(Methos, get on with it.)

Fellow muses, this can happen to you! Protect yourselves. Check your writers' mail. Delete any messages from Bone with the subject line "I've got AN IDEA." Muses, beware of this person--she's not as innocent and friendly as she looks.

(Methos, if you don't stop bitching and do the disclaimers, I swear I'll forget how to spell 'lubricant.')

Keep those Muse-abuse protests coming! Send them to:

 Suze at suze@slashcity.com, and   Bone at JBone2@aol.com

(Now you've done it. Bone's going for the spellchecker, Methos. She's calling up 'lubricant.' She's reaching for the delete key, Methos.)

Duncan, Richie, Joe and Cassandra belong to Rysher and Panzer/Davis. *I* belong to no one. I am my own man. I refuse to be owned, dominated, or dictated to. I...

(Methos, shut the fuck up!)

Rated NC-17. There's Real Sex in this one. Kind of. Just enough to be *really* offensive to the parochial, narrow-minded,  vanilla clones who care what other people do in bed.

 Methos  (with a little help from Suze and Bone)

"Methos! I told you to stay out of my mail!"

<Did you? I don't remember.>

"*I* remember it. Distinctly. It was right after your last snarky note to Zen&nan. Does the phrase 'Princess Blair' ring any bells?"

<Now that you mention it, I do seem to recall something about 'hell freezing over' and oblique references to propane torches and various sensitive bits of my anatomy. Don't worry, I'm not holding it against you. I knew you weren't serious.>

"I wasn't?"

<Of course not. If I didn't pre-sort your mail you'd never get any writing done.>

"Pre-sort? You've started *pre-sorting* my mail?"

<"Started? Uhh...>

"Methos!"

<Trust me. I haven't deleted anything you'll miss. I've only shit-canned the uninteresting ones.>

"Fascinating. And just how do we define 'uninteresting' in your  little corner of the universe?"

<They weren't about me.>

"What a surprise! You know what really frightens me, Methos?"

<Cassandra's manicurist?>

"More than that."

<Kronos on viagra?>

"Not even close. Actually, that's kind of....never mind. What really frightens me is that you're serious. If it doesn't mention you, you're not interested. You need to get out more, Methos. Develop some new interests. Get a hobby. Better yet, get a job and buy your own beer."

<Why don't you go see if Duncan wants some company in the closet?>

"Not a chance. Do you think I'm leaving you alone with my mail? Speaking of *my* mail, what's that?"

<What's what?>

"This new folder. The one labeled 'Methos' mail'."

<Gosh, I don't know! Do you think...is it possible...could it  be...my mail?>

"*Your* mail? Methos, please tell me you opened your own e-mail account. Or at least changed the mail options."

<Why?>

"Methos! Everything you're sending has my name on it!"

<So? They'll think your spelling and grammar have improved tremendously.>

"They'll think I'm schizophrenic!"

<And your point is?>

"My *point* is that *I* am a sweet, polite, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly Southern girl. *You* are an irritating, obnoxious, sewer-mouthed, son-of-a-bitch!"

<And I do *great* e-mail.>

"You're making me enemies, aren't you?"

<Your trust overwhelms me. Truly, I'm touched.>

"I wanna see."

<Well, it's been a while since I've played that game, but if you show me yours...>

"Open the folder, Methos. I want to see what's in it."

<I'm sure you do, but it's confidential.>

"Confidential? Learned a new word, did we?"

<Go away. You're starting to bother me.>

"I'm not even warmed up yet, Methos. Open the folder."

<Read my lips. No.>

"I'll see your 'read my lips' and raise you one Boy scout."

<I'm sure we can work something out. Have a beer.>

"I don't want a beer. You have thirty seconds to either open that folder or get out of my chair, at thirty-one I'm calling Duncan."

<Fine. It's open. Satisfied?>

"Methos, that can't be...what is that?"

<It's a story.>

"Methos, it's got...Richie."

<Duncan and I are the main characters, of course.>

"I don't believe it. You're writing a story with Richie! That's so sweet. Duncan's going to be so touched!"

<I'm not writing it. I'm doing the beta.>

"*You're* doing the beta. Methos, where did this story come from?"

<Somebody sent it in the mail.>

"Somebody? A complete stranger? And you're...Methos, this poor woman thinks *I'm* doing the beta, doesn't she?"

