan chuckled and acquiesced, though he too felt a little disappointed. Still, continuing to dance in that mode might well be as dangerous as Methos had jokingly suggested. "I suppose you're right. We wouldn't want to get him in trouble."
"And another dance like that one definitely would. Gods, you two were hot!"
Amanda flashed a grin. "We were, weren't we? I haven't had so much fun in years."
Methos made a hurt face. "What am I? Paté?"
"Well... I meant the kind of fun you can have in public," she amended, touching his lower lip with a fingertip.
"That's better," he said, winking. "Thirsty?"
At their nods, he led them toward the bar, which was crowded. Mike and Renee clearly had their hands full. After surveying the crowded area for a moment, Methos got a distinct gleam in his eyes and nodded toward the door just to the right behind the bar.
"Come on, I know where he keeps the stock."
"Oooh! Raiding the pantry!" Amanda said, perking up. "That would make my night!"
Methos sighed. "She's far too easy."
Duncan grinned, patting her sequinned rear-end. "One of her best qualities, I always thought."
She shot him an evil look and flounced off toward the door. Duncan hesitated a moment, then gave in. He could easily slip a few extra tens into the till to cover anything they took. Amanda put her hand on the doorknob and tested it. It turned easily and she made a face.
"What fun is it raiding an unlocked room?" she complained. "Really, I'll have to speak to Joe about this!"
"Later," Duncan said, urging her into the room with a hand on her back. He realized he could still smell her, the dark, heady scent of woman. Once more, his body reacted instinctively, and he reached down to ease the sudden constriction as they slipped inside and closed the door behind them. Methos caught him at it, and lifted an eyebrow. Duncan grinned and spread his hands in the air. "What can I say?" he whispered as Amanda walked around the room, her shoes clicking on the wooden floor. "I can smell her."
Methos sniffed, and then looked back at Duncan, his eyes smoky. "So can I, you must have really gotten her worked up out there."
"I got both of us worked up out there."
"Make that all three of us." Methos corrected him.
Amanda completed her survey of the room with a sigh. "Jeez, not even his computer's worth stealing. We gotta see if we can get him a raise. This is pitiful, there's nothing good in here."
Duncan shook his head, a slow smile curving his mouth. "Now, that's not true at all. There's you, and there's Methos."
Methos looked at him sharply, then his gaze went to Amanda, before returning to Duncan. "And you," he said softly.
Amanda's eyes flicked back and forth, studying each of them. "You two are feeling naughty tonight, aren't you?" A sensual smile played over her mouth as she eyed them both in clear invitation. "Well, what's the old saying? Trick or treat?"
Before she could say anything else, Duncan had lifted her off her feet and was heading for the desk. Methos got there first and shoved the few items on its surface off to one side, creating a bare space in the middle. Duncan set Amanda on her feet in front of the desk, his fingers easing down the tab on the zipper that closed her costume. It opened and after she gave a little shimmy, slid to the floor, leaving her clad only in a black satin waist-nipper whose garters held up her black stockings.
"I must have been a very good girl," she purred, "to get two such lovely treats." She reached under Duncan's shirt to find the thong that held his breechclout in place, and deftly untied the knot that cinched it. Her fingers lingered as she drew the soft leather away from him, and he stood frozen in place as she stroked him. After a moment she turned away and gestured for Methos to go around to the other side of the desk.
For a moment Duncan wasn't sure what she was up to, but as she bent over the desk with a provocative glance over her shoulder at Duncan, he knew. She reached over and hooked her fingers in Methos briefs, which barely contained his straining erection, drawing them down slowly to expose him. Tugging on the fabric, she pulled him forward until his thighs were pressed against the front of the desk, then she slid a hand under his testicles and held him still for her mouth. He groaned, hands clenching as she drew her tongue delicately down the long groove on the underside of his cock. Duncan moved between Amanda's thighs and reached down to verify that she was as hot and wet as he'd suspected.
She wriggled, making a little purring sound as he stroked her, then fit himself to her. She pushed back, encouraging him, and with a little growl he slid deep, feeling her velvet heat surround him. He almost lost it, but somehow managed to drag himself back. He'd be damned if he'd go off and leave her behind.
He watched as she traced her tongue around the arrow-shaped tip of Methos' straining penis, then sucked him into her mouth. Methos gasped and his hands went to her head, stroking the silky flames of her hair as she suckled him. Duncan wedged one hand beneath Amanda so he could massage the sensitive rise of her clitoris as he began to stroke into her supple heat. Methos leaned forward, reaching to knot his fingers in Duncan's hair and pull him forward until their lips met in a harsh, needy kiss that tasted of whiskey and lipstick. It was a strange and peculiarly erotic flavor.
