"Baby One More Time"
by Maisie
(maisierita@comcast.net)
copyright 1999
(M/A DM J, 1/1, R)
Disclaimer: I most certainly do not own any of these characters. More's the pity. I will return them all from whence they came, once I'm done with them that is, with mussed hair and clothing slightly askew, but otherwise unharmed.
Warning: This is not a lyrics story. I don't do those. There are, however, gratuitous references to Britney Spears.
Feedback: Please! Anything but flames gladly accepted at the above edress.
"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." MacLeod crossed his arms and frowned at Methos in irritation.
"What?" The older Immortal had already shrugged off his coat and was heading for a beer. He flipped the cap behind the refrigerator and took a long swallow before turning around to face the angry Scot. "What did I do this time, MacLeod?"
"It's 4:30."
Methos raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"You were supposed to be here at 3 o'clock."
Methos shrugged casually. "I got tied up. Sorry." He shouldered past MacLeod, waved to Joe and Amanda, and settled comfortably into the couch. He took another swig of his beer, seemingly oblivious to the three pair of eyes watching him. Another swallow of beer and Methos's eyes met Joe's, full of disapproval. "*What*? So I'm a little late. It's not like we were really going to *do* anything. What is the big bloody deal?"
"We thought you might have been in a challenge," MacLeod said, still irked.
Methos glanced out the window at the bright spring sunshine. "It's June, Mac. I make it a policy not to take heads in June."
"Uh huh." MacLeod's tone was pure skepticism.
Methos sighed. "I was at the music store, okay? I lost track of time. I'm sorry. I'm an insensitive jerk. I should have called, but I didn't have my cell phone and the pay phone was out of order. I'm *sorry*. I won't ever do it again. All right?"
MacLeod nodded curtly, not at all swayed by the rather peevish display. "All right."
Heaving a melodramatic sigh, Methos uncoiled himself from his sprawl across the couch. "That's the last time I buy *you* a gift, Highlander."
"A gift?" Amanda's ears perked, visibly. "What kind of gift?"
"It's for Duncan," Methos said, crossing the room in a few long steps to where he'd left his coat draped messily over a chair. He rummaged obviously through the pockets.
Amanda pouted prettily. "You didn't get me anything, Methos? I'm hurt."
Methos flashed her a tolerant grin, and stood up, holding the jewel case of a CD in his hand. "Here," he said, and tossed it to MacLeod. "I think you'll like it."
MacLeod raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Who is Britney Spears?"
"She's a pop singer."
MacLeod stared at the picture on the front of the CD. "She's a *child*."
"Seventeen, I think," Methos offered. "It's amazing what youth today can do. Wonder what I was doing when I was seventeen?" His face scrunched up in momentary reflection.
"Did they even have music when you were seventeen, Methos?" Amanda teased.
"Oh, sure. We beat on drums, banged our chests, and howled at the moon in four-part harmony."
Joe looked interested. "Really?"
Methos laughed out loud. "I have no idea. I can't remember that far back. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure I ever *was* seventeen. I think I was born old."
"Can't tell by the way you act sometimes," Mac muttered, thrusting the CD into the stereo. There was a momentary silence before the music started, and then the room was filled with the bopping bass of the teenaged singer's music. Mac frowned horribly. "This is terrible, Methos. You couldn't honestly think I would like this?"
"Why not? It's cheery, has a good rhythm, good orchestration. . ."
"It's drivel."
"That's what they said about opera when it first came on the music scene."
"You can't seriously be comparing this tripe to opera!"
"No, I'm not. Lighten up, MacLeod, it's just music. It's fun." Methos headed to the refrigerator for his second beer, taking a few swallows before pointing the bottle accusingly at MacLeod. "Your problem is that you don't adapt with the times. This is today's music. I'll bet Joe likes it. Right, Joe?"
Joe cleared his throat uneasily. "To tell you the truth, Adam, I don't much care for pop. I'm a blues man."
Methos rolled his eyes and swallowed another mouthful of beer. "You have no taste."
"*I* like it," Amanda offered, rising from her chair and swaying a bit with the music. "It's very good for dancing."
