Strangers in Paris
By JaC

Disclaimers: Neither Methos nor Dr. John Carter belongs to me. They are indisputably the property of Panzer/Davis and Constant C. I promise to return them in good condition and with all their parts. I’m certainly not making any money from this. Thanks to Bone who bravely beta'd this and offerred encouragement along the way and WPAdmirer who reminded me how attractive John Carter can be. Thanks also to Zen&nancy who are a powerful cheerleading team.

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John Carter was jetlagged, damp to the bone and discouraged. This persistent rain was probably why all the songs were about April in Paris---when the rainy season ended. February in Paris definitely sucked.

It had seemed like a good idea on Monday: Airfare was dirt-cheap and Chicago was knee-deep in snow, slush and all the other the disgusting detritus of winter. Hopping a plane to somewhere romantic and exotic for a long weekend -- the first real break he'd had since Thanksgiving -- sounded adventurous and dashing. Doug Ross, always up for adventure, had cheerfully taken his money and phoned in the ticket reservations on his credit card. Carter had yet to establish his own credit history after being cut off from the family funds, but with a paycheck's worth of cash in his pocket he figured he’d be okay. After all, everyone takes cash, don't they? Mark Green contributed his beloved Let’s Go Paris, circa 1989. "Paris is a thousand years old, how different can it be?" he advised.

So here he was in Paris, in the rain, in February-with no place to stay. Apparently many things had changed since Mark's 1989 "Let's Go Paris" had been published--like the list of B&Bs. He'd been to four, none of which were there any longer. The one's he'd passed and simply knocked on the doors were already full of tourists who'd called ahead or were too horrifying to consider sleeping in. Desperate, he'd decided to live on bread, cheese and cheap wine and check into a real hotel only to discover that his paycheck didn’t go very far in any of them.

"Okay, time to get a new guidebook, a cup of coffee and make some calls. Or I’ll be sleeping in the train station," he muttered to himself. <Would being arrested for vagrancy constitute moral turpitude?> he mused as he set off looking for a bookstore. En route he wondered if any of the clothes in his backpack would dry out enough to wear while he was there.

Pausing at a corner, it took him a minute or two to process the fact that the sign on the store across from him was in English: "Shakespeare and Co." He stumbled through the door as a new sheet of rain chased him down the street. Large quantities of water poured off of him and ran in various directions across the scuffed hardwood floor.

Methos, in the back making coffee heard the front door, but feeling no telltale buzz felt no urgency about seeing who was there. He'd just come up from the basement after checking on the safety of his journals and other stuff during the annual floods. All his belongings were in the basement. He was currently "house-sitting" for Mac at the barge while looking for a new apartment, one whose address was not known to every immortal in Europe. He'd never understood why MacLeod insisted on being the Auntie Mame of the Immortal set, but he didn't intend to be in everyone's address book. Not with the way one’s personal effects could end up in the wrong hands if a challenge went bad. He didn’t want to discover that a friend was gone when some new bad-ass pounded on his door with their Filofax in hand.

Finally deciding to check out the new arrival, he found a very wet, very young looking, very earnest, and very attractive man dripping all over his floor. He looked so wet and miserable that Methos was certain that at any moment he would start shaking the water off himself like a large dog.

"Don't move," Methos advised. He took the man's coat and hung it on a hook near the door and handed him a handful of papertowels. "You're dripping," he expanded on the obvious.

Carter sneezed loudly in reply. "Excuse me. Do you carry guidebooks?" he asked as he rubbed his hair. Looking out from under the towels he noticed that his host was a tall, well built man, about his age.

"Yes, I’ve got some very good ones." Methos pointed him toward a chair while he browsed. Pointing to the one on top he said, "That is a Baedeker for Paris and environs with routes from London to Paris dated April 1889." Carter looked both enthralled and crestfallen. The other man handled the book the way most people regarded precious metals or delicate china.

