Warning: Pure, unadulterated sex ahead. Serious NC-17 of the slash variety. That means men. And more men. No women, understand? Plot? We didn't bother. Substance? We left it out. Sex? Nothing else! Nothing implied, we spelled it all out (and we spelled it correctly, so don't bother to check). You won't have to think about it, we gave you all the details.

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Please do not re-post, reprint or otherwise distribute without the express permission of the authors and a fire extinguisher for your keyboard.

Disclaimers: Needless to say this story is not meant to profit from the creations of Davis/Panzer or Rysher. The characters belong to them...the warped imagination is ours.

This story begins immediately following the episode Chivalry.

Methos looked thoughtfully at the Highlander as he sat poring over the paint samples. He was sure MacLeod would get over Kristin's death, but wasn't as sure about young Ryan. Right now, MacLeod wasn't in any condition to talk to the kid, either. He sighed as he sat up, his decision all but made for him. He didn't owe Richie any explanations, but he was too fond of MacLeod to allow any rift to develop between himself and the Highlander's student.

"You have fun choosing colors. I'm going out for a while." He stood up and grabbed his coat off the rack as he headed out the door. He had an idea where he might find Richie. A few minutes later, as he pulled into the parking lot at Joe's, he smiled. Right as usual. Richie's motorcycle was parked near the door. As he walked up the steps, he felt the young immortal's presence. He continued on through the door, looked around inside the bar and saw Richie sitting alone at a table in the back. Nodding to the young man, he stepped up to the bar.

"Hey, Adam, what can I get you?" Joe Dawson greeted him.

"Beer would be fine." He waited as Joe drew a glass and sat it on the bar in front of him. "He been here long?" he asked, indicating Richie.

"Not too long. Why? Were you looking for him?"

"Yeah. I think I need to talk to him." He took a drink of his beer. "I don't think he understands what I had to do."

"You think you can get him to listen?" Joe shook his head. "I don't know. That's a lot to expect him to understand. You drop into town, camp out at Mac's and then you kill the woman he thinks he has something special with. Gonna take a lot of explaining."

Methos smiled at the Watcher. "Then I'd better get to it." He picked up his glass and walked over to the table where Richie sat.

"Adam." The single word was the only acknowledgment that was made of his presence.

"Richie." He pulled out a chair opposite the young man and sat down. "I think we need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about." Richie's tone was sullen and uninviting.

Methos sighed and counted to ten silently. Joe was right, this wasn't going to be easy. "I think there is. I need you to understand what I had to do."

Richie looked up slowly from the glass in his hand, finally meeting the older immortal's gaze. "You need me to understand. Understand what? That everybody, including some guy I've never met before, knows what's best for me? Is that it?" He took a large swallow from his glass, then slammed it angrily on the table. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

"I'm a friend of MacLeod's. From Paris. You know that."

"All I know is that you show up and Mac acts like you're some kind of, I don't know, elder statesman or something. How old are you anyway?"

Methos smiled to himself. Richie was just drunk enough to say what he was really thinking. This might work out all right after all. "I'm a little older than MacLeod." He ran his index finger idly over the condensation on his glass. "Does it bother you for me to be staying with him?"

"No. Yes. I don't know." Richie shook his head. "It's just, well..."

"It's just that it makes you feel out of place."

Richie nodded. "Kind of. Like you guys have been there and done that and now you're hanging out together and you both treat me like a baby."

Methos leaned forward to look the young man in the eyes. "That was never my intention. I only came here to warn MacLeod that Kristin was here and that she'd taken an interest in you."

"Oh, right. So he could tell me how stupid I was being and how he knew what was best for me."

"No," he said softly, "so he could save your life. I knew what she was and how many she'd killed. I didn't want that to happen to MacLeod or anyone he cared about."

"Since when do you care what happens to me? You don't even know me."

"No, I don't know you," Methos agreed. "But I know MacLeod. And he cares about you."


"So, I warn MacLeod."

"And he treats me like a kid and you end up killing Kristin."

Methos nodded. "That about sums it up."


"Why what?"

"Why did she have to die?" Richie asked quietly. Tears were welling in the blue eyes.

"Tough question. With too many answers." He waited while Richie poured himself another drink from the bottle on the table. "The easiest answer would be to say it was just part of the Game. That she was an immortal and at risk merely because of that. But that wouldn't be the whole truth. She was dangerous. She killed mortals for no other reason than jealousy. Did you forget that she tried to kill your friend?"