Methos nodded vigorously, feeling obviously vindicated. "I told you." He took another sip of his beer, moving to the music even though he was leaning against the table. His eyes tracked Amanda as she closed her eyes and let the music run through her. Unconsciously, his movements mirrored hers until they were both dancing in place.
As if she felt the older Immortal's gaze on her, Amanda's eyes popped open. She met his stare evenly, a half-smile curling her lips. Swaying seductively, she crossed the room to him and gripped his wrists gently, plucking the almost-empty beer bottle out of his hands and placing it on the table, then pulled him into a her arms.
MacLeod watched grumpily as the two older Immortals began to dance to the music of a girl centuries their junior. "How long am I going to have to listen to this?" he muttered darkly to Joe, dropping into the chair next to the Watcher and scowling.
"It's your stereo, Mac. Turn it off if you don't like it." Joe's tone was amused.
"*They* like it."
"Obviously." The two seated men watched the dancers for a few minutes, and then Joe sighed a bit enviously. "Damn, I miss dancing."
MacLeod shot him a sharp glance. "I'm sorry, Joe. I'll tell them to stop . . . "
"Don't you dare. I like watching them. Besides, I was never a very good dancer. Not nearly as good as they are."
They *were* good, MacLeod admitted to himself. They fit together as if they'd been made for each other. Amanda was an excellent dancer. She'd taught him to dance, in fact, and while he knew he was an excellent dancer in his own right, he'd never gotten the hang of this modern style of dance, hadn't ever really gotten it since disco came around. He hadn't adapted with the times, he supposed, as Methos and Amanda obviously had. Methos was also an excellent dancer, with a natural grace that couldn't be attributed to practice, not even 5,000 years of practice.
They were curled around each other now, and Amanda's hands were strolling down Methos's back, wandering perilously close to his waist and lower. Not that Methos seemed to mind, MacLeod realized. The oldest Immortal's hands were wandering themselves, and seemed to be settling possessively on Amanda's waist, pulling her impossibly closer to him. Any closer, MacLeod thought, and the two would be fused together. They were halfway there already, joined at the hip, thrusting slowly against each other in time to the music.
When had it gotten so hot in here? MacLeod wondered, pulling at the collar of his turtleneck to let some air in. Beside him, he heard Joe chuckle softly.
"Thought it was just me feeling the heat," Joe whispered with a grin. "You may need to hose them down when they're done."
"I may need to hose *me* down." The two men watched in silence for another few minutes. The song on the CD was a generic love song, a duet with an unidentified male singer, and the dancing Immortals had nearly merged into one being. Amanda was nuzzling at Methos's neck, and the way their hips were moving . . . it ought to be illegal, MacLeod thought. You should get arrested for moving like that.
"Putting on quite a show, aren't they?" Joe whispered, presently.
"You don't need to whisper," MacLeod whispered. "They haven't forgotten that we're here."
"You sure about that?"
"Yes," MacLeod said firmly, convinced that the two older Immortals were putting on a little act for his benefit. After all, Methos and Amanda had never . . . would never . . . certainly wouldn't . . . they didn't even *like* each other . . . it was ridiculous to even think about. Just then, Methos's hand wandered from Amanda's waist down to her hips, then her ass, where it paused for a minute, kneading gently. Then the wandering hand was on the move again, down Amanda's thigh to the bottom of her barely there skirt. None-too-subtly, Methos slid his hand up beneath her skirt to caress her inner thigh. A gasp from Amanda and MacLeod had had *quite* enough, thank you very much. Show or no show, enough was enough. He cleared his throat loudly, and when that had no effect, grabbed the remote control and turned off the stereo, clearing his throat again for good measure.
Amanda and Methos sprang apart, standing a good three feet away from each other, both breathing unsteadily. Their lips were bruised -- bruised? MacLeod wondered. Had they been kissing? He'd been so busy staring at their hips he hadn't noticed -- and their eyes were equally glazed over. MacLeod had been lovers with Amanda on and off for three centuries, and he had no trouble recognizing the look of arousal on her face. Methos, on the other hand . . . he'd never seen the man look like that but it didn't take a genius to figure out what Methos was feeling. Color high in the angular cheeks, slim chest heaving, a noticeable bulge in his pants -- good lord, MacLeod thought, dazed, where has he been hiding *that*? - - it was clear that the oldest Immortal's brain had ceded control of his body to another organ.