"They're both classics," Methos enthused taking the chair next to him and opening the 19th century Baedeker to show him the drawings of Paris. Moving closer to display the book, Methos suppressed an unexpected urge to wrap his arm around the steaming young man who appeared to be soaked the skin.

Carter gently took the book, studying the Paris of the previous century. He'd seen his great-grandfather's Baedekers. "I love old books. Reminds me of home." He sighed, looked around contentedly and not a little covetously, then continued, sounding a bit desperate, "But right now I need something that will help me find a clean, cheap place to stay tonight."

<Hmmm, a kindred spirit, homeless in Paris, > Methos considered the situation before replying. This might be just what he needed to shake off his recent sense of abandonment. "We're not really that sort of bookstore. Can I at least offer you a coffee before you go looking?"

Carter looked relieved, "Coffee would be a lifesaver. This whole day has been a disaster." <Except meeting you> Carter added to himself. Technically this man wasn’t a Parisian, but he was certainly a bright spot in an otherwise miserable day.

Methos disappeared down one of the aisles and reappeared promptly with two steaming mugs.

His guest latched onto it like a man grabbing a life preserver, "Thanks, I've been in serious caffeine deprivation for hours; we practically live on this in the ER."

"You're a doctor." Methos' interest spiked.

"Resident." He shrugged, "Cheap fares; long weekend. Spontaneity is not my best mode. None of the B&Bs my friend recommended is there any more. And the rest are either hideous or full of non-spontaneous travelers who called ahead. I called a couple of hotels and I can’t afford them. So far, I haven’t found one that I can afford that doesn’t make the train station look inviting."

"I see. You wouldn’t stay anywhere you could afford. Been there. You're here on your own?"

"Yep. First time since I was in prep school and seriously chaperoned." Carter grinned, flushed a bit and took another deep swallow of coffee to cover. It was good and he was grateful. At that moment his stomach rumbled loudly, after being reminded that he'd put nothing else in it for several hours. "We ~almost~ live on caffeine, is there anywhere nearby for food?" he asked looking unhappily at the continuing downpour.

"Look, it's a very slow afternoon and there's a nice café just down the block. We could continue this conversation over a late lunch. You'd think more clearly after a meal," Methos reasoned with him. Mac was in the Middle East bailing out Amanda after some incident about which he hadn't inquired too deeply and Joe was only recently returned from some Watcher business in the States. He'd had no interesting companions for the past two weeks and drinking alone at the local bar then going to bed with a book had gotten boring very quickly. He used to able to go months without noticing these things. One more thing he could blame on Mac and his social circle. At the least he could talk books and medicine with this fellow. It had been a while, but he was sure he could keep up.

"Won't your boss mind?"

"Nope, I don't mind. I'm Adam Pierson, by the way. "

"John Carter. You own this place?"

"Inherited it. I'm a grad student, linguistics, A.B.D. I run the store and write in-between customers. C'mon, might as well have food along with the conversation."

As they lingered over a simple but hearty meal Carter’s practical self knew that he should be finding a place to stay, not whiling away the afternoon in a cafe. Even if it was a cafe on the Seine and they were looking out through the big windows at the nearly deserted quay. It was a classic Parisian scene.

Over lunch Methos drew out the young doctor who told him about his patients, his disastrous attempt at becoming a surgeon and his realization that for him, despite the challenges of emergency medicine, he preferred it as a specialty because it allowed him to treat the whole person. Spending time with them and helping was what made the hours and pressure all worthwhile.

Carter was surprised that Adam seemed to understand this despite the apparent differences in their experiences. He also listened when Carter spoke, there was no preoccupied look in his eyes as if he were preparing his response even as Carter spoke. Small easy silences between them as they considered each others words slowed the conversation to a speed Carter found luxurious after the frantic shorthand of the ER.