"No. I didn't forget. But that just makes it ... more confusing." Richie dropped his head into his hands.

"But it's what she was. Confused. Deranged. A cold-blooded killer that didn't care if it was a mortal that she thought was in her way. That's not part of the Game."

"So you were judge, jury and executioner."

"I suppose I was, in a way. MacLeod judged her, but he couldn't pass sentence on her. Someone had to."

Richie sat quietly, nursing his drink as he thought about what Methos had said. "So what are you to Mac?"

He had wondered when Richie would get around to asking that. "A friend. Nothing more."

The young man shook his head. "That's not all. He lets you in his life like you belong there, like you've always been there." He took another swallow of the liquor before continuing. "What do you want from him? I know you haven't known him very long."

"Richie, all I want is his friendship." He thought about what he was going to say next. "You know how sometimes you meet someone and it seems like you've known them for years?" Richie nodded. "That's how it was when we met. Like old friends meeting for the first time. I can't explain it any better than that."

"S'OK. I think I understand." Richie stood up unsteadily. "I'll be right back." He walked toward the men's room, swaying a little as he went. As he passed Joe, the Watcher gave Methos a meaningful glance, and the immortal nodded. When Richie came back, Methos was standing, coat in hand.

"Why don't you let me drive you home? Seems like the least I can do." He handed Richie his coat, and without waiting for an answer, guided the young man toward the door. They stopped briefly to say good night to Joe, who slipped a piece of paper into Methos' hand. He knew what would be on it, and silently mouthed a thank you to Joe.

In the parking lot, Methos helped Richie into his van, then climbed in and started the engine. While he let it warm up, he looked at the paper Joe had given him, which had the young man's address on it along with some directions for how to get there. It wasn't far, and the trip was made in silence. He parked at the curb, turned off the engine and got out, walking around to open the door for Richie.

"C'mon, kid. You're home."

"What? Oh yeah. Sorry," Richie answered sheepishly. "I guess I was just thinking." He got out of the van and stood next to Methos uncomfortably. "Listen, you want to come up for a beer or something?"

He looked at the young man as he considered the offer. Something had changed. He didn't sense any more hostility from Richie, and he seemed to need someone to talk to. He shrugged mentally. He could invest a little more time to be sure the kid was OK and didn't see him as an adversary.

"Sure. I'd love a beer."

Richie got out his keys and the two walked up the stairs to the apartment. Once inside, he got a couple of beers out of the fridge and brought them into the living room. They sat on opposite ends of the couch and looked at each other. As the silence grew, Richie shifted nervously.

"This is pretty stupid, isn't it?"

"No. Not really." He turned on the couch to face Richie. "Is there more you wanted to talk about? You can ask anything. I don't guarantee to answer, but you can ask."

"No, it wasn't questions." Richie stared at the beer in his hands. "I guess I've just been thinking about her. I mean, I think I understand why it had to happen, but that doesn't make it any easier."

"You want to talk about her?"

"No." He was still staring at his hands, then looked up slowly. "Yes. She was special. She made me feel ... so much older ... and like she really wanted me ... for me ... Does that make any sense?"

Methos smiled. "Yeah. It does."

"And I thought she really wanted me forever. She had a way of ... showing me how special she thought I was." Methos could see the tears welling in his eyes again as Richie talked. "She was terrific. In spite of everything. I've never known anyone like her."

"It's never easy. I think the first time is always the worst, though."

"What do you mean?" Richie rubbed the heel of his hand on his eyes.

"Losing your first immortal lover. Doesn't matter that you know it could happen." Methos spoke softly. "You feel like you have something that could really last a lifetime, and it gets ripped away. It hurts."

"Ripped. That's exactly how it feels." He put his beer on the coffee table and dropped his face into his hands as the tears began rolling down his face. He rocked back and forth as he sobbed, and Methos sighed and put down his own beer, then slid down the couch to put an arm around Richie.

He was only a little surprised when the young man turned and buried his face in his chest as he cried. He put his other arm around Richie and held him like a small child, whispering quiet words of comfort. He made a mental note that the Highlander was going to owe him for this. He held Richie for a long time as he cried himself out. He hadn't noticed when it happened, but at some point Richie had shifted and put his arms around him, holding on to him tightly.

The young immortal had stopped crying and was so still that Methos wondered if he was asleep. He tried to separate himself gently, and his movements were answered by an even stronger grip from Richie.

"Don't." Richie was almost pleading. "Don't let go. Not yet."