Amanda went stiff suddenly, her body tensing and releasing around him, and she moaned her fulfillment, the sound coming from deep in her throat as she refused to release her prey even then Her hand moved lower between Methos' thighs, and he shuddered, his mouth frantic against Duncan's as she drove him over the edge. The combination of their almost-simultaneous releases, and adrenalin and liquor combined to undo Duncan's desperate hold on his control, and he drove deep, his body shuddering as pleasure pulsed through him.
After a moment, Amanda finally let go of Methos, who went to his knees in front of the desk and kissed her deeply. Duncan stroked her back gently and eased away, his body wet with sweat and their combined essences. He spotted a box of tissues and used a handful to mop up, first her, then himself. She finally stood up with a sigh, and stretched, smiling as she reached over to play a finger across the fringe that hung from the hem and sleeves of his shirt.
"You know, until now I had no idea that fringe had any use other than to decoration. Those are--" she shivered delicately. "Very nice."
Methos put both hands on the desk and pushed himself back to his feet, glancing at the clock on the wall. "God... eight minutes!" he moaned ruefully. "I think I've just broken my own all time worst record."
Amanda laughed, looking smug. "And I think I've just been complimented! But don't worry about it, love. As long as we're all happy, how long it took doesn't matter."
"I suppose," Methos said, still shaking his head. "But I'll make it up to you later."
Amanda winked. "I'll hold you to it."
Duncan leaned down and retrieved his breechclout from the floor where Amanda had dropped it, and somewhat reluctantly tied it back in place. Methos tugged his briefs back up, and Amanda bent over to pick up the rest of her costume just as someone opened the office door. Methos quickly stepped around the desk to lounge nonchalantly, one hip perched on the corner as he surreptitiously shoved papers back toward the middle of the desk. His cloak provided a shield for Amanda to crouch behind as she hurriedly yanked her costume back on. Duncan stood behind her and quickly zipped it closed with one hand as he grabbed the phone with the other. Because of their respective positions, Duncan was the only one who could see Joe as he walked in and stopped dead in his tracks, taking in the scene.
"Yeah, that's right. No anchovies, and we'll pick it up in half an hour," Duncan said into the dial tone. "And throw in an order of wings."
Joe glanced from Duncan to Amanda's flushed face, to Methos' back, to the haphazardly scattered papers on the desk, and watched Mac put the phone down. One eyebrow went up.
"Pizza?" he queried, clearly disbelieving.
"We were hungry, and thought we'd pick it up on the way home."
Amanda nodded vehemently. Methos rolled his eyes, because he knew Joe couldn't see him. Joe stared at them a minute longer, and started to chuckle, shaking his head. "Whatever you say. Far be it from me to call y'all liars to your faces. Take a couple of minutes to straighten up in here would you?" he asked, opening the door to step back out into the noisy bar. "And, by the way, MacLeod-- nice warpaint." With that parting comment, he closed the door behind himself.
Duncan had no idea what he was talking about but both Methos and Amanda looked at him and burst out laughing. As Methos started to neaten up the desk, Amanda grabbed a tissue from the box and swiped at Duncan's mouth. The tissue came away stained a deep, almost black-red. For a moment longer he just stared at the tissue, uncomprehending, then it hit him, and he looked at Methos' mouth. Most of his lipstick was gone. Amanda's mouth bore a faint tinge of it, but he'd been the first one Methos had kissed, and he was clearly the one who'd gotten the lion's share of the color. He put a hand to his forehead and started to laugh, shaking his head.
"I don't know why I ever bother to try to lie to anyone. I invariably get caught."
"You do seem to have that karma," Methos agreed. "You must have a really awful person in your last life to be cursed with terminal honesty and a white-knight streak a mile wide. Its so much easier to just get away with things, like Amanda and I."
"So, I guess you two are going to have to teach me how to lie," he said. "Come on, let's go get that pizza."
"What pizza?" Amanda asked, puzzled.
"The one we didn't order. It's a good excuse to go home and take our time. After all, you did say you'd make it up to her," Duncan said, looking at Methos. "And you know that it's just not in my nature to let anyone down."
"A friend in need is a friend indeed?" Methos asked drily.
"Something like that," Mac said, opening the door and stepping back to let them go through first. "Something very like that."