When Methos asked how he’d come to chose medicine from all the helping professions, Carter looked young and shy and spoke quietly of his brother who died of leukemia as a child and his parents subsequent distance. Then he changed the subject and talked about the humor and affection among the folks who worked the ER despite the long hours and difficulties of the work. He talked affectionately about his mentor, Dr. Benton, even while recounting some of their more spectacular conflicts. Methos was reminded of the relationship between Immortals and their students.

Methos quickly decided that he didn't want to lose track of Carter; his stories about the ER were invigorating and high tech aspects aside they reminded him his own satisfaction with the practice of medicine. Carter’s sincerity and concern as he discussed his calling struck a familiar chord in him. It wasn’t the interesting diseases or conditions that he recalled, but rather the people he'd encountered and how good it made him feel to help them. And how hard you fought to avoid losing them.

Methos countered with anecdotes about the people he met at the bookstore; expatriates looking for a bit of home between two covers, collectors who roved the shelves looking for treasures, or simply book lovers. He reveled at the luxury of having time to read, to listen to music, to write. He realized that this life must sound sybaritic compared to Carter’s 12-hour days, 6-day weeks. As he watched Carter’s face relax contemplating a life so independent of the demands of other people’s schedules he conjectured about what hopes, or disappointments, he amended looking at the shadows behind Carter's eyes, had sent him off to Paris alone. In February.

Shaking himself as if awakening from a dream, Carter noticed the lengthening shadows for the first time, "I'd better hit the streets if I don't want to sleep in the train station. Can we get the check?" He pulled out his wallet, surprised by the disappointment he felt at the prospect of ending this conversation.

Methos shrugged him off. <Mac would enjoy this> he thought as he settled the bill for both of them. "Come back to the bookstore with me. We'll make a few phone calls and get you settled." At least he'd know where to find him. An hour later Carter was still without a room. The last three landladies had set new standards of rudeness even for Parisians. After calling a few of the chains they determined that it would take at least two of Carter’s paychecks for a comfortable weekend in Paris, even in the off season.

Methos considered his options. He could "loan" him the money for a decent hotel. On the other hand, Mac had a huge bed and a sofa. He’d been told to make himself at home. Besides, Mac was always bringing home strays himself; he'd offer Carter hospitality if he were here.

"I'm house-sitting for a friend at the moment. I'm sure it would be okay if you crashed there too. Mac's sofa is the best; I've spent many nights on it." <Like last night.>, he thought. Although he knew that Mac intended him to use the bed, he had stayed on the sofa. Somehow, the bed felt ‘out of bounds’, as if inhabited by the Highlander’s spirit or something….

Carter hesitated. He'd already blown, "Don't talk to strangers," out of the water. Adam didn't look like a serial killer; then again, he hadn't checked what was in the basement of the bookstore, he thought ruefully. However, aside from meeting Adam nothing had gone right with this trip yet. "Ok, if you're sure your friend won't mind."

<Yes! Yes! Yes!> Methos exulted silently. The more cynical Methos acidly asserted <Don't get your hopes up. He probably just had a fight with some sweet young thing back home, and he's not looking to get lucky with you. > The thought surprised Methos since he hadn't consciously realized before this that he wanted more than conversation from Carter. Being with a man wasn’t unfamiliar to him, but it had been a while. Seeing Byron stirred up a lot of old feelings and forced him to acknowledge his true feelings about his relationship with Mac. He hadn't yet found the courage to speak to Mac about it. <Yeah right, that will be a snap! He’s 400 years old and it hasn't even occurred to him that there are options besides the fair sex. Well, I'll just have to keep him alive long enough to enlighten him.>

Perhaps to keep temptation at bay for a while longer he took Carter to Le Blues Bar for a few beers and a light supper on the way home. Joe, easygoing and always glad to meet someone from home, immediately put Carter at ease. They talked music; Carter’s favorite --jazz organ had Joe shaking his head  incredulously. Carter valiantly defended his choice, citing increasingly obscure musicians as examples of the genre. Joe rolled his eyes and extolled equally obscure, but talented Chicago blues men he thought Carter should be adding to his collection. Methos put up with this for two beers, before observing loudly, "At least it’s not opera."