"What is it?" Methos asked softly.

"Hold me. Please. I need... " Richie's voice trailed off as he looked up at him with a tear streaked face. The blue eyes were puffy and red from crying and held a look of despair. He realized that Richie was feeling alone, but more than that, he was isolated. MacLeod was dealing with his own feelings about the situation, and Methos was the only immortal around who might be able to understand.

"It's OK, Rich." He put a hand on the back of Richie's head and pulled him down to his shoulder again. "As long as you need." Methos shifted the two of them so he could lean against the back of the couch as he held the young man. He leaned his cheek against Richie's head, closed his eyes and relaxed, knowing he could be there for a while. To occupy his mind he plotted a number of slow and torturous methods of revenge on MacLeod. Babysitting the Highlander's student had not been on his list of things to do on his visit to Seacouver.

His reverie was interrupted when he felt Richie's hands start to move over his back in what could only be called a caress. He made no move, wondering what the young man had in mind, and was even more surprised when Richie tilted his head up and kissed Methos on the cheek. This wasn't something he was sure he was ready to deal with. Not with MacLeod's young protégé.

"Richie?" He was answered by a brush of lips against his own. He took Richie's face in his hands and held him still, looking in the sad eyes. "Richie, what are you doing?"

The young man put his hands over Methos' hands and kissed each palm in turn. "I think I'm coming on to you." He reached out and ran his fingers along Methos' cheek and jaw, then leaned in, meeting the older man's mouth with his own in a tentative kiss that deepened as he relaxed against Methos, running his hands over the man's back, feeling the lean muscles under his loose fitting sweater.

"Richie, this isn't you."

"Why not? Why can't it be me for tonight?" Richie moved toward him again, capturing his mouth with his own.

Methos felt a moment's hesitation as the kiss grew more intense, then pushed his concern aside. Right now, Richie needed to touch and be touched by someone he felt safe with. It took him only a moment to decide that it wouldn't kill him to help the young man through this, and at the same time he acknowledged to himself that he didn't find Richie unattractive, either. The one thing he didn't know was how much experience Richie had. He'd let the young immortal lead the encounter for a bit.

His attention was brought back to the man on the couch with him as Richie's hands moved under his sweater and over his skin, gliding gently as he explored the shape of muscle and shoulder blade and pressed himself against the older man. At the same time Richie's tongue reached tentatively against teeth and lips, then tasted them a little more boldly. Methos opened his mouth slightly and greeted the exploring tongue with his own, tasting a hint of beer and salt tears. Slowly, he began his own exploration, running his hands over Richie's back and shoulders, feeling the more rounded muscles, then moving his hands between the two of them to start unbuttoning Richie's shirt.

Each button was opened slowly, revealing a strong chest, well covered with dark blond curls. He ran his fingers through the curls and across his chest to the flat nipples, circling each one with a thumbnail. Richie moaned quietly and shifted his position on the couch. Methos smiled in understanding, his own jeans having become uncomfortably tight.

Hands tugged tentatively at the hem of his sweater, and he sat back enough to pull it over his head. At the same time, Richie slipped his shirt off his shoulders, then reached to touch Methos' chest, intrigued by how different the smooth, almost hairless skin felt under his fingers. His touch was light and exploring. Fingertips circled the flat nipples, then brushed across them as they puckered into tight nubs.

He let himself be pushed backwards onto the couch as Richie moved over him, sliding one leg between his thighs and meeting his mouth hungrily, opening wide and searching with his tongue. Methos slid his hands along Richie's back down to his waist, then over the denim that covered the nicely rounded buttocks. He pulled the hips close, and moaned slightly as Richie shifted, thrusting against Methos. He slid one hand up to the young man's face, caressing his cheek and line of jaw.

"Richie ... Shall we take this to the bedroom?"

Richie drew back far enough to see his eyes and looked at Methos for a long moment, then nodded.

"Yes." He moved off the older man, then offered him a hand up from the couch. When he was standing, Richie let go of the hand, then led the way to his bedroom. There was a king-sized bed and night stand and one utilitarian dresser. The only other furnishing was a chair that seemed to double as laundry hamper. Richie stopped next to the bed and looked at Methos, uncertainty in his eyes.

He took Richie's face in both hands and kissed him gently, then dropped his hands to reach for the young man's jeans. The buttons were opened slowly, then the denim pushed down across Richie's hips, followed by his boxers. Richie leaned over to take off his shoes and socks, then stepped out of his jeans and underwear, standing still for a moment, then reached for the buttons on Methos' jeans. As the button fly was opened, he hesitated briefly when he realized that Methos wore no underwear, then went on carefully. When the buttons were all open, he reached in and cupped his hand gently, almost curiously over Methos' cock.