<So? What can you do that I can't? Faster, and with a lot more style. Besides, I have a right to do this. I'm a major part of the story. I'm going to use this as an opportunity to demonstrate how my character should be written.>

"How your *character* should be written? Uh, Methos..."

<What?>

"Nothing. Can I watch?"

<No, you cannot watch. I'm more than capable of doing a simple beta.>

"Oh, come on, Methos. Think how much I can learn by watching a Master at work."

<You've got a point, it certainly improved your sex scenes. All right, you can stay. You can be my beer-fetcher.>

"Oh. Joy. Promoting me from 'foot-rest,' huh?

<Shut up and pay attention.>
 

The Party
By Shehairizod

Duncan stirred as the first roseate rays of dawn splashed across his virile chest.  He stretched, enjoying the early morning warmth on his skin. His right foot connected with a bare thigh and he turned on his side to take in the splendor of the slender, alabaster man who shared his bed.  Duncan smiled and reached out to touch the tender spot behind Methos' ear, then leaned in to  suckle the lustrous lobe, whispering, "Sweetheart?  Love muffin?  Time to wake up.  It's the Big Day - Richie's coming home!"

"Wow."

<Do you understand now? Do you see how desperately this woman needs my help?>

"Just a tad purple, isn't it? You're gonna point that out to her, aren't you, Methos? Can't have those dangerous roseate rays splashing just anywhere now, can we?"

<Well...yes. Of course.>

"And this thing about Duncan's right foot and your thigh. Interesting positions you fellows sleep in."

<Yeah, I caught that too.>

"Uh-huh. Of course you did. So do we even need to mention 'alabaster,' 'lustrous,' or what a cliche that tender spot behind your ear has become?"

<I kind of like it when they do the tender spot behind the ear bit.>

"So do I. It's sexy. But in the interest of accuracy, Methos, don't you think you owe it to the slash writers to correct it, now that you've got the chance? Duncan says your tender spot isn't behind your ears. He says it's behind your..."

<Don't go there.>

"Believe me, Methos, I have no intention of going there. But that does bring us to 'suckling.' She used *suckling* Methos."

<So have you.>

"Not since Luminosity threw the unabridged dictionary at me."

<Fine. I'll tell her to lose the 'suckling.'>

"Methos, what exactly was it *you* didn't like about this?"

<Oh, please. It jumps right out at you!>

"What jumps right out at me?"

<Love muffin?>

"Right. You're definitely not the Love Muffin type. How about Cupcake?"
 

Methos slowly opened his eyes and smiled back when he saw Duncan.  He stretched slowly, and Duncan marveled anew at the gleaming beauty of Methos' ivory skin. He still couldn't believe Methos was here, sharing his life, sharing his bed. He'd never been so surprised as the night, not long ago, when Methos broke down and cried on his shoulder, professing his love in terms that still made Duncan blush to remember:  "The only man for me." "The love of my Immortal life." "My compass, my conscience, the key to the lock on my poor old heart."

<Don't make me slap you again.>

"I can't breathe!"

<Get up off the floor! You look stupid sitting there clutching your ribs. It wasn't *that* funny.>

"Oh, God. What are you gonna *do* with it, Methos?"

<Observe the Master at work, child, this one's an easy fix. I keep only the phrases where Duncan marvels at me and the fact that I'm with *him*, and ditch everything else. Pare it down to the bare essentials.>

"Please, for me, keep the part about 'My compass, my conscience, the key to the lock on my poor old heart.'"

<"Don't make me slap you again.>
 

Almond oil drizzled in a warm fragrant puddle on Methos' back and Duncan spent long minutes stroking the scented oil into Methos' alabaster skin.  He stroked between Methos' plump cheeks, touching the sweet rosy hole.  Unable to wait any longer, Duncan plunged his throbbing manhood inside his lover, his mate, his partner.  Methos reared his head back, shouting in joy at the completion, tears coursing down his cheeks as Duncan panted out his undying love between thrusts.

"Surprise! Almond oil!"

<Don't knock the almond oil. I like the almond oil. It's especially important when writers use phrases like 'plunged his throbbing manhood into his lover.' Remember that the next time you're writing a scene where Duncan throws me to the ground and ravishes me. Write it on your hand so you don't forget it. I *like* almond oil.>

"The next time? Been there, done that. Twice."