Joe gave him a sideways glane and wondered what Methos was up to; taking in strays was Mac’s thing, not his. When Carter visited the men’s room, he leaned over and asked, "Will I need to have someone keep an eye on him?"

"I was planning on keeping an eye on him." Methos said archly, smirking at Joe.

"Is he one of you?" Joe hissed.

"No, he’s one of you. Haven’t you ever seen a date before?"

Joe considered this for a moment and decided 5000 years gave you lots of perspective on your options.

Carter was practically asleep by the time they got to barge with a few groceries and beer. "Mi casa es su casa" he proclaimed opening the door. "Well, sort of. Take the bed. I'm used to the couch. You've been up 24 hours; you need sleep, you've only got a few days in Paris."

"You know, the beauty of being a resident is that I can sleep anywhere. Give me a blanket and a pillow, and I'm fine. Tomorrow I'll get a guidebook and be out of your hair." Carter took possession of the couch and was out five minutes after his head hit the pillow.

Methos circled the bed cautiously before actually getting in. He took the ‘other’ side, surprised to find a sword rail mounted there as well. He grinned and shook his head. Mac --always the perfect host. He lay on the bed for a while pretending to read his book while watching Carter sleep. He’d never realized how clear a view of the couch this vantagepoint offered. With the worries of the day washed away by sleep Carter was even more handsome and not as innocent looking: young, but life and death were already written on his face. Methos well remembered that sometimes you couldn't help your patient no matter how much you cared. Finally he dozed off, feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland in the big bed.

It was still dark when Carter’s bladder woke him. Completely disoriented and kinked in places he didn’t know could kink, his sense of place returned slowly as he tried to remember where the bathroom was in relation to him. Forgetting about the stairs as he wandered through the gloom in the right general direction he fell with a loud crash.

The noise from near the door brought Methos off the bed, sword in hand, looking like the Archangel guarding the Gates of Paradise. Methos recognized his error about the same time it occurred to him that his sleepwear, boxers, didn't really give him many options for concealing his weapon once he determined that the only real threat was of a slightly abraded Carter peeing on the floor. Putting the sword behind him, he flipped on a lamp and pointed up the stairs.

<Shit, maybe he won't ask. Nope he won't stop to ask. He'll just put on his clothes and flee. That's what any sane person would do. > he chided himself. Methos waited sitting at the foot of the bed and considering claiming it was a shadow if asked. Probably won’t work, he admitted to himself.

Carter returned shortly, surveying the sword with more interest than terror. Slight blood stains spotted the knee of his scrubs as he warily joined him on the bed. He looked down at the sword that Methos still held, and lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Mac's an antiques dealer. There aren't as many guns in Europe as there are in the States. If there's any trouble this is usually enough get people to back off."

"You seem pretty comfortable with it."

"We fence, do a lot of sparring. He's old fashioned. It's his idea of a work out." <Ok. Not fleeing yet. That's a good sign. >

"Can I hold it?"

<How many times have I reminded Mac not to hand over his sword? > "Sure. Careful; it's a live blade."

"I took fencing in college," Carter confidently raised the sword and promptly dropped it into the bed, unprepared for the weight of it. Landing tip down it sliced through the comforter, sending up a cloud of feathers.

Methos retrieved it gracefully and tucked it into the rail under the edge of the bed, making a mental note to replace Mac's bedding before he returned. Carter wore a rueful expression as they sat back down ignoring the unasked questions hovering around them.

Carter looked at Methos, rather obviously reappraising the so-called grad student who was surprisingly well muscled without the camouflage of his bulky sweater. Adam, he realized, was beautiful, and more importantly didn’t seem at all uncomfortable sitting here on the bed mostly naked with him.

