The Dance

Author: Shelley Wright
Pairing: Richie/Methos
Rating: NC-17
Summary: This story is set after "The Messenger." Contains lovingly portrayed m/m sex, but probably not the pair you're expecting. This is Richie/Methos. Oh, and there's some dirty dancing involved here as well. Thanks to my beta readers Lauren and Shari. The boys finally cooperated! Took them long enough . . .
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Disclaimer: All characters copyright by Panzer/Davis, Gamount and whoever else wants to claim them. I'll put them back when I'm done. Promise. That should be . . . ten to twenty years.


The Dance
1997 by Shelley Wright

Richie Ryan revved the engine on his motorcycle, taking off for parts unknown. Before he had gone three blocks from the dojo, he picked up another Immortal's Buzz. Braking to a halt, he glanced warily around him, his senses heightened from the Quickening he had just taken. There. His eyes zeroed in on the car, and he smiled. "Methos."


Methos hit his hand on the steering wheel of his rented car, cursing in Persian. He had a cracked block; he just knew it. This car wasn't going anywhere. Growling in frustration, he climbed out of the car, snatching his coat and stuffing his arms inside, preparing for the walk back to the dojo. That's when the Buzz hit him. Eyes sweeping the surrounding area, he locked on the motorcyclist; Richie. A wry grin started to form; the five thousand year old man was about to be saved by the kid. Cosmic irony? Someone's idea of a joke? Well, he would take it, because he was in a lazy mood and didn't feel up to walking.

Methos waited patiently while Richie dismounted, dropping his helmet to the seat. "Hey, old timer! Need some help?" Richie asked, grinning as he walked over to the car.

"Block's cracked," Methos informed him. "And don't call me old timer. I look as young as you do."

"Riiiight," Richie nodded, wide-eyed innocence pouring from him. "Anyway, you know about cars?"

"Yes, I know about cars," Methos sniffed indignantly. "And I know this one's useless in it's present condition. Care to give me a ride back to MacLeod's?"

"I wasn't heading back there," Richie mumbled as he lifted the hood, poking at the engine.

"Well, how about a ride to the rental place? It's just . . ."

"Sorry," Richie announced, slamming the hood closed and wiping his hands on his jeans. "I was hitting the road. Taking off, no looking back, that sort of thing."

Methos adopted his best 'lost kitten look'. "And no help for the one who helped you?"

Richie wrinkled his nose at Methos. "What do you mean?"

"MacLeod was prepared to let you face Culbraith alone, until I talked to him."

There was no humor in Methos' dark eyes, and Richie felt a cold chill snake down his back. "That's impossible. He wouldn't have let me face him alone. This is *Mac* we're talking about. Eternal Boyscout."

"Even boyscouts learn their lesson," Methos commented softly, distressed to see the hurt on the young one's face. That wasn't his intention, and he said so. "Richie, I'm sorry. That really was uncalled for."

"No, no. If that's what actually happened, then that's what happened. Nothing will change it." Richie slowly shook his head. "I can't believe he was willing to let me go."

"Richie, this was actually a sign of MacLeod growing up. He was letting you fight your own battle. Yes, he picked a poor time to finally learn the lesson, but at least he's *learnt* it. You are truly on your own now, kid." Methos smiled wryly. "I hope you're ready for it."

Richie's face darkened as he faced the ancient Immortal. "I've been on my own for over a year, Methos. No MacLeod to protect my pretty little head." He waved at his head in emphasis. "It's still there, so I must be doing okay."

"I know," Methos replied softly, trying to soothe Richie's anger. "And now you've proven it to MacLeod. That's one of the most important steps in maturing as an Immortal, Richie."

Richie's attention was drawn to the grave tone of Methos' voice. "The student proving to the teacher that they don't need them anymore?"

Methos nodded, a twinkle lighting his eyes. "And I think that deserves a celebration. What say you and I hit the town? *Joe's* is always available . . ."

"Let's avoid places where we're known. I feel like being . . . mysterious." Richie slid his arm around Methos' shoulders, grinning. "Doing something wild and crazy."

Methos' lips curled up as Richie drew him closer. "Wild and crazy, eh? What exactly did you have in mind?" the elder Immortal murmured.

Richie's warm breath stirred the short hairs at the nape of Methos' neck. "Something I've never done before. Something that would make MacLeod *really* freak out," he whispered.

"What?" Methos breathed, unable to stop himself. His eyes closed as Richie's finger started tracing the pulsebeat at his throat, and he moaned softly.

