Three Scenes in Search of a Plot
(PG-13)

I.

Duncan MacLeod returned to the loft lugging a sack of the junk food Richie craved and a six-pack of Methos' latest microbrewery infatuation. It was hard keeping the pantry stocked against the predations of his two secret lovers but a man has to do what a man has to do. And if that meant daily trips to the local Stop-n-Shop, so be it. As long as he kept them well-provisioned and in ignorance of each other, he was a happy man.

As the lift door slid up, he was struck by the familiar tingle that betrayed the proximity of another Immortal. He smiled to himself; which would it be, the callow yet curiously well-trained youngster, or the enigmatic and annoying ancient? MacLeod just *loved* surprises.

Famous last words.

The sight that greeted him robbed him of all coherent thought. There, in the bed that had seen so many conquests he'd had to replace the bedposts three times, was Richie Ryan and Methos, caught in what could only be described as flagrante delicto.

Mac blinked his eyes and took another look. Surely his senses were playing him false. He took it all in, the clothes strewn across the floor, buttons scattered here and there, three -- three!-- empty tubes of lube, a watermelon rind, six peacock feathers, a leather jockstrap, a battered copy of 'The Bridges of Madison County', and his electric toothbrush.

Yep, caught 'im red-head -- er, red-handed.

"Huuwhhat is tha meanin' of this?!" he blustered, his Scots burr (not to be confused with an Irish brogue) intensifying as it always did in moments of non-heterosexual stress.

II.

"I'm sorry, Mac. I have no idea what came over me. One minute we were just sitting there watching 'Swamp Thing' on USA and the next thing I know Methos's comin' at me with the dust buster."

His voice dropped down to a confidential whisper. "You know, I think I finally figured out how he survived for 5,000 years. He fucked everybody else into a stupor, then whacked 'em in the afterglow. Man, I couldn't lift a kleenex right now, much less a sword. Sorry, Mac. My money's on him now, not you."

III.

"Haven't you heard, MacLeod? I'm irresistible. I get more action than Tom Paris and Fox Mulder combined."

"You are not. I hear that Russian kid could take you with one hand tied behind his back."

"He has."

"Slut! You're led around by that cock of yours like it's a metal detector at a public beach. I know which head does all your thinking. You even started the Horsemen just to get Joxer back, didn't you?"

"That's a lie! A vicious rumor started by Cassandra, I'm sure. I was looting and pillaging long before he ever took up with Ares. I never slept with him, either. Hades, on the other hand...."

Here Methos' eyes glazed, technicolor visions of Death/Death couplings obviously sending him deep into flashback territory, not that anyone but Methos got to see them.

the end
24 October 1998

(In case you were wondering, my squicks are Duncan/Richie, Methos/Richie and 'Swamp Thing'. I'm not even going to attempt to list the shameless references to stories by Rachael and assorted other talented HL writers. Um, stealing from many sources is research, right?