Hot Water, by Jami Wilsen

Hot Water

by Jami Wilsen

Author's Notes: Apology Snippet for Sue: Methos slashfic

Rated: A for hot immortal slash sex m/m

Beta: Lorelei (*M-wah!* Thanks darlin'!)

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Methos knocked on the door. Waiting, he wondered if Cory was alone. He almost hoped he wasn't, so he could just ask to stay over and get some much-needed sleep. He was tired. Exhausted, actually. And badly in need of some of the hedonistic lifestyle that Cory indulged in. Relaxation. And to enjoy life for a change, not worry about it. He knew he had become far too somber recently. Like Mac. No doubt Cory would point this out to him, as well. But Cory was such a positive presence that despite his impish, irritating tendencies and idiosyncrasies, Methos was looking forward to spending some time with this unorthodox immortal. Cory had always been good for entertaining one, if nothing else. Methos conveniently forgot to reckon what Cory might possibly expect as payment for bolstering his spirits. He was too tired to remember it might become an issue. No doubt Cory would involve him in his latest hare-brained scheme.

He sighed, waiting on the porch. Cory Raines: thief and jokester. But it certainly was convenient if he wanted to spend time with an immortal or even just someone who understood their perspective. At least here he wouldn't have to be watching out for his head continuously.

The door was whipped open and Cory's face suddenly adopted a pleased and surprised expression. "Why, Adam, whatever brings you here at this time of night?" he asked, a knowing grin beginning to slide over him.

Methos looked impassively at him. "I was in the area; I'm sure you felt it. Didn't know it was me, did you?"

"Actually, this time I didn't. I was expecting someone else," Cory admitted. But he didn't look disappointed at the discovery. Interesting. "What is it? What do you want?"

"Sleep," Methos said, with a smile. "Can you put me up for a while? Say, a few days?"

Cory stopped, a glint coming to his eye. "Sure. Come on in."

Well, that was fast, Methos thought. He was sure now that Cory was indeed involved in something - undoubtedly lucrative, too - and would press him to involve himself as well.

"Are you hungry? Would you like dinner?" Cory was being the gracious host.

Methos was quite happy for him to play it to the hilt, at this point. "Yes. What do you have?"

Cory grinned suddenly. "Sweet potato pie."

Methos frowned. "Yams? I'm not overly fond of yams."

"Oh, this one is delicious," Cory swiftly reassured him. There was a residual gleam in Cory's eyes as he said this though. Indeed, his mouth was twitching. It looked like Cory was trying very hard not to laugh. Methos wasn't sure he liked what it might represent. Still, there was no telling. Cory had a whimsical sense of humor. He could only hope that the yams that comprised this pie he'd be sampling hadn't been used in some strange situation before its demise into a meal. One never knew, with some of the bizarre events that Cory managed to involve himself in sometimes.

In the kitchen, Methos sat down at the table while Cory got food out of the fridge, including the remainder of the suspicious, yam pie in a casserole dish.

But Methos had to agree, once he'd tried a bite of it, it tasted good. Cory watched him eat it with an inscrutable expression. If Methos had to guess, he'd have said that it looked as though Cory was trying very hard not to laugh out loud.

Cory looked away finally, and said, his mouth twitching, "So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?"

Methos shrugged, downing another forkful. It really was good. "The usual. You know, a chance to let my hair down-"

Cory leaned forward. "Ah. R & R, is it?" He looked more interested. "Though I must say, the short hair doesn't suit you as much. You haven't got very much to let down, have you?"

"I didn't finish... I was going to say, relax. I want to relax. Is that a problem? I mean, am I intruding here? Interrupting another jape of yours? Or bankjob?"

Cory raised his hands before him. "Whoa, hold your horses. No need to bite my head off - if you'll excuse the expression." His eyes flicked down to the remainder of the sweet potato pie on Methos' plate and he couldn't help a smile, and a stifled snicker. He looked back up. "I'm not involved with anything at the moment. Or anyone, for that matter."