Richie pulled back, and the sensations left Methos, drawing him back to reality. "Let's hit the town first, then we'll see where we end up."

"Could be the police station," Methos observed, his eyes locked on Richie's form as he straddled the bike. Richie's jeans stretched over his thighs, his ass, his . . . feeling his own jeans fill and stretch in answer, Methos bit back a moan.

"Hey, at least we'd get an audience that way," Richie laughed, sending Methos an indecipherable look.

Anything Methos had to say in reply was drowned out by the engine. Looping his own long, lean leg over the seat, he settled himself behind the younger Immortal. Wrapping his arms around Richie's waist, Methos 'accidentally' brushed Richie's groin, feeling the faint beginnings of arousal. Faint, but growing.

The two Immortals took off for the seedier side of town, heading straight for the bars.


An hour later. . .

Wild, pulsating music pounded the walls of the night club, a driving rhythm that belonged more in a bedroom than a dance floor. Methos was taking full advantage, rubbing against the woman who had chosen him as a dance partner. She leaned back against his chest, her ass firmly against his groin as they moved in tandem to the music. Her head fell back to rest on his shoulder, her arms raised as she brushed her fingertips along the back of his neck, teasing him. His hands drifted low on her hips, brushing her thighs as he nuzzled an ear on her thrown-back head. He shifted his hips, and in one smooth move, began lowering them both to the floor. His knees splayed out, her body nestled snugly between his thighs. They rose in one fluid motion, swaying in time to the drumbeat.

Richie took a swig of his beer, holding it above his head as he danced with the brunette. He turned around, and found a blonde smiling up at him. He smiled back, dancing toward her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. He leaned his head down, ready to kiss her, when he felt hands on his shoulders. The brunette spun him around, slamming her body to his. He drew back a bit, giving himself some room. Then, he started dancing with both of them, the bass driving him into a frenzy.

The woman spun on the ball of her foot, facing Methos. She slipped her leg between his, rubbing enticingly against his thigh. She smiled at his intake of breath, running her hands along his chest, up to rest on his shoulders. His hands traced up her sides, watching her pupils dilate as his thumbs brushed her breasts. Smiling wickedly, Methos again bent his knees, holding her close as they went down again, this time face to face. He centered her over his thigh, rubbing against her, letting her feel how aroused he was. As he lifted her back up, he nipped lightly at her exposed neck, his hands cupping her ass as they continued to move to the music.

Collapsing into a chair, Richie waved off both of the women. His eyes swept the dance floor, searching for Methos. When Richie spotted him, his eyes widened. Methos was practically making love to the woman in the middle of the dance floor. By the expression on her face, Richie guessed he wasn't far off. Finishing off his beer, Richie rose to his feet, making his way over to the couple. Coming up behind Methos, Richie started swaying until he matched Methos' rhythm. Moving closer still, Richie rested his hands on Methos' shoulders, getting the older Immortal's attention. Methos started, turning his attentions away from the woman, smiling over his shoulder.

"So, decided to join us, eh?" Methos shouted over the music.

Richie just smiled, letting his hands stroke down Methos' back and around his waist. Richie drifted closer to Methos until his chest rested against Methos' back. Methos' head tilted back, giving Richie full access to his neck. Grinning wickedly, Richie took a bite out of Methos' neck, tightening his grip around Methos when the ancient Immortal groaned loud enough to be heard amid the noise of the crowd.

"I think it's time we left," Richie whispered loudly in Methos' ear.

"Not yet," Methos panted, one hand snaking around to Richie's hip. Pulling downward, Methos guided the three of them back down to the floor, an erotic beast with three heads writhing to the music.


Two hours later . . .

It was true that Methos had 5,000 years to build up tolerance for alcoholic beverages. It was also true that Richie was holding his own against the elder Immortal, at least for the time being. For every drink that Methos had, Richie had a beer. Maybe not the same caliber, but the same amount of drinks. And that's what Methos was counting.

"'S that twenty-four or twenty-five?" Methos slurred, knocking back his latest shot. He plunked the empty glass upside-down on the table, shaking the precarious tower Richie had been building.

"I dunno," Richie shrugged. "I los' count at ten." He giggled wildly, then soberly looked at Methos through the glasses. "You ready to go?"

Methos polished off his next drink, something bluish . . . what had the bartender called it? Sex On The Beach? He'd *had* sex on many beaches, and he couldn't recall anything remotely pleasant about sand in his . . .

