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crack_van2010-04-29 11:03 pm
carenejeans.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2010-04-29 11:03 pm
Entry tags:
Ice Wine, by Unovis (Teen and Up Audiences)
Fandom: HIGHLANDER
Pairing: Duncan MacLeod/Methos, Methos/Darius, Methos/Byron
Length: 3,013 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
unovis_lj
Author Website: Fiction archived at An Archive of Our Own
Why this must be read:
A wonderful glimpse into Methos's relationships with three very different (or are they?) lovers: Duncan MacLeod, Darius, and Lord Byron. Methos leaves Duncan's porch and "travels," Rip Van Winkle-like, through dreams and time, to finally return to the "real world," to Duncan, to warmth -- and to socks. 8-)
"Methos, where are you?"
In the arms of Adirondack, far, far from Rome. Far from Paris, from the Old World. Far from Seacouver with its sad memories. Better this lodge. Better this company. Better this year. Better, always, the now.
The sun through glass warmed the solarium, the worn, overstuffed canvas cushions on the rustic couch, his arm and hip and thighs. This perfect spot. If he closed his eyes in the ruddy light, he could still see Duncan. He could feel the heat and Duncan. See Duncan. See Duncan work; nothing nicer than lying idle in a pool of sun, watching Duncan work.
"Methos, wake up."
He was awake. How Darius would have loved this place. How Methos would have loved showing it to him. How Byron rhapsodized, when he first encountered this mountain chain. He found the fur trappers more intriguing than Hudson sunsets, but the thunderstorms transported him. Now, there was another non-farmer. He shrugged away Byron for more mellow pleasures. Darius singing psalms, out of tune. Duncan in a hunter's shirt and jeans, waxing golden oak. Darius in his hunter's cassock. Duncan waxing psalms. Waxing palms.
"Wake up." Darius rapped the sole of his foot with the shovel.
Ice Wine
Pairing: Duncan MacLeod/Methos, Methos/Darius, Methos/Byron
Length: 3,013 words
Author on LJ:
unovis_ljAuthor Website: Fiction archived at An Archive of Our Own
Why this must be read:
A wonderful glimpse into Methos's relationships with three very different (or are they?) lovers: Duncan MacLeod, Darius, and Lord Byron. Methos leaves Duncan's porch and "travels," Rip Van Winkle-like, through dreams and time, to finally return to the "real world," to Duncan, to warmth -- and to socks. 8-)
"Methos, where are you?"
In the arms of Adirondack, far, far from Rome. Far from Paris, from the Old World. Far from Seacouver with its sad memories. Better this lodge. Better this company. Better this year. Better, always, the now.
The sun through glass warmed the solarium, the worn, overstuffed canvas cushions on the rustic couch, his arm and hip and thighs. This perfect spot. If he closed his eyes in the ruddy light, he could still see Duncan. He could feel the heat and Duncan. See Duncan. See Duncan work; nothing nicer than lying idle in a pool of sun, watching Duncan work.
"Methos, wake up."
He was awake. How Darius would have loved this place. How Methos would have loved showing it to him. How Byron rhapsodized, when he first encountered this mountain chain. He found the fur trappers more intriguing than Hudson sunsets, but the thunderstorms transported him. Now, there was another non-farmer. He shrugged away Byron for more mellow pleasures. Darius singing psalms, out of tune. Duncan in a hunter's shirt and jeans, waxing golden oak. Darius in his hunter's cassock. Duncan waxing psalms. Waxing palms.
"Wake up." Darius rapped the sole of his foot with the shovel.
Ice Wine