Friends


     It was closing time at "Joe's."  It had been a normal night,
with a clientele that leaned heavily to the Watchers, and somewhat
to the Watched, and a sprinkling of folks who were simply there for
good jazz and good company.  Word of "Joe's" was spreading through
the jazz community, with the note that the owner was as pleasant to
the ears as any one featured on its tiny stage. 

     Richie and a short, pretty, plump dark haired girl who looked
about his apparent age had left about midnight.  Duncan and Amanda,
as striking a couple as ever, were going out the door now.   One
man sitting at his bar cast a longing look in their direction - and
it wasn't Amanda he was looking at.

     "It's a mystery to me, Joe."

     "How a man could be so straight?"

     "I've seen grown men literally throw themselves at him.  He
doesn't even notice.  It's as if it doesn't exist in his world."

     "He's always been that way.  It's not just upbringing.  It's
MacLoed himself.  It's simply not in his worldview."

     "I know.  It's in his Chronicles.  He's four hundred years
old, and the only reason he's moved beyond vanilla is Amanda." 
Methos stared glumly at his beer glass.

     "Duncan's a slow learner.  He didn't even pick up reading for
fifty years.  Give him time.  How long did it take you?"

     "No time at all.  I never worried about the package."  

     "I learned that lesson myself."  Joe looked directly into
Methos' eyes.  "Another lesson I learned is that there isn't all
that much difference between friends and lovers."  

     Methos smiled at that, and touched Joe's hand.  "That's
something I learned early.  Friend."  Joe smiled back.

     Methos was surprised at Joe's apartment.  Somehow, he'd always
pictured it as cluttered with books and papers and vinyl and cds. 
Instead, there was a series of low bookcases lining all the walls,
where all the material was neatly organized.  The living room
contained one sofa and a spectacular sound system and no other
furniture.  Joe had excused himself as soon as they'd walked in, so
Methos made himself comfortable on the sofa with a Chronicle.  

     After a bit, he heard Joe cough politely - but from a lower
position than Methos expected.  He looked in that direction.  Joe
was sitting in a low, armless wheelchair, with a tray balanced on
his lap.  His prostheses were off.  Methos could see the calloused
ends of Joe's stumps peeking out of the shorts Joe had evidently
changed into.  

     "You look entirely more comfortable like that."
     Joe handed him one of the two beer bottles on his tray.  "I
am.  It's just easier to deal with the world on false legs than on
real wheels."


     "Just like it's a lot easier being a grad student than an
Immortal."

     "From what I can see, nothing is harder than being Immortal. 
I don't envy any of you.  Except maybe Amanda - and that's not
because she's immortal."

     Methos grinned.  "To Duncan.  The world's oldest living boy
scout."  They uncapped the beer and toasted their friend.  Then
Methos got a sly look on his face.

     "Joe, you invited me over here for a reason - besides this
very nice beer." 
     "Yes. Yes, I did."  Joe gracefully transferred to the sofa,
and Methos' waiting arms.  They kissed for a long time, exploring
each other's body through their clothing.  They could feel the
other's arousal, which in turn aroused each still further.  Methos,
without breaking the kiss, began to unbutton Joe's shirt.  He ran
his fingers through the light fur on Joe's chest, and tweaked the
other man's nipples.  Joe jumped but managed to keep his seat on
the couch.  Methos noticed Joe's muscles - years of using his arms
instead of legs had made him strong and bulky.  He pulled Joe's
shirt off his shoulders and stroked the muscles down his back,
until, impatiently, Joe broke away to pull Methos' sweater off.  

     Methos was leaner and hairless.  His torso had been honed by
years of practice with his sword.  The muscles were long like a
dancer's or a swimmer's.  Joe used his strong, musician's fingers
to play on Methos' back.  The Immortal moaned with pleasure and
began to kiss Joe's neck and shoulders, and down to his nipples.  


     At that point, they lost their balance and fell off the couch. 
Methos made as if to continue on the floor, but Joe shook his head.

     "I'm too old to make out on the floor.  I think we'd better
get to the bedroom."  Methos nodded.  As he stood up, Joe
transferred back to his wheelchair, and led the way to the bedroom.



     As soon as they entered, Methos swept Joe out of the chair and
onto the king-sized bed, and jumped in beside him.

     "Hey!"

     "My friend, if I could have, I would have carried you here."

     "I didn't realize you were such a romantic."

     "There's a lot about me most people don't know.  Just like I
didn't realize how sexy you are."  With that, Methos took off his
jeans and underwear - displaying a somewhat flagging erection - and
took Joe back in his arms.  Joe pushed him away long enough to pull
off his own shorts.  Methos looked at the man lying beside him -the
soft, warm eyes over the grizzled beard, the powerful torso and
sensitive hands, the strong erection and the legs encased in muscle
but ending before the knees used to be.  

     He began to kiss his way down Joe's body until he engulfed
Joe's penis with his mouth.  Joe leaned back in ecstacy, his hands
playing in Methos' dark hair as the other man's tongue brought him
to the brink of orgasm.  At the same time, Methos' long fingers
were playing with Joe's anus - not penetrating, but teasing,
tickling.  Joe began to breathe heavily as he began to lose
control.

     "Please, I can't hold on..."  Methos withdrew slowly, gently. 
    
     "Just a little while longer, friend.  I never want to hurt
you.  Do you have any lubricant?"

     "Night-table drawer.  I'm closer."  Joe rolled to the side of
the bed and retrieved the tube, and then rolled back.  He was still
breathing heavily.  "At least we don't need condoms."

     "One advantage to being debauched by an immortal."  Methos put
some of the gel on his fingers and then resumed his ministrations
to Joe's penis and anus.  This time, he began to stretch the
muscle.  Joe moaned again, moving against Methos' hand.  Methos
himself was so aroused that the simple friction of the sheets was
torture as he lay stretched out between Joe's thighs.  When Methos
felt that Joe was ready (and when he thought he couldn't wait any
more, and Joe's moans told him that Joe was beyond thought), Methos
got shakily on his knees and braced Joe's legs against his chest. 
He dropped a kiss on each end before raising Joe's buttocks to a
comfortable level.

     "May I?" 

     "Please!  Now!  Inside me!"  A final kiss on Joe's penis, and
Methos entered him.  He began to masturbate Joe, and two moved in
a rhythm older than Methos.  As Joe orgasmed, his muscles
contracted and brought Methos over the edge.  Exhausted, Methos
collapsed onto his partner.  He rolled off and they held each other
for awhile.

     "Thank you, friend."  Joe stroked Methos' hair.

     "For what?" Methos was honestly confused.

     "For making me feel whole as I am.  It's been a long time
since I felt that way."

     "You are who you are the way you are and that's all I care
about."

     "You're not going to declare your undying love, are you?"  

     Methos grinned and kissed him.  "There are all sorts of love. 
I've been in love, and in love with men.  I've also been in lust -
and certainly in lust with men.  There's a certain Scottish boy
scout in that category.  But the best times I've had - the times I
remember the most - are the times I've lain with a friend, giving
and receiving pleasure for the sheer joy of it."

     Joe snuggled deeper into Methos' arms.  "I know.  I may not
have known it as long as you have, but I know."

        They stayed like that for awhile, and then went to sleep.
Tomorrow would take care of itself.

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