He stood still and let Richie explore. Richie's touch was soft and tentative, and, he found himself thinking, almost innocent. Whatever it was, it was incredibly arousing. Methos stripped off his jeans, shoes and socks and reached for Richie, pulling him close, then leaning his head down to kiss him. As his tongue teased and explored Richie's mouth, his hands explored the young man's back, tracing shoulder blades and ribs and following his spine down to his strong round buttocks. Methos held his cheeks, pressing his hips against Richie, letting their erections be trapped together between them.

A sudden stiffening in Richie's body caused Methos to pull away and step back slightly. He closed his eyes and counted to five slowly, then opened them and looked at Richie. What he saw in his eyes was not unlike the look of a rabbit who has realized he may become dinner.

"Rich, have you ever...?" he asked softly.

"No. At least, not really..."

Methos nodded in understanding. "We don't have to. This can stop now if you want."

"No. It can't. I want this."

"Good." He stepped close to Richie again and put one hand behind his head, tilting him into a kiss, and at the same time guiding him toward the bed. He lay on top of Richie, leaning on one elbow as he kissed and caressed his face and neck, sucking on an earlobe, then nipping at his throat, then tracing his jaw line with tongue and lips. Methos' ministrations were rewarded with a quiet moan and an upward thrust of hips as Richie's hands drew urgent patterns on his back, then moved to Methos' rear, holding firmly as his upward press continued.

Slowly, he began kissing his way down Richie's body, raking his fingers through the mat of curls on his chest, stopping long enough to lick and nip at first one nipple, then the other before moving on. Richie's hands moved constantly on Methos' back and head, touching, stroking, squeezing as he murmured wordlessly. He gasped, then sighed as Methos' hand closed around him and started a slow rhythmic motion. As he added his mouth to his hand on Richie, he heard him gasp and call his name breathlessly.

Methos continued his assault on the young man's senses, licking and sucking, teeth scraping gently, hands squeezing and stroking, bringing him close to the brink then calming him enough to do it over again. The hand that was on his testicles drifted further down, seeking to add to the sensory input. Fingers pressed gently on the tightly muscled opening, not asking for entrance, just hinting at the pleasure they could offer. Richie shifted a little toward the hand, and reached into the night stand. Methos felt a tube being pushed into his hand. He looked up at Richie and saw the blue eyes that had darkened with desire. He reached up and kissed him deeply before moving once again to Richie's hot flesh.

After warming the gel in his hand, Methos again pressed a finger against the tight opening, gaining entrance slowly, all the while using his other hand and mouth to both stimulate and reassure. Another finger joined the first and Richie groaned and thrust steadily into Methos' mouth, his hands on Methos' head asking for more. When he thought Richie was almost to the point of not being able to take any more, he lifted his head and looked at the young man's face. His head was pressed back on the pillow, mouth open slightly, eyes tightly shut.

"Rich," Methos whispered. "I want you."

Richie opened his eyes and searched the other man's face, then breathed a quiet affirmative, turning onto his belly as he did. Kneeling between the spread legs, Methos began by gently caressing Richie's back, soft motions to calm and relax the young man. He moved down his back and across his waist to his buttocks, where his hands squeezed more firmly on the well rounded cheeks. Fingers once more explored the cleft, probing at the taut entrance. More gel was added and first one finger and then a second stretched and encouraged him. As Richie shifted to meet the fingers, he reached his other hand to Richie's cock, stroking in time with the movement of his fingers.

The steady moans and whispers signaled that Richie was ready for more. Methos drew his fingers out slowly, and applied more gel to both the waiting orifice and his own hardness. Positioning himself carefully, he laid one hand on the small of Richie's back and the other on his hip to steady him as he pressed against the opening. One sob escaped from Richie's mouth as he was entered, and Methos stopped and rubbed his hand on the young man's back, whispering reassurances to him. When the body beneath his relaxed again, he continued, pushing in slowly until he was fully surrounded by the hot, tight channel.

Methos was still for a moment, then holding Richie's hip, rolled them both till they were lying on their sides. He kissed Richie's shoulder and neck, then whispered soothingly to him again as he shifted their legs, pulling Richie's top leg forward and moving his own between those of the other man, giving himself more room to move and making sure Richie was comfortable. As he began slowly thrusting into the other man, he linked his fingers with Richie's and together they stroked his cock in the same rhythm as the rest of their bodies were moving.

