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Title: She Walks In Beauty
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Methos, Morticia
Summary: Methos meets a young Morticia Frump
Wordcount: 278
Disclaimers: Not mine, neither of them.
Title: En Garde
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Methos, Morticia/Gomez
Summary: Methos and Gomez have a turbulent first meeting
Wordcount: 610
Disclaimer: Not mine
"En garde, sir!"
Methos looked up from his worshipful bow at the foot of Morticia's stairs, to see a saber rapidly approaching his neck. He sensed no Immortal presence, but his instincts were considerably older than the Game and didn't particularly care. He leapt back, his sword in his hand without conscious thought, coming up to block, deflect and dance aside, all before he even saw his opponent.
"Ha! A neat defense, sir, but it will not save you!"
Methos blinked, wondering briefly if the dapper man bearing down on him had ever taken elocution lessons from Robert de Valicourt, but the thought was lost underneath a rapid – and entirely too skillful for comfort – assault. He gave ground, parrying on instinct, until the man's blade flickered past his defenses and nicked his arm. Then, he decided he'd had enough.
The knife sang off the saber, the stranger deflecting it with ease and a whoop of joy, but all Methos needed was the moment of distraction to let him turn his defense into offense, and he took it with something approaching glee, the old smile curling over his features as he prowled forward, hounding the man towards the stairs and Morticia, grinning as the man laughed in raw appreciation.
""'Tish!" the saber-man cried in seeming genuine delight. "Where did you find him! He fights almost like an Addams!"
Methos blinked, taking a quick second to glance up at his serene hostess, catching the look of pride and seductive delight, the way her eyes flashed as they tracked his opponent, and understood in an instant. An understanding that did not prevent him from leveling the Ivanhoe at the presumed husband's neck in warning.
"Oh Gomez," Morticia purred, sending a warm smile his way that Methos would really rather she hadn't, under current circumstances. "He's an old ... friend."
"And a current one, too, I hope," he muttered, glaring at Gomez' flashed grin and her knowing smile.
"Of course," she smiled, tilting her head in acknowledgment. He sent her a queasy smile of his own, and focused on his sword, and the man at it's point. He weighed the options for a moment, the man's ease against Morticia's always questionable sense of humour, his own instinct for self-preservation against the genuine lack of ill will he felt from this Gomez ... and reached his decision. He lowered the blade, and held out a hand.
"Methos," he offered, dipping his head in the old gesture of a guest vassal to a host lord, feeling it could do no harm. Gomez laughed in delight, offering a deep and wry bow in return, taking his hand with considerable aplomb for a man who just rushed him with a sword.
"Gomez Addams," was the exuberant reply, the man already laughing and moving to Morticia's side, tugging Methos behind him. "And this is my querida, my beautiful Morticia. Though I think you know that already." A sly, assessing look, and Methos shrugged easily, reaching out to kiss Morticia's hand in greeting.
"I had some idea," he commented mildly, letting it stand as his reproach. She smiled at him, darkness singing in the expression, and he inclined his head, acknowledging the defeat. Against Gomez, a man might stand a chance, perhaps. Against Morticia? Never. And as he met Gomez' laughing eyes, he knew he wasn't alone in realising it.
"So," Gomez asked, innocent in a way that made Methos' fingers twitched around his sword. "Do you plan to stay with us long?"
He paused, thought about it for a second, then surrendered to his baser urges and smirked. "Yes, I think I will," he said brightly. "Oh yes."
At the very least, he could get some decent sword practice in.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Methos, Morticia
Summary: Methos meets a young Morticia Frump
Wordcount: 278
Disclaimers: Not mine, neither of them.
"She walks in beauty like the night," he murmured, meeting the sly amusement of her gaze, his lips quirking faintly as her family clucked over her shoulders. "Of cloudless climes and starry skies. And all that's best of dark and bright, Meets in her aspect and her eyes." George, if she weren't but a knowing child, I'd swear she haunted your dreams that night.
"Lord Byron," Morticia purred throatily, shifting her wrist in his hand so that his respectful lips pressed deeper than intended. "An old favourite." Methos smiled at her, feeling her serene pulse beneath his touch, enchanted and unconcerned, open beneath her gaze.
"He spoke of visions, of a beauty distant and dark," he said quietly, his smile deepening at the flash of curiosity and hunger in her knowing eyes, the child beneath the seductress leaping at the hint of age and mystery. He did so love that expression in a woman. "I am honoured to have finally met the goddess of his dreams, Ms Frump."
"Morticia," she smiled, a gleam of moonlight, the magic of her birthright leaping at the command of her name. "Call me Morticia, chevalier anciens. The honour ... is mine."
