Cultivating good habits, day two:

[calime]

sparklebutch has this icon with three knights...and he pokes.

Fandom: Highlander
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just using them for my own dirty ends.
Notes:Set in sparklebutch's D/M/K AU and inspired by his icon. I guess this one's not crack, but smut. Thank you sparklebutch for poking, and looking, and all the stuff. All mistakes are mine, if you spot a typo, please be yelling out at me:)


In the semidarkness of wee morning hours, a grandfather clock on the wall ticking the moments away, Methos was still half awake.

The other two were sound asleep, the air smelling deceptively of warm comfort and lingering traces of sweat, sex and laughter. Maybe the underlying current of distrust and distance had been obliterated for the time being …or maybe his nose was playing tricks on him.

A lone car passed by on the street, its headlights briefly illuminating the window and throwing a checkerboard pattern on the bed and the sleepers. Kronos was sprawling on his back, his face suddenly sharply outlined in the middle of a stretched square, smoothed out in sleep, looking deceptively soft and vulnerable. Duncan had curled himself around Kronos, face half-hidden against the others’ shoulder, a soft snore escaping now and then.

Methos gave a mental headshake. No matter the appearances, the fire was still there, inside; damn the upright (and uptight) warriors, the fearsome knights. Black knight, white knight, dance to the death. And what was he – a tin foil preventing the nuclear reaction? The wily old queen controlling the course of the game? He’d always felt more like a pawn, insignificant, expendable, trying to escape by staying on the sidelines.

But then, he admitted ruefully, the pawns with stamina and good - or was that bad? – luck occasionally got queened … when they had reached the end of the board and had nowhere else to go. No way out of the game, except the really obvious, final ones…which he did not want to contemplate. Left to try to keep the game in check interminably, those two from each others’ throats and try not to get burned in the crossfire himself?

All out of clever plans, and despite the old saying he wasn’t so sure if the morning would bring fresh counsel. Which did not mean he should not enjoy the moments’ peace, he thought, prodding the sleepers to move and fitting himself comfortably into the warm space that opened up between them. If nothing else, two morning persons would mean twice the probability of getting coffee in bed. He was fairly sure Kronos and Duncan could manage coffee without killing each other in the process.