"Assuge me . . . exshuse me . . ." Richie reached out and shook Methos' shoulder. "I ashed if you were ready t' go."

Methos peered at Richie, shrugging. "Sure." He placed his hands on the table, forcibly pushing himself upright. "Where to next?"

"My place," Richie hissed loudly, obviously intending for it to be a secret. "Or did you forget?"

"Nope. Haven't forgotten a thing," Methos immediately replied, though he wasn't sure if he *did* remember.

"Good," Richie nodded, wincing as the room tilted. "I don' feel so good."

"Gentlemen." Richie and Methos were turned by the bartender, both staring blearily at him. "I don't think you're going anywhere, unless you call a cab."

"Don't need no cab," Richie snarled, pulling away from the man. "Got a bike. A damn good bike."

"Yeah," Methos intoned in defense, pushing himself away from the man. He started to wobble, and Richie caught him . . . barely.

The bartender shook his head. "Sorry boys, you've had too much tonight. You can crash upstairs; rooms are $20 a night. Or $10 per hour," he added slyly.

Methos glared at the man, throwing his arm around Richie protectively. "We'll need more than a damn *hour*."

"Yeah!" Richie agreed, trying to look outraged.

The bartender laughed. "Okay, have it your way. Here's the key; it's the first door on your right. That's this way," he pointed, waiting until both the men looked before handing them the key. "And pleasant dreams."

"Same to ya," Richie called after him, flicking the man off.

"No need for that . . . well, maybe," Methos answered himself slyly, indicating Richie's finger.

"Maaaaaybe," Richie drawled, leaning heavily on Methos as they started to walk. "D'pends on what exactly you had in mind."

Methos snorted. "Oh, I have lots in mind. Things you've never *dreamed* of. Guarantee it." He poked Richie in the chest in emphasis.

"Really? Like what?" Richie asked. They both stopped walking and stared up at the stairs. "That's a long way up," Richie observed.

"Yep. Wan' me to carry you?" Methos offered.

Richie waved unsteadily at the air. "Naaah. Jus' help me . . ."

Keeping a firm hold on each other, Richie and Methos made it up the stairs, into the first door on their right, and fell straight to the bed, passing out almost immediately.


Richie groaned as he reached for a pillow and attempted to stuff it in his eyes. Light hurt. It was too bright; he had to find a way to shut it off. Reaching out, his hand hit soft flesh, and he started. Who . . .? Oh, right, the brunette. His hand traced down her arm, feeling the hard muscles under silken skin. He leaned over and kissed her collarbone, trailing slow, wet kisses up to her neck, where he started sucking tenderly just below her ear. His nose brushed against stubble, and his eyes flew open.

Methos sighed softly, wondering why the sensations had stopped. First the brush against his arm, then the talented mouth along his collarbone . . . then his neck. He rolled over, opening his eyes and staring into the wide, blue eyes of Richie Ryan.

"Richie?" Methos puzzled, trying to piece together what had happened the night before.

"Mornin' Methos. Must have been some night, huh?" Richie joked lightly, though concern tightened the corners of his mouth.

Methos chuckled wryly. "I wouldn't know. I can barely remember it. I'd say not much happened though," he observed as he pointed to their clothes, wrinkled but still on their bodies. "Still dressed."

"Oh." Richie didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. "So, now what?"

"What?" Methos yawned, stretching his arms above his head. He worked his shirt around until it was settled properly on his shoulders once again. "I don't know about you, but I need to use the bathroom." He got out of bed, swaying gently before heading into the tiny room and closing the door.

The back of Richie's head hit the headboard, and he groaned. Methos. He just woke up in bed next to Methos. A memory resurfaced, of Methos dancing with that woman, and the graceful way his body moved. Completely in tune with the music, with the rhythm. Richie swallowed hard, a dull ache growing in his groin. Damn, that man could move.

"Guess he learned a lot in 5,000 years," Richie murmured to himself.

"Depends," Methos answered, coming out of the bathroom. A knowing grin lit his face, and Richie froze, staring at him with a faintly wild look in his eye.

"On what?" Richie asked, licking his lips. Anticipation tightened his chest, and he struggled for his next breath.

Methos lowered himself to the bed, arms on each side of Richie, hovering over the younger man. "On what you had in mind."

Richie's breathing grew ragged, and a flush rose on his face. Licking his lips again, he whispered, "Dancing."

Methos chuckled low. "Dancing?" he murmured, lowering his head until his lips brushed Richie's.