He straightened, standing tall beneath the gaze of a spirit older even than he, and more vibrant than any, and inclined his head with joy, trusting himself to the wellspring of secrets behind her eyes. "If you call me Methos, my lady Morticia. Your chevalier would be known to his lady in truth, if she would permit it."
She stood, flowing to her feet, and accepted his hand gracefully, turning to lead him out into the dance. "The lady," she purred softly, "would be delighted."
"Lord Byron," Morticia purred throatily, shifting her wrist in his hand so that his respectful lips pressed deeper than intended. "An old favourite." Methos smiled at her, feeling her serene pulse beneath his touch, enchanted and unconcerned, open beneath her gaze.
"He spoke of visions, of a beauty distant and dark," he said quietly, his smile deepening at the flash of curiosity and hunger in her knowing eyes, the child beneath the seductress leaping at the hint of age and mystery. He did so love that expression in a woman. "I am honoured to have finally met the goddess of his dreams, Ms Frump."
"Morticia," she smiled, a gleam of moonlight, the magic of her birthright leaping at the command of her name. "Call me Morticia, chevalier anciens. The honour ... is mine."
He straightened, standing tall beneath the gaze of a spirit older even than he, and more vibrant than any, and inclined his head with joy, trusting himself to the wellspring of secrets behind her eyes. "If you call me Methos, my lady Morticia. Your chevalier would be known to his lady in truth, if she would permit it."
She stood, flowing to her feet, and accepted his hand gracefully, turning to lead him out into the dance. "The lady," she purred softly, "would be delighted."
Title: En Garde
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Methos, Morticia/Gomez
Summary: Methos and Gomez have a turbulent first meeting
Wordcount: 610
Disclaimer: Not mine
"En garde, sir!"
Methos looked up from his worshipful bow at the foot of Morticia's stairs, to see a saber rapidly approaching his neck. He sensed no Immortal presence, but his instincts were considerably older than the Game and didn't particularly care. He leapt back, his sword in his hand without conscious thought, coming up to block, deflect and dance aside, all before he even saw his opponent.
"Ha! A neat defense, sir, but it will not save you!"
Methos blinked, wondering briefly if the dapper man bearing down on him had ever taken elocution lessons from Robert de Valicourt, but the thought was lost underneath a rapid – and entirely too skillful for comfort – assault. He gave ground, parrying on instinct, until the man's blade flickered past his defenses and nicked his arm. Then, he decided he'd had enough.
The knife sang off the saber, the stranger deflecting it with ease and a whoop of joy, but all Methos needed was the moment of distraction to let him turn his defense into offense, and he took it with something approaching glee, the old smile curling over his features as he prowled forward, hounding the man towards the stairs and Morticia, grinning as the man laughed in raw appreciation.
""'Tish!" the saber-man cried in seeming genuine delight. "Where did you find him! He fights almost like an Addams!"
Methos blinked, taking a quick second to glance up at his serene hostess, catching the look of pride and seductive delight, the way her eyes flashed as they tracked his opponent, and understood in an instant. An understanding that did not prevent him from leveling the Ivanhoe at the presumed husband's neck in warning.
"Oh Gomez," Morticia purred, sending a warm smile his way that Methos would really rather she hadn't, under current circumstances. "He's an old ... friend."
"And a current one, too, I hope," he muttered, glaring at Gomez' flashed grin and her knowing smile.
"Of course," she smiled, tilting her head in acknowledgment. He sent her a queasy smile of his own, and focused on his sword, and the man at it's point. He weighed the options for a moment, the man's ease against Morticia's always questionable sense of humour, his own instinct for self-preservation against the genuine lack of ill will he felt from this Gomez ... and reached his decision. He lowered the blade, and held out a hand.
"Methos," he offered, dipping his head in the old gesture of a guest vassal to a host lord, feeling it could do no harm. Gomez laughed in delight, offering a deep and wry bow in return, taking his hand with considerable aplomb for a man who just rushed him with a sword.
"Gomez Addams," was the exuberant reply, the man already laughing and moving to Morticia's side, tugging Methos behind him. "And this is my querida, my beautiful Morticia. Though I think you know that already." A sly, assessing look, and Methos shrugged easily, reaching out to kiss Morticia's hand in greeting.
"I had some idea," he commented mildly, letting it stand as his reproach. She smiled at him, darkness singing in the expression, and he inclined his head, acknowledging the defeat. Against Gomez, a man might stand a chance, perhaps. Against Morticia? Never. And as he met Gomez' laughing eyes, he knew he wasn't alone in realising it.
"So," Gomez asked, innocent in a way that made Methos' fingers twitched around his sword. "Do you plan to stay with us long?"
He paused, thought about it for a second, then surrendered to his baser urges and smirked. "Yes, I think I will," he said brightly. "Oh yes."
At the very least, he could get some decent sword practice in.
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