Methos, in turn, was wondering why the rumpled scrubs seemed to imbue Carter with an authority and maturity not discernable through damp jeans and a button-down collar shirt.

They had both, unconsciously, shed their disguises under cover of night. Neither recognized the similarities in the tall slender forms, strong prominent noses, and the twinkle behind the eyes. Mac’s well-honed eye for beauty might have appreciated the symmetry of them, but he wasn’t there.

They just sat there for a few minutes, both aware of the tension between them, uncertain how to proceed and not quite sure yet if they each had the same destination in mind. Questions hung in the air between them, neither of them willing to be the first to ask or attempt an explanation.

Methos took a deep breath and decided that if Carter hadn't fled yet, he probably wasn't going to. "Sorry if I frightened you earlier," he said, breaking the silence and leaning closer.

"You didn’t," Carter assured him. "This is supposed to be an adventure." With that he closed the distance between them and kissed Methos. Nothing too overwhelming, no touching except their lips. It was almost chaste, with a promise of more to come if he found acceptance. Methos smiled against his lips and opened his mouth.

Carter gasped and pulled back. "I promised myself I was going kiss someone in Paris," Carter hastily explained.

Methos grinned and kissed him back before he could move away, taking his time to explore the yielding mouth. Carter had brushed his teeth. He was either actively seeking adventure or a boy scout Methos decided. "That do it?" Methos asked, smiling wryly.

Carter hesitated for just a second, thought <you wanted an adventure> and then blinked solemnly. His hand went up to cradle the back of Methos head as he adjusted him for better access. The kiss was slow and wet and left them breathless, sweating slightly and covered in feathers lying flat on the perforated comforter.

Methos hated to do it, but finally decided he’d better ask before things escalated… "Carter, have you
done this before?"

"Kissed? Yeah, lots. Couldn’t you tell?"

"Yes, but…"

"Sorry, too pushy?" He propped himself up on one elbow and looked at him earnestly.

"No. But there’s adventure, and then there’s uncharted territory." Methos looked at him speculatively.

"OK, not since prep school. And only kissing. Mostly kissing." Carter looked away as he said very quickly, "hewentdownonmeonce." He looked a bit desperate.

Methos extended one hand and tilted Carter’s face up to meet his gaze. "Did you like it?" Methos grinned at him as he asked, feeling confident that with any luck he could ruin Carter for life in the next two days.

"Oh yes," and then Carter pounced.

Methos found himself once again flat out on the middle of Mac’s bed with Carter draped over him nuzzling his neck as his hands stroked his torso. Methos arched his neck up, offering more of it to Carter, who bit and sucked on it, marking him. Hastily Methos revised his estimate about what was an appropriate pace to proceed so as to not frighten Carter. Methos rolled them over and returned the attentions, pushing and pulling Carter’s shirt up until he had access to his nipples. Carter pulled it the rest of the way off as Methos used his tongue to tease and pleasure him. Alternating sides he licked and kissed his way down to the waistband of Carter’s scrubs pants. Pulling the drawstring he teased them away from his belly and traced around the thin strip of hair down to his cock before detouring to his thigh.

Carter groaned as he worked the pants off, claiming each new patch of skin with his tongue. While pulling them over his ankles he looked up at Carter whose eyes were wide with a combination of emotions Methos couldn’t entirely identify, he saw pleasure, but he also thought he saw a little fear. "Carter, you still ok with this?" Methos asked as he nuzzled the arch of his foot.

Pushing up on his elbows he looked him in the eye. "Adam, if you stop, I swear to God I’ll go find that sword," he said firmly as a drop of sweat rolled down his chest. He lunged at Methos, pulling him forward until they both collapsed on the bed, side by side, face to face, cock to cock. Both their cocks were hard and glistening as they rubbed over each other and gasped at the shared pleasure.