"Dancing," Richie confirmed, leaning up into the kiss. He pushed the older Immortal to his feet, his hands roaming over Methos' chest, outlining the hard contours. He placed teasing kisses and nips along Methos' face as he whispered, "I remember how you moved last night, Methos. I want to dance with you, like that."

Methos laughed lightly, unable to resist returning Richie's gentle kisses. "But there's no music," he pointed out, a soft sigh escaping his lips as Richie continued to kiss along his neck. His arms wrapped around Richie's stockier body, resting against Richie's lower back.

Richie slid his arms around Methos' waist, pulling him closer. "Make music," Richie whispered in Methos' ear, kissing the lobe.

Methos closed his eyes, falling into a slow, rocking motion. His hands stroked up Richie's back, lingering on his shoulders before lacing his fingers at the base of Richie's neck. "So, you like the way I move?" Methos murmured, planting feather-light kisses along Richie's stubbled jaw.

"Yes," Richie whimpered, shifting his feet. His right thigh slid between Methos' legs, drawing their hips together. They swayed in a small circle, not a whisper's breath between them.

Methos' hands slid around Richie's neck, fingertips brushing lightly along Richie's jaw. Methos' hands caressed both sides of Richie's face as he kissed him teasingly, his mouth retreating, making Richie arch toward his lips.

Richie chuckled, though his eyes were blazing with desire. "Tease," he ribbed Methos, as his hands cupped Methos' ass and squeezed.

"Flirt," Methos tossed back casually, looping one arm around Richie's neck as the other rubbed at his chest.

Suddenly, Methos swiveled his hips erotically, bringing his slight erection in contact with Richie's through their jeans. A startled gasp flew from Richie's lips, then he moaned, a low, desperate sound. "Yes," he whispered again, sucking softly at Methos' neck.

Methos repeated the move, bending his knees slightly, forcing Richie to do the same. Holding onto the younger Immortal, Methos took a sharp bite out of Richie's neck, just below his ear, then quickly kissed it. Richie's gasp of pain segued into a groan of pleasure as Methos' tongue caressed the wound, not letting up until it had healed.

Methos was panting lightly, his restraint evident as he once again bent his knees, this time lowering them partially to the floor. Richie's thigh caught between Methos' legs, trapping Methos' erection tight against his jeans. The older Immortal sighed deeply, his voice dropping off into a throaty growl.

"I want you," Methos rasped, his mouth closing over Richie's in a deep kiss. He maneuvered them back up to a standing position, keeping Richie's leg between his own.

Richie's arms tightened around Methos, plastering himself against the other man as he returned the kiss with equal passion. He heard himself whimper, and didn't care. "Bed," Richie murmured, trying to turn Methos toward it.

Barely aware of the shift, Richie soon felt the backs of his legs against the mattress. A soft cry of protest fell from Richie's lips as Methos abandoned them, only to moan as Methos sucked at Richie's exposed neck. Methos was breathing ragged against Richie's skin, his own desire evident against Richie's.

"Now," Richie growled, grabbing two handfuls of Methos' sweater and tugging it over Methos' head. His hands ran over the hard lines of Methos' chest, leaning down to lick at first one nipple, then the other.

Methos' hands on Richie's head brought him back to face the older Immortal. "Not yet," Methos rasped, divesting Richie of his coat and shirt, then starting on his jeans. Richie returned the favor, and soon they were both naked and lying on the bed, Richie hovering over Methos.

Richie stared down at Methos, his face filled with raw desire as he lowered his head to plant teasing kisses along Methos' jawline.

A slow, knowing smile spread across Methos' face as he murmured, "Is this to get even with MacLeod?"

"No," Richie answered, cupping Methos' face and kissing him, hard. When his chest hurt from lack of air, he broke the kiss, gasping for air. "This is for me."

Methos flashed a wicked smile. "Good." Reaching up, he pulled Richie onto his chest, claiming his mouth. Once again, they kissed until their lungs burned for air, then broke apart.

"Are we still dancing?" Richie murmured, letting his full body weight rest on Methos' body. He flicked his tongue over Methos' lips, darting inside his mouth for a split second, teasing.

"What?" Methos asked distractedly, moaning lightly as Richie licked at his neck.

"Dancing. You know, moving with the music . . ." Richie explained, his hips thrusting against Methos' for emphasis.

"But there's still no music," Methos pointed out, another soft moan dragged from his chest as Richie thrust more forcefully, their erections sliding together.

"We'll make music," Richie announced breathlessly, a moan rumbling deep in his chest as Methos' hand wrapped around both their erections, pumping smoothly.