Mildly, Methos said, "Relaxation. Not excitation. I want to sleep, and be able to - what is the expression these days - 'chill out'?"

Cory shot him a glance. "You're not all depressed and strung out, are you? I really don't need to play therapist right now. I'm kind of recovering from a little too much action recently, myself."

Methos shook his head. "Not at all. Just need a breather, that's all. A chance for a little space, and get my bearings. You know what that's like. Hell, that's why you keep this place, isn't it?"

"Of course," Cory replied, smoothly. "Look, it's no problem. You can stay, for as long as you need to. Just wanted to make sure I'm not going to be dealing with a Methos in a bad mood, is all. Your temper can be - well, too much fun at one time."

Methos frowned at him slightly. And then grinned. "Why, Cory. I'm surprised. After all this time, you're finally letting on that you respect someone? Incredible. Mac would be in shock, if he knew."

"Mac?" Cory snorted meaningfully. "That poor bastard wouldn't know a good time if it came up and gave him a blow job."

"True, but he's right about you."

Cory continued, "I should know; I spent too long with him on the road, with Amanda. Best thing I ever did was cut with her and go it alone." He leaned closer to Methos with a smile. "And you know he doesn't know how to have fun."

"True," admitted Methos, thinking of the staid and conservative Scot. "But I'm not here to have fun, either. I'm here to relax."

"Sure, sure," Cory said. "Anything you say. Look, make yourself at home, alright? I'll just go make sure the guest room is ready."

When Methos had repaired to the living room and was seated before the fire, gazing into its depths, he was relieved to see that the fire did not, for once, remind him of ancient battles or even smaller trials. It was simply what it appeared to be: a cozy fire in a retreat. He found that heartening. He hadn't lied to Cory; he wasn't in need of damage control at all. Just the need to... retreat. And think. It got a bit much after a while, living the secret double life and pretending to be someone he wasn't. It tended to make his darker side of himself feel overly suppressed and after a while it became harder to control under the surface. He needed to just be himself and not conform to either other's expectations and strictures, whether mortal or immortal.

A sound made him look up. Cory was standing there, his arms folded, regarding him with a thoughtful look in his eyes. "You'd better not be moping."

"No, I wasn't." He turned back to the fire. "I was wondering why my own retreats, when I return to them, don't have the same warmth and solidity that yours does. Maybe it's because of your lighter attitude towards our lives than the rest of us, but mine always seem cold and distant, like I'm shutting myself away in a cupboard in storage rather than really healing."

Cory looked taken aback at Methos' statement. He hadn't expected anything so open or revealing. He looked down, considering. "Maybe its because it is my place, and not yours? There is something to be said for companionship. Solitude in a crowd makes one feel like one's on an island. But lock yourself away on a mountain peak and suddenly it's pretty obvious that you're alone. All alone."

"You're right," Methos admitted. "Still, there is something to be said for solitude."

"Yet here you are," Cory rejoined. But he wasn't mocking him.

Methos grinned. "Indeed. Okay, okay; you're right. Are you happy? You've won that round."

Cory smiled now. "I know I am. And I'm right about this too: you said you wanted to relax. How does the hot tub sound?"

Methos threw him a look. "Very funny. That's not why I'm here."

"What?" Cory adopted an innocent look of surprise. "Come on; you know I'm right this time. It'll be just the thing for you. You'll sleep better afterwards, too. Why do you think I keep one?"

"I know why you keep one, Cory. Mac has been quite vocal about it. Apparently he's still burned over the fact you managed to entice Amanda into it last time she was over."

Cory scowled in mock indignation. "What?! She practically jumped into it when she arrived! She'd barely got in the door! I had nothing to do with that. I wasn't even in it! Well, not at first, anyway. And besides, she wasn't even with him at the time!"

"Precisely the point. I think he was jealous," grinned Methos, getting to his feet and stretching. "Well, lead on."