Methos gathered Carter to him with one arm and reached between them to stroke Carter firmly with the other. When Carter tried to return the favor Methos stopped his hand and gathered them both into his own hand, using their own sweat and precum to ease the friction. Carter snuggled against him nestling his head into the space between Methos neck and shoulder, kissing, licking, nibbling, sighing.

Their rocking motion on the bed caused the wounded comforter to spew clouds of downy feathers around them, but they didn’t notice. It wasn’t long before they came, so close together than neither could have said who was the first, shooting sticky stuff on each other’s bellies and the comforter.

They lay there, nestled like puppies for long minutes. When he could speak again, Methos asked, "You ok?"

"Oh yeah, you?" Carter continued to marvel silently at this shift in his luck.

"Better than okay. Offering Carter a hand up he added, "I think we need a shower before these feathers adhere permanently."

"Yesterday I was so drenched I thought I wouldn’t need a shower the whole time I was here. This was worth it. " Carter kissed him again.

"I’ll be happy to give you more excuses to shower, but we should probably also do some things you can tell your co-workers about."

"Deal, as long as we can try for ‘uncharted’ later." Carter grinned brazenly at him, wiping some of the fine feathers off his chest as they talked.

They took turns showering. Methos made coffee and set out cream, butter, fruit spreads and the crusty rolls they’d picked up on the way to the barge the previous evening. "Don’t wait for me," he advised  when Carter joined him in the galley.

Returning from his shower, he found Carter lounging on the bed. Carter raised his cup and said, "More coffee, please." Surveying the room he observed, "Your friend likes his comforts, doesn't he?" More feathers trickled unnoticed out of the wounded comforter.

"Yes, but he pays for them." Methos responded somberly. He joined Carter on the bed, bringing a plate for himself spread with various foods. "So, what are you going to do today?"

Carter looked toward the porthole windows where the rain was still pouring down, although now there seemed to be a percussive accompaniment to it. They wandered over for a closer look---the rain had progressed to sleet.

"Indoor stuff, museums? I guess."

"You’ll need a guide."

"I can get a book, you’ve got a business to run."

"On the other hand, I’m my own boss."

"I could be persuaded."

Carter picked up his pack to get dressed, and dumped it out on the floor in disgust. "Everything is still damp. I should have opened the backpack last night and hung it up."

Methos considered showing him Mac’s dryer, but decided he’d like to claim him a bit more so instead he offered him anything from his wardrobe that would fit. Their long slim runner’s bodies were surprisingly close in size.

Several hours later.

They cruised through the Musée d’Orsay at increasing speeds garnering less than amused looks from the guards for holding hands, and once for kissing behind a statue that didn't provide as much cover as they’d thought.

"I think I saw these when I was here in school and they’re just as amazing now as they were then. How about we go back to the barge and you show me something new? " Carter whispered. Methos did not point out that Musée d’Orsay hadn’t been there when Carter was in high school unless he was even younger than he looked.

Methos looked at Carter and wondered briefly what he was doing here and why. This wasn’t going to get him into Mac’s bed. Hell, that was looking less and less likely with every passing day anyhow. And if he replaced the comforter Mac didn’t need to know about this. Carter was certainly willing and of age. Not to mention obviously still getting over something or someone. It didn’t take him long to agree. He thought of Alexa and remembered that you never close the door on joy, you take it where you find it. He and Carter could help each other lift their personal darkness for a while and he wasn’t going to walk away from that. He took his hand and led him out of the museum.

On the way back from the museum Methos tried valiantly to play tour guide so Carter would have some Paris chatter to share with his coworkers. He also hoped it might act as a temporary deterrent to Carter’s amorous advances, which while welcome, were hazardous to his driving. Replacing Duncan’s comforter wasn’t a big deal; the car would be a much more difficult and pricey task. "Look Carter, Eiffel Tower over there," he drawled, moving quickly back into his own lane of frantic traffic.

It was still drizzling, but not the downpour of yesterday. Pausing on the deck of the barge, he pointed out Notre Dame and the adjacent area. Carter nodded, and then pounced.

