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Don't Blame It On Yokey


Title: Don't Blame It On Yokey

Author: chelle

Author's email:

Author's URL:

Fandom: Highlander

Category: Slash

Pairing: Duncan/Methos

Archive: Ask first

Rating: NC-17

AN: I was innocently wiping my kitchen counters when Duncan ambushed me with his idea for a parody of songfic. You all do know that Duncan's sense of humor is questionable at best, right?Taselby conceded that I am indeed out of my fucking mind for having written this, and I would like to thank her for that.

If the song hadn't been quite so catchy…

If Methos' jeans hadn't been quite so tight…

If his eyes hadn't changed color while Duncan was staring into them…

If, if, if…

The ifs didn't matter now. All that mattered was that Duncan had opened his mouth and inserted not just his foot, but a good portion of his ankle as well. Even if he hadn't ruined their friendship, and he was fairly sure he hadn't, although Methos would undoubtedly use this against him for at least a century, he'd still made a bloody fool of himself. Worse, he'd undoubtedly destroyed any chance he'd had of getting Methos naked and sweaty.

Methos had laughed at him, and Duncan couldn't blame him. He hadn't said anything so bloody stupid in decades.

He resisted the urge to beat his head against the steering wheel. It wouldn't really help, and it might cause an accident.


Earlier that evening.

Duncan smiled to himself as the familiar sense of presence reached him. Methos. He'd know that buzz anywhere. He pushed open the door to Joe's Bar, quickly locating his friend.

Methos was at their table toying with the beer in front of him. As Duncan approached, Methos slid a bit lower in his chair, his legs falling apart. He rested one hand on his thigh. Looking up at Mac, he smiled. "Hi, Mac."

"Adam," Duncan answered, taking the seat closest to his friend.

They chatted and drank, giving Duncan plenty of opportunities to indulge in his favorite pastime, imagining Methos naked. He also managed to brush his leg against Methos' several times while pretending to stretch.

In Duncan's opinion, the evening was going quite well.

Methos was telling him some story about a Roman emperor with an unnatural fondness for his horse, and Duncan watched his eyes twinkle, not really listening to the story. A familiar song began playing in the background, one Duncan recognized from frequent radio play. Joe must've finally gotten the jukebox updated, thankfully. As fond as Duncan was of the Monkeys, one could only listen to "Daydream Believer" so many times without going mad.

But this song wasn't so bad, in fact it kinda reminded him of Methos.

If there's someone you can live

then do so.
And if there's someone you can
just shove out;
Do so.

Duncan smiled, thinking of all the times Methos had dropped by, uninvited, and Duncan had wanted to shove him out on his sweet, little arse. Of course he never had, probably because it was a sweet, little arse.

Methos was still talking, something about how scandalized the Roman Senate had been when the emperor had had a special bed installed in the palace for the horse. His fingers were absently tapping with the beat, against his thigh. Duncan swallowed, noticing again how well the worn denim molded itself to Methos' long, muscular legs.

Isn't it beautiful to see two people
so much in love?

Well, yeah, Duncan supposed it was, thinking about how he and Methos would look if they were in love. Hours of gazing adoringly into one another's eyes. Maybe not hours. Unless they were fucking while gazing. Yeah, fucking and gazing, that'd definitely work.

Barenaked as two virgins hand in

hand and and
and hand in glove.

Methos wrapped his hand around his beer bottle, and Duncan shifted in his seat.

Now that I'm far away it doesn't
seem to me to be
such a pain
To have you hanging off my ankle
like some kind of ball and chain.

Far away. Methos had only just returned from his latest disappearance. While he was gone Duncan had concluded that he liked having the old guy around. Liked it a lot. Liked it so much he wanted more of it. In fact, ball and chain sounded just about right.

Methos, chains, definitely right.

"Mac, Duncan."


"You haven't heard a word I've said."

"Yes, I have. You were talking about Caligula and Inky, his horse."

"His name wasn't Inky, MacLeod."

"Do you really think Caligula called him Incu—whatever while they were fucking?"

Methos stared at him, and Duncan wondered for a moment if he had a pimple. Could Immortals get pimples?

Then Methos started to laugh. A genuine laugh, a rarity for the old man whose laughter usually had a cynical edge to it. Duncan liked the sound so much he joined in.

Gradually, the laughter subsided, leaving the two of them sitting there, staring into one another's eyes. Duncan could barely breathe, watching as Methos' eyes changed from gold to green and back.

The song was still playing in the background.

I would gladly give up musical genius just to have you as my very own personal Venus.

"Methos," he whispered.

"Yeah?" Methos answered breathlessly.

And that was when Duncan did it, uttered the four words which spelled disaster.

"Be my Yoko Ono."


Stupid. Bloody stupid. Bloody fucking stupid. Not that there'd be any fucking now.

Maybe Methos had been right and those cold Highland winters had caused his brain to be deprived of blood at some crucial point in its development. It was as good an explanation as any.

There was no point in driving aimlessly around Seacouver, especially since he was getting low on gas and most of the filling stations were closed. Reluctantly, he turned down his street. He pulled up in front of the dojo, his heart nearly stopping at the sense of presence. Methos was here, leaning against his door, looking like Methos always looked, like he was daring Mac to fuck him.

Duncan climbed out of the car and approached slowly, his heart pounding.

Methos waited until Duncan was standing directly in front of him to speak. "If I'm Yoko, does that mean we can have a bed-in?"

Duncan had no idea what a bed-in was, but he liked the sound of it. "Sure." Duncan wasn't entirely certain how he'd managed to get the word out when his mind was aflame with thoughts of Methos and bed.

"Just for the record, I don't screech, or make bad performance art."


"Are you going to say more than one word at a time?"


Methos moved away from the door, letting Duncan open it. "That's okay. We can put on some music and we can lie in bed, just like Brian Wilson did."