He talked softly to Richie the whole time, quiet instructions, reminders to breathe deeply, gentle assurances, everything keyed to let the young man know he was wanted and cared for. His own pleasure grew as Richie responded to him, feeling him start to move against his thrusting, feeling his hand take control of the stroking of his own cock. Soon they were writhing together, a sensuous tangle of arms and legs, sweat covered skin adding to their already slippery bodies. Richie's hand increased its tempo and Methos knew the young man was nearing his climax. He urged him in quiet whispers to let go, and before long he felt the whole body spasm as their hands were filled with the hot fluid. He continued his own steady motion as Richie's spasms lessened and finally ceased.

Kissing the sweat covered shoulder in front of him, he began thrusting harder and faster, seeking his own release. He felt it start to build in his lower back and thighs, joining in his groin and he dug his fingers into Richie's hip as he drove deeply into him, panting as he moved ever faster, ramming himself home one last time as he came, emptying himself into the other man, holding tightly as his own spasms eased then ended. Letting himself relax against the body in front of him, Methos kissed all of the neck and shoulder he could reach, then nuzzled Richie's ear, again murmuring soothing words to him.

Carefully, he shifted to withdraw, wanting to avoid the discomfort that motion could bring to Richie. Having succeeded, he moved off the bed, squeezing Richie's shoulder with an instruction not to move. He returned with warm damp towels that he used liberally, one to clean them, the other to smooth and caress Richie's face and hair. Satisfied that the young man was relaxed and comfortable, he took the towels back then returned to the bed, lying next to Richie and pulling him into an embrace, tucking Richie's head under his chin and just holding him there.

Richie's chest rose then fell with a deep sigh, and he reached for a blanket that he pulled loosely over the two of them. It wasn't long before both men were sleeping peacefully.

The shrill of the telephone woke both of them to the not so new day. Richie didn't move to answer it, preferring to let the machine pick it up. He chuckled as he listened to the message that was left.

"Richie?" MacLeod's voice was filled with concern. "Richie, if you're there, pick up." He waited a moment before going on. "Damn. I'm trying to find M-, um, Adam. Joe said he was with you last night. Call me, OK?" Then the click as he hung up.

Methos ruffled a hand through Richie's hair. "What do you think, kid? Should we tell him where I've been all night?"

Richie pulled his head away from the teasing hand. "Probably not. And don't call me 'kid'." He sat up on the bed and looked at his companion. "Listen, um..." He grinned shyly at Methos. "Last night was ... incredible. I never knew it could be like that."

"But you're not ready to take it up as a lifestyle, right?" He watched as Richie blushed, then nodded. "Me either." He smiled at Richie's look of puzzlement. "You know I said I was a bit older than MacLeod? Well, it's actually a good bit older. Let's just say that my perspectives have been pretty broad for a long time."

"So you like..."

"I like people, Richie." He reached a hand to Richie's face, running his thumb across his full lips, fingers following the line of his jaw until he cupped the side of his face with his palm. "Sometimes you decide you like somebody, or you need somebody, and if you both agree, you find a way to express it. Like last night. You needed. I agreed. We found a way. Simple as that."

Richie let out a long breath in what could be called nothing other than a sigh of relief. "Thanks. I didn't know..."

Methos chuckled. "You didn't know what you were getting into. But last night you didn't worry about it too much, either." He patted the side of Richie's face, then moved his hand away. "All MacLeod has to know is that you needed someone to talk to. I don't think he's ready to know anything more than that. As for you ... no regrets, remember that. And if you ever want to learn more, just let me know. No strings."

Richie visibly relaxed and smiled broadly. "Thanks, Adam. I'll remember. Especially the no strings part."

"Good." Methos got up and started pulling on his clothes. "I'd better go start damage control at Chez MacLeod. Will we see you later?"

"Yeah, I'll be over. Maybe Mac will need someone to talk to."

"Maybe. But even if he doesn't talk, he likes having you there.

"I know. And I like being there."

Methos sat down to pull on his shoes, then stood to leave. "Don't forget."

"I won't. No regrets. Thanks for everything."

He left the apartment, knowing that Richie wasn't ever going to be a fast friend, but also knowing that they'd managed to reach a point of understanding, and that had been what he'd intended all along. Now if he could just achieve the same understanding with MacLeod...