Methos purred, then cursed as he realized they were extremely visible. He pulled Carter inside and reciprocated.

"Would you like some lunch?" he asked coming up for air. "Mmmmm," Carter responded by pulling off Methos’ coat. The loud clunk as it hit the floor stopped them both dead in their tracks. Methos tensed, but Carter only leaned in to suck and bite at Methos’ neck again. Suddenly the sensation was gone and Methos opened his eyes to see Carter watching his neck very deliberately as the bruise disappeared.

"You really do have remarkable skin," he said, looking at Methos questioningly, one hand tracing along his now unblemished neck. His other hand kneaded Methos’ shoulder, preventing him from fleeing. After a moment Methos carefully freed himself and moved away to retrieve his coat. Keeping an eye on Carter as he moved to the galley. "So, coffee or beer?" Methos asked, not offering answers yet.

"Wine?" Carter responded, moving to the sofa, waiting to see how this would play out. Methos joined him, carrying a beer for himself. He studied Carter, contemplating his options. The man was intelligent, a physician and a trained observer; he must have noticed that the bruise from their earlier lovemaking was gone. <There was a lot to be said for doing these things under cover of darkness> Methos groused to himself.

After a prolonged silence Carter asked cautiously, "Is the explanation going to ruin the weekend? Because as long as it’s not contagious, I can probably contain my curiosity. "

Methos’ heart leapt; he hadn’t expected this generosity. He kissed him, saying afterward, "It’s not contagious. You’re born with it or you’re not. Let’s just say I have remarkable powers of recovery." He grinned at Carter.

"In all respects?" asked Carter moving his hand around from Methos’ back to his belly and then lower.

Laughing, Methos stood up, pulling Carter with him and pushed him toward Mac’s bed, "Allow me to demonstrate." Methos got them both a fresh glass of wine. Carter swallowed his in one long drink as Methos watched his neck stretch back.

Finished, Carter put the glass down and with a determined look said, "I’ve only got a day and a half left and we have a lot of ‘unexplored territory’ to cover. Besides, you promised to show me your remarkable powers of recovery."

Methos closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief as Carter’s arms came around him in a fierce embrace. And opened again as Carter’s hands slid down his back before sneaking back around him to undo Methos’ fly. Carter sank to his knees pulling his jeans down with him. Methos looked at him and Carter smiled back, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Wow, still in the original packaging," Carter observed before continuing quickly, "They say I’m a quick learner, but let me know if I’m not doing this right."

He ran his tongue along Methos cock, which immediately responded. Methos put his hand lightly on Carter’s head, Carter paused, and Methos sat back on the bed, managing to finish shedding his jeans in the process and giving Carter much great access to his body. Carter proved what the entire Cook County ER already knew—he was a quick learner.

Pushing Methos flat, Carter spread his legs and began to explore, tasting, licking, adding gentle nips at intervals that kept Methos focused on his young partner. After long minutes of playing with his balls, Carter finally worked his way back to his original target and brought his mouth down over the leaking tip. Methos groaned loudly and Carter pulled back. Methos nodded and mouthed, "go for it." Which Carter did, wholeheartedly. It took him a few tries to take the whole length, but his natural enthusiasm and not a small bit of pride won the day. Methos was trying not to thrust when he realized that Carter had just stepped boldly into "uncharted territory". He let go and followed him.

Methos came back to his senses with Carter lying side next to him grinning like the Cheshire cat stroking his nipples. He didn’t remember taking off his sweater.

"Carter, are you sure that you’ve never done that before?"

"In the ER we say, ‘see one, do one, teach one." Carter responded.

Methos chuckled. "Well, I’m sorry I won’t be there when you teach one." He kissed Carter, tasting traces of himself in his mouth. He hadn’t really expected Carter to swallow, but was very pleased that he had.