"What?" Cory was thrown off-guard.

"Lead on," he repeated. "I've never actually seen this hot tub of yours, despite the fact that everyone talks about it constantly. I don't know where it actually is, either."

"Ah, right." Cory turned and sighed, muttering, "A guy can't even keep a small spa bath without everyone making innuendo about it. If we were in the Hollywood Hills or some swanky beachfront home near Santa Cruz, nobody would bat an eyelash, you realize."

"True. But this is you we're talking about, Cory. Don't bother pretending you haven't done everything possible to make it inescapable to everyone that you love your hot tub and want everyone in it, whenever you can get them into it."

Cory just muttered something about ungrateful wretches and things being blown out of proportion. Meanwhile, they had arrived at the tub and Methos went off to shower nearby.

By the time he'd slipped into the hot water and leaned back against the rim of the tub, he had to agree that Cory had right. This was perfect.

A noise made him open his eyes, although he didn't bother lifting his head. And here, on cue, was Cory, climbing into the tub across from him, bearing two glasses and a bottle of brandy.

"Brandy?" Methos asked, in disbelief.

"Why not? You have a problem with brandy?" Cory raised a brow at him.

Methos just shook his head. But he took the glass when Cory held it out to him.

Cory had a smirk on his face at this point, though. Methos' eyes narrowed. But he didn't say anything.

Soon though, Cory's smirk had blossomed into a smile and he said, "I was right, wasn't I?"

"Don't let it go to your head," Methos suggested, lulled by the heat and the water surrounding him.

He placed his glass on the side of the tub, off to his right where he could reach it again, and leaned back.

"I'm willing to bet I'm right about this too: relaxation isn't just about sleep," continued Cory. "All work and no play makes us grim and staid." He moved forward slightly, obviously beginning a move to sit closer to him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Methos inquired.

"Rub-a-dub-dub, two men in a tub," Cory quipped, with a grin.

Methos flipped Cory backwards, pushing him off-balance; he'd had enough of the playboy attitude and humorous jabs, whether aimed at Mac or himself. He wasn't in the mood for them here, or tonight.

A look of surprised astonishment came over Cory's face, just before he went under; the water closing over his head. He resurfaced instantly, sitting up and spluttering slightly, a look of mingled deviltry and respect in his eyes. With his hair dripping and a note of annoyance in his husky voice, Cory wiped his face and said, "What was that for?"

"I thought we were here to relax?" Methos said, pointedly, "You know that Mac does have a point. About you."

"Me?" Cory affected a look of injured innocence.

But Methos had leaned back once more, resting his head against the edge of the tub and closing his eyes. "Don't bother. You know what I mean. You're a pest. A rogue."

Cory's lips twitched. "And you're not?"

"Not like you. I know what you had planned here, with this little seduction scene, Cory. And it's not going to work. Not with me. Not this time." Methos hadn't even bothered to open his eyes.

Cory considered him, thoughtfully. He'd got him here, hadn't he? There was no way he was going to give up now. He grumbled, "It never has." Then he shifted his tactics and suggested, "I'll tell you what; to make it up to you, I'll treat you to one of my massages. I promise, no hanky-panky. Just relaxation. I know you're tired." The seduction of Methos was greatly overdue, thought Cory silently.

Methos snorted. "Right."

But Cory obviously had something in mind, for he grabbed up a small bottle of something and veered dangerously close, invading Methos' space. "Come on, move," Cory ordered him. "Turn around. You're too tense. And I won't make any plays. I give you my word. Your, ah, chastity is safe with me." He sat, waiting.

Methos finally groaned and then turned, twisting his body away from Cory obediently, leaning forward and resting his head upon his folded arms across the edge of the tub. He closed his eyes.

Cory smiled triumphantly behind him, unseen, as he poured a little of the gel onto his right palm, put the bottle down and then rubbed his hands together, moving forward.