"Sure you can handle it?" Methos asked, his eyes darkened by arousal. Richie leaned down and kissed Methos fiercely, thrusting gently into Methos' hand.

Methos' moan was punctuated by a sharp gasp as Richie's fingernails scraped down his chest, hard enough to draw blood. Methos increased the pressure on their cocks in retaliation, drawing another moan from Richie.

And so, Methos' soft sounds of pleasure became their music, with Richie lending his deeper moans to the lyrics. Their bodies found the rhythm, older than Methos, held it as long as they could, then brought the song to it's climax.

Richie's sweat-soaked body collapsed on top of Methos, panting heavily. "Wow," he gasped.

"Tinging in places you didn't know you had?" Methos remarked, breathing hard. His hair was matted to his head, they were both sticky, but he didn't care. For being a new Immortal, Richie *definitely* had experience in the bedroom. Methos suspected a few other rooms as well.

"For starters," Richie groaned, rolling off of Methos. Flopping onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling, taking measured breaths.

Methos chuckled and rolled to his side, propping his head in his hand. "Richie, that was one of the most pleasant ways I've ever woken up."

Richie's surprised glance met Methos'. "You mean that?"

"Yes, I do," Methos replied sincerely. His smile turned wicked as he continued, "And I wouldn't mind requesting another morning wake up call."

Richie's eyes widened, then his grin matched Methos'. "You up to visiting MacLeod?"

"Why?" Methos asked suspiciously.

"Think of the fit he'd have," Richie coaxed. "Wouldn't it be worth it, to see his face when we casually walk in together, arms wrapped around each other or something?"

Methos' eyes twinkled with mischief. "I like it. But . . ." he drawled, rolling over to rest his chest on Richie's, "Later. Now, I think I could use a shower."

"Oh?" Richie's eyebrow raised. Methos' hands started exploring the hard lines of Richie's stomach, daring lower. "That's not the shower."

"No," Methos agreed, licking his way down Richie's chest, "But as long as I have to get wet . . . I want a good excuse."

"Such as?" Richie sucked in a breath as Methos' mouth kissed along his inner thigh.

"Utter exhaustion. Strained muscles. Sweat-coated skin . . ." Methos inhaled the scent of Richie's arousal, and bent himself to the task of utterly exhausting them both.


Two hours later . . .

Methos and Richie entered the dojo, going straight for the elevator when they didn't feel MacLeod's Buzz. Halfway up, they both felt him, and grinned.

"Showtime," Richie whispered softly.

"I'm ready," Methos whispered back, schooling his face into his best neutral expression.

MacLeod greeted both of them with his katana, lowering it as Methos and Richie came into view.

"I thought you were leaving town," MacLeod nodded to Richie. "And what are you doing here?" he asked Methos, setting his blade aside.

"Nice to see you too, Mac," Richie drawled, going to the fridge and getting two beers. Handing one to Methos, he walked to the couch, settling on the back, his feet on the cushions. Methos glanced to Richie, whose eyes were twinkling. Methos knew a setup when he saw one, and this one was perfect. Casually walking over to the couch, Methos settled between Richie's legs, leaning back and taking a sip of his beer.

MacLeod's eyes locked on the figure they presented, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

"Something wrong, Mac?" Richie asked innocently, his hand coming to rest on Methos' shoulder.

Duncan's mouth continued to move, but now he pointed, to first Methos, then Richie.

"No one told me we were playing charades!" Methos remarked gleefully. "Let's see. Us. Immortals. Men. Lovers. 'Jeffery'!" Methos shouted, leaning back and tilting his head up to look expectantly at Richie.

Richie grinned down at Methos, leaning over and kissing him lightly. "Sounds about right to me. You ready to go?"

"Definitely," Methos remarked, pushing himself off the couch, helping Richie down from the back. "See you, Mac," the oldest Immortal called, waving a hand in front of the Highlander's face. He was still pointing at the couch, but was now looking at Methos, confusion wreathing his face.

Methos patted MacLeod on the cheek. "There, there, Duncan. It will be all right. Take deep breaths. Richie and I will be at this address," Methos tucked a card from the Ritz into MacLeod's shirt pocket, "If you need us. Bye, Highlander."

Methos wrapped one arm around Richie's waist, as Richie tucked his hand into Methos' back pocket. They both took a sip of their beers at the same time as they strode into the lift. Methos punched the down button, and they rode it out of sight, MacLeod still staring after them with a look of shock on his face.

The End

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