An image of the two of them flashed in Methos’ head and he knew that he could make it happen. In the next second he wondered if Duncan MacLeod’s boyscout instincts extended to stocking condoms. He pulled away from Carter to search Duncan’s nightstand…no condoms in the drawer, he opened the cupboard underneath…and gasped softly. Some of this bounty had to be courtesy of Amanda, but really he’d never imagined that Duncan was this adventurous. He took two condoms from very a beautiful enameled bowl and then retrieved the quart <quart?> bottle of lube with the pump dispenser. Silently he promised himself that he’d "discover" this item some evening soon after Duncan returned home. Perhaps his other fantasies weren’t so far out of reach.

As he turned back to Carter with the supplies he began to chuckle. Carter bristled.

"No, sorry, its just that with all the feathers sticking to you, you look like a slightly debauched angel. My personal angel." <He made a mental note that they had to take the damaged comforter off the bed as soon as possible, but not while Carter was sprawled so enticingly across it. He’d have joined him on a bed of nails at that moment; the seemingly endless supply of feathers from Duncan’s ridiculously overstuffed comforter was a minor inconvenience.>

He swooped down on Carter with all the tenderness he could muster. Their kisses and caresses lasted for a long while as Methos, alternately aggressive and sweet, teased Carter to the brink and back several times helping him discover erogenous zones medical school hadn’t really focussed on. Finally as Carter was begging for release Methos pressed a condom into his hand and whispered, "Take me."

Carter gaped at him for a second, stammered, "I’ve never seen one."

Methos flashed him a feral grin and said, "You can‘t break me, and you’ve got good instincts…. take me, love."

Carter looked at Adam, who was kneeling up on the bed on all fours and pumped a very generous dollop of lube onto his fingers. He’d never put his fingers inside anyone without a glove before, but this wasn’t the ER. Suddenly a whole list of questions he should have already asked flashed in his head. He paused, shaken at his own lapse. Adam looked over his shoulder at him, questioningly.

"I, we, um, earlier. We didn’t use a condom." Carter began hesitantly.

Despite being nearly incoherent with need, Methos concentrated, not willing to risk the moment. "Carter, I’m clean, trust me. Its not just my skin that heals quickly. You’re safe with me. But don’t you ever do that with anyone else." Then he tightened his muscles around Carter’s fingers.

Carter gasped, remembering what he was doing. He’d committed himself to this and he wasn’t a quitter when he had a goal in sight. He slowly added fingers until Adam was pushing back on three fingers easily and moaning about mercy…. Carter added more lube and rolled on the condom before pressing slowly and steadily into Adam’s body. He moved closer and as he did Adam pushed up from the all-fours position he’d been in to rest his long lean body against Carter. Carter held him close, one arm wrapped around his chest, the other dropping lower to pump his cock, as they found a common rhythm and began to move with greater urgency. They were both too close to the edge to make it last very long.

They came very close together with Methos, stroked by Carter’s hand, coming first, adding to the many stains now defacing Duncan’s poor abused comforter.

Carter, who was not expecting to feel Adam’s orgasm so intimately, followed immediately. They collapsed together on the bed. Carter moved off Adam as soon as he was able, but stayed close enough to touch. Methos rolled onto his side and leaned in licking Carter’s lips on his way to a deep kiss followed by soft words of praise, and endearments which Methos was startled to hear passing his lips.

Stretched close together on the bed, breathing heavily they were silent for a few moments.

Behind Carter’s back, Methos clutched the other condom, thinking of the uncharted territory he planned to explore with Carter as soon as they were able to move again. He smiled and touched Carter lightly with his other hand.

Feathers continued to fill the air around them, settling on them as gently as snowflakes. As Carter brushed them off Adam’s backside, he wondered how something as slippery as lube could so quickly turn into an adhesive. Letting go of that thought, he snuggled closer thinking fondly of the many other adventures they could share with each before he had to leave. After all, he still had a day left in Paris. And a really great guide.


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