Drowsily, as Cory's warm hands began to melt away the tension in Methos' back and shoulder muscles, Methos murmured, "Don't you ever get tired of playing the jester? It must get old, after a while."

"You're hardly the one to be talking about 'old'," Cory pointed out, digging his fingers a little more roughly into the concrete slabs that Methos' muscles had tightened into from days of being on the road, though he'd grown more tired and tense from his city life than anything else.

"I know. What I mean, is the distractions."

Cory didn't answer for so long, that Methos thought he wasn't going to. But then he spoke. When he did, Methos could almost swear that he heard a note of seriousness in his voice-Maybe even a little sadness. Well, not misery, certainly. But resignation.

"It's a long journey. You know that as well as I. We've all got to find our own way of making it worth the effort."

"Doesn't it trivialize it though? I think that's what Mac finds most disagreeable about your outlook," Methos commented. He couldn't pretend at this point that Cory's hands weren't working magic on his back and neck. The inherent sensuality of the man was imbued in everything he did; even when he wasn't attempting an outright move on someone. That must be what Amanda finds attractive about him, Methos thought. It wasn't just his playful nature, it was that Cory had a winsome demeanor as well. And a lot of it was actually unconscious on his part, despite his ability to use his charm to his best advantage.

A pained tone crept into Cory's answer. "Can we drop Mac, for a while? That guy brings me down and you keep talking about him. Everyone talks about him and I get sick of it."

Methos grinned and couldn't help a chuckle at this. "You still haven't been able to get him, have you? After all this time, you two still have unresolved issues. Amazing."

Cory snorted with some derision, expressively, behind him, the massage continuing unabated. I'm perfectly fine about it - he's the one with the issues."

"Mm. I think you're right about that one, too."

"My, my; you are full of concessions tonight. Don't worry, I won't let it go to my head."

Methos considered, then said, "You know why Mac won't bend on this one, don't you?"

Cory snickered. "He's a serious, dull, conservative bore?"

"There is that, yeah. But he sees you as a slut. You haven't ever really given him any reason to think anything else, have you?"

The massage stopped, abruptly, Cory's hands leaving his back and Methos waited but instead heard him climbing out of the tub. He turned and saw Cory pulling on a robe with a towel around his neck. "Oh, come on now. Don't pout." He meant it good-naturedly, but Cory just regarded him with an unreadable expression.

Cory sighed, wearily. "I'm not. I just know that I can't expect anyone else to understand the idea of the pursuit of happiness for it's own sake. Amanda is the only one who's ever given any indication that she shares a little of that outlook but, really, why should I have to defend the fact that I'm not a miserable bastard? Why does that make me such a rogue? A pest? Okay, so Mac can't handle the thought of living without angst. That's not me. But why does everyone always take his side? Is it so hard to understand that happiness is a goal in its own right?"

Methos frowned. "Of course not. But I think you might be projecting here, more than a little bit. Come on, Cory. Happiness is a state of being, not a justification or a goal to be achieved unless you aren't really happy. You don't have to prove anything to anyone."

"No? And why do you think I'm living alone, here? You think just because you feel safe and happy here, that this is what it's like all the time?"

Methos shook his head with a grim smile. He was beginning to see Cory as less of a jesting rogue now, and more as a sulky boy when others won't join in the joke. But Cory had turned and was leaving. Methos suddenly realized he'd hurt him. He didn't think Cory took himself that seriously. And in the next moment, Methos realized too that it had been that remark about him being a slut - Cory believed Methos shared that opinion, and indeed everyone else.

Damn. With a sigh, he climbed out of the tub and took down one of the other towels, drying himself off. Wrapping a robe around himself, he went in search of Cory.

Cory was out back, regarding the stars in the night sky. He didn't look upset. In fact, he was impassive.

Methos went to stand beside him, looking upwards as well. Next to him, he said, "Sorry. It wasn't my intention to slight you. Don't take offense."