"Well," MacLeod said brightly, breaking the tension. "I can see what you mean about the CD, Methos."
Methos blinked dazedly at him, his brain all-too-obviously still being deprived of the blood flow necessary for speech. "What?"
"The CD," MacLeod repeated. "It's good for dancing."
Methos blinked again several times, having trouble keeping his eyes focused on MacLeod when they stubbornly kept glancing back at Amanda. "Dancing," Methos said finally, slowly. "Good for dancing. Yes. Yes it is, rather." He ran a shaking hand through his hair and fidgeted, surreptitiously trying to adjust his jeans where they were significantly too tight.
An uncomfortable silence descended as Amanda smoothed out her skirt. Joe was the first to break it, laughing nervously and offering in jest, "You want us to leave you two alone?"
Amanda froze, never even glancing in his direction. "Unless you want to stay and watch," she answered, then launched herself at Methos, pushing him back to the wall and attacking his mouth. MacLeod had often been similarly attacked, and had occasionally been able to keep his balance, but the less bulky older Immortal had no such hope. Loudly, Methos and Amanda crashed to the floor, Amanda ending up on top of her prey and immediately beginning to pull at his shirt, ripping it open when she couldn't undo the buttons fast enough.
MacLeod waited for Methos to push Amanda off, but it didn't happen. Surely Methos is going to stop this, MacLeod thought. Amanda may be an exhibitionist but Methos certainly isn't. He'll stop this. Any minute now . . .
Methos arched his back up to help Amanda get his shirt the rest of the way off, then settled back down on the floor, pulling her with him and reaching up to capture her mouth with his own. A low bass rumbled through the room, and MacLeod glanced over at the stereo, certain he'd turned it off, realizing belatedly that the deep rumble was coming from Methos's throat. He was *moaning*.
MacLeod and Joe stayed still, frozen in disbelief, staring at the couple writhing on the floor. "They wouldn't," Joe said uncertainly. "They're not going to . . . not with us sitting here . . ."
But they were, obviously. Amanda had already worked the belt out of Methos's jeans and was reaching for the zipper. Methos, for his part, was determinedly hiking Amanda's skirt up over her hips, although it was difficult giving the way she was squirming around.
It was the first bright red flash of Amanda's panties that finally galvanized the two watching men into action. With a guilty start, Joe rose to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. MacLeod was up in that same instant, helping Joe catch his balance and aiming both of them towards the door. He tried to close his ears against the panting and groaning already filling the air, and regretted ever turning off the stereo.
"It's been too long, caro," he heard Amanda whisper throatily.
Methos mumbled back in an unfamiliar dialect of Italian, something about centuries and beauty and breasts. Then the door shut behind MacLeod and he -- fortunately -- couldn't hear any more. An instant later, the sounds of the stereo turned up *loud* pulsed through the door. MacLeod stood there silently for a minute, then turned to look at Joe, who was standing there watching him curiously. "What?" he demanded, irritably.
"Nothing," Joe said, mildly. "You just looked funny, that's all."
"Well, it's not every day one's two best friends start humping each other in the middle of one's living room. I'm sorry if I look a bit put out."
"Okay," Joe answered with an amused grin. "Just so long as that's all it is."
"What *else* would it be? They're having sex on my carpet!"
"Dunno," Joe shrugged. "I thought you might be feeling jealous."
"Jealous? Of Methos? Don't be silly. Amanda and I aren't exclusive."
Joe grinned knowingly. "Jealous of Amanda. Want a drink, MacLeod? I'm buying . . . "
MacLeod was frozen in place. "Jealous of *Amanda*? That's ridiculous."
"Oh yeah? Can't lie to your bartender, Mac."
"I'm not lying, and I am *not* jealous of Amanda. You're crazy, Dawson."
"Like a fox, MacLeod. Like a fox."
The music of Britney Spears followed them all the way down the street.
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