Cory turned his head to glance at him. "I'm not. I'm just debating what you said. Earlier, as well. It's the fine line between the need for companionship and the inevitable irritation that develops between us whenever any of us spend too long together, isn't it?"

"It's cold out here. Let's go in."

"Right," Cory said, dryly.

But Methos hadn't counted on the fact that suddenly being treated to this hidden vulnerable side to Cory would actually be the one thing that would break him down. It made Cory more appealing than he was before. Methos found himself wondering if he were being played. Somehow, he didn't think so. Cory seemed genuinely authentic. As they stepped inside, Methos said, "I'm going to go my room, unpack my bag."

"Sure. See you around." Cory sounded noncommittal.

Damn him. That ever-so-slightly needy tone was getting under Methos' skin and he found himself entertaining the thought of grabbing Cory and slipping his tongue between Cory's lips... Methos wondered why brandy should suddenly start affecting him this way. Or Cory's lips, for that matter.

As he gradually drew things out of his bag and put them on the bed, intending to put them away, Methos realized he was no longer able to push it aside. Cory was attractive; Methos had just felt that it would be a frivolous waste of time. Now he began wondering.

Fine, fine, Methos considered. If this was going to happen though, it was going to happen on his terms. He took a breath and left the room, turning off the light.

Cory was sitting back on his bed, in his robe, holding the remote control when the expected knock came on his door. Well, if he was honest, he hadn't really expected it. But it was rather gratifying when it came. "Yeah," he called.

Methos opened the door. "Am I disturbing you?"

Cory turned off the television. "Not at all. Come in."

Methos smiled. "I was thinking about our conversation. It occurred to me that maybe the best way I can relax, while staying here with you, is to help you relax. What do you say? A fair exchange, I think."

Cory was surprised. "I - well, sure. What... did you have in mind, exactly?" He frowned slightly.

"Roll onto your stomach, and I'll show you."

Cory gave a subdued laugh. "You're kidding."

"No, just a massage. It'll be painless."

"A real massage is never painless," grumbled Cory, who nevertheless obediently pulled his robe down off his shoulders and turned to lay face down on the bed.

Methos shook his head at how easy this was and removed his robe entirely, climbing onto the bed to straddle Cory. Who gasped a little and said, grinning, "Hey, there. Are you, uh, -" and was effectively silenced as Methos began running strong hands over Cory's back. Methos grinned wolfishly, behind him. It was still working, for him; Cory's uncertainty and confusion at being caught off-guard like this was almost endearing.

Cory cleared his throat. "Um, don't you think a little massage oil is in order, here? There's some over there, on the dresser."

"How handy," commented Methos, getting up to retrieve it.

Cory looked over at him and saw his nude state, his eyes widening. He began wondering if he had one this round, or lost it. Either way, the outcome looked to be the same. If he was lucky. He suppressed a grin.

Methos climbed back atop him, the robe covering Cory's ass was doing nothing to stop him from feeling the weight of Methos on him, pressing him down into the bed.

Methos placed his hands upon him again. The lack of oil upon them was apparent. Cory began to worry that Methos was going to back out of this. He was about to speak when suddenly he felt more than hands upon his skin. A hot mouth, breathing on the back of his neck, and a warm chest pressed against him as Methos slowly began to inch the robe out from beneath him.

Cory could not quite suppress a gasp. It had been a while since he had been with a male lover; let alone one he'd been looking at for so long. He moaned then, much in the contented manner of a cat being stroked. The sudden use of teeth startled him though. Methos was biting at his neck and was now moving to lay upon him full-length, his hard cock nestled between his buttocks.

Methos was feeling something very akin to the quickening; only it was more than a rush, or a flash of lightening in his blood and bones. This was like a slow-building wave, and before long it was crashing over both their heads as thought flew out the window and sense melted into nothing but desire and flame. Methos wanted nothing now but to possess the man beneath him.

Cory was unsure whether he was pleased or not; he hadn't expected this ravishment of his person. He'd thought to seduce a darkly brooding, quirky man who had long avoided him. Now he began to suspect that the avoidance had been for his own benefit. He was being devoured and couldn't even dredge up the ability to refuse.

Pure animal lust guided Methos now and he gave into the pounding, feral rhythm that pulsed inside of his body. It had been far too long since he indulged in this loss of control. And only another immortal could withstand it. The energy of this act alone would be enough to make a delicate mortal woman swoon long before he reached his climax. The electric flutter of passion returned by Cory bucking back against him was enough to galvanize him into swift action now.

Grabbing up the bottle of oil that he'd laid beside them, he scooted down slightly, and poured it. Letting it drench the firm ass under him, he then worked one finger, then two, then three quickly into Cory's anus, wreaking havoc with the wild but sure penetration as Cory groaned open-mouthed.

Cory was going wild now, his forehead was pounding and the need to be claimed was overwhelming. He hadn't thought to let himself be taken; he'd intended to coax the other man to bed and let him 'relax' him the best way he knew how. This fierce coupling was unlike anything he'd expected but he was glad. Intensely glad. It was better than anything he had hoped and outshone any sexual experience he'd had in years. Hell, he thought, this is going to ruin me for a long time. I wonder how long I can get him to stay.

And then there was the blunt head of Methos' cock sliding into him, shoving him forward even as he had tried to push back against it and he found himself impaled, with Methos' hot breath on the back of his neck again. It was not unlike being taken by a wild beast. He could feel the pricklings of slight panic at being dominated like this and he reveled in the sensation. It was almost as good as dying.

And Methos knew it, grinning ferociously behind him, well-aware of what he was doing to Cory, of what effect it was having on him.

And he drew back - only to slam into him, hard, making Cory cry out, wordlessly, helplessly writhing under him. He repeated the action, driving his cock home over and over, much like a battering ram at the enemy fortress' gate.

Sweat was pouring off both of them, making the slick slide of their bodies together each time Methos pushed into Cory feel like a hot glide into a fireplace of their own, right in the middle of Cory's bed.

A pyre, where they could burn away the vestigial trappings of a false mortal persona that each carried as a shell around their true natures. A sacrificial fire, where they could return to the godlike status of ancient kings as was their birthright. A royal mating, a union of two powers to create a glorious energy.

And now the world pin-wheeled crazily for Cory and he found himself calling out helplessly, coming, his trapped organ spurting over and over again against the clean bedcovers while Methos filled his ass with a fountain of heat, and yelled out loud.

There was a moment of white heat that seared both of them, where the memories of centuries past became a shared vision of their combined, countless lifetimes and a perfect understanding of true desire, love of life, and the takings of all previous immortal power melded together.

All too soon however, it faded, like the final guttering of a fire when a dark stormy wind has passed over and begun to blow it out. The moment changed, melting away with fading sparks and all that remained were two panting creatures, struggling to remember what else there was left to ever attain again.

They lay, exhausted, like the dead, two combatants who had put away their arms to embrace as comrades in an insane war that made no sense and afforded only a few brief times when one might hope to achieve a little peace.

It seemed hours later, but which was probably only minutes, Cory raised an exhausted head. "Fuck, Methos!" he croaked out, his smoky voice rough from shouting, "When you said 'relax', I thought you meant literally."

Methos chuckled at him, moving out of him and allowing Cory to roll like a sated animal onto his side to face him. "That was exactly what I meant. Literally. Come on, how do you imagine we used to do it in the old days? Before things became so civilized?"

Cory rolled his eyes. "So much for courting. Can I kiss you now, or will you bite me again?" And he gingerly felt the back of his neck and along his left shoulder where Methos' teeth had left their marks.

Laughing, Methos gently pressed his mouth to Cory's, drinking deeply of that undying taste. The taste of forever. Too addictive, by far.

They both knew he would stay for a while, yet. Weeks, perhaps longer. Until the next storm came.

The End

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