<Two and a half. And counting. I know you, you have no self- control whatsoever. You love having Duncan ravish me, so you'll use it again. And I really don't mind the ravishing part. But next time--almond oil. Or a reasonable facsimile.>

"You want almond oil? Post it on the fridge. If you can make space among all the 'buy more beer' notes. She's got you crying again, Methos. I love that."

<Yes, well, it's a common reaction to being plunged.">

"Did you notice 'alabaster' rear it's ugly little head again, Methos?"

<Hmmm. Pale? Ivory? Luminous?>

"I always think of your plump cheeks as 'fish-belly white.'"

"This is not helping."

<They contrast so well with your sweet rosy hole.>

"You are a total failure as a muse."

"Richie!  It's so good to see you, welcome home!"  Methos embraced the younger man, clapping a welcoming hand on his back.  "I knew you and Duncan would want some time alone, so I'm going to a hotel for a few nights."

<Oh, like *this* is going to happen!>

"Methos, calm down."

<You're dead, little wooden boy! D*E*A*D. Dead! Duncan killed you. *I* killed you. Why won't you *stay* dead?>

"Methos, shut up! Duncan'll hear you. You know how he gets about this. Do you really want *another* month of Bonny Portmore?"

"Meth ... Adam?  I want you to meet an old, old friend," Duncan said, drawing forward a tall, elegant woman who extended her hand to Methos, her almond-shaped eyes a glittering green.  Methos let his eyes wander her form, taking in the voluptuous breasts, the narrow waist and impossibly long legs before admiring the luxurious, waist-length auburn curls that crowned her beautiful face.

---

<Calm down. We don't want to disturb the Boy Scout, remember?>

"You're going to take her out, aren't you Methos? Please?"

<Haven't you beaten, killed and tortured enough MarySue-OFCs? I thought you'd gotten that out of your system. It's very unattractive.>

"Pleeeease, Methos."

<I like her. She's...decorative. Miranda stays.>

"Miranda, meet my... friend... Methos." Methos' heart sank.  Despite the nights of bliss, despite the early morning snuggles, despite their hours and hours of heartfelt talk, Duncan still couldn't acknowledge Methos as more than just...a friend. Putting on a brave face, Methos offered his elbow to Miranda and showed her to the punch bowl.

"I take it Miranda is history?"

History? Miranda is *dip*!

Methos looked up as a stranger entered the room.  Small of stature, with  a  headful of lustrous curls bouncing on his shoulders, he could have been  used as Webster's definition of "adorable." Methos raised a sardonic  brow  as Duncan went immediately to greet his newest guest, gushing  effusively,  "Blair!  I'm so glad you could make it!  How's Jim?"

---

 

<Are you willing to bet money on that?>

"We've had the Blair discussion before, I don't want to have it again. It's getting boring."

<A discussion wasn't quite what I had in mind. I'm the beta here, remember? *I* get to make the cuts this time. Besides, this one isn't Zen&nan's Blair. They'll never miss him.>

"Good point. Just get him off the carpet first."

"Well of *course* I knew, what do I look like?" Joe grumbled, his shaggy head bobbing as he poured another beer for Methos.  "You two have been dancing around each other, throwing off sparks, for years now.   All I can say is, it's about time."

"Thanks, Joe, it's great to know we have your support," Methos said sincerely.

---

<Not to mention a haircut.>

"But I kind of like the 'Methos said sincerely' part. Why won't you ever be sincere for *me*? Snotty, yes. Obnoxious, no problem. But let me ask for a little sincerity and I get laughed at."

<You're trying for sarcasm, aren't you?>

"Give me a break. I'm new at this muse business."

"I can't believe you invited that *witch* to Richie's party," Methos said miserably.  "Don't you remember what kind of woman she is?"

"Methos, that was months ago.  Come on, please, I'd like you to be friends. You both mean so much to me.  And she's changed, really, she has.  See?" Duncan pointed out the smiling auburn-haired beauty who floated towards them.

"Methos, how nice to see you," she cooed, reaching out both hands to him. Stunned, Methos automatically returned her greeting, leaning over to dust a kiss on her flawless cheek.

"I brought my special homemade strawberry cheesecake, would you like some?"

---

 

<With the hands. There's this nerve that's really close to the surface...>

"Aww, but she 'cooed,' Methos. And she brought cheesecake! Homemade. With, what a surprise, strawberries."

<I'm sure she'll look lovely in it.>
 

Duncan gasped as he felt Methos's body slide against him, hot and damp in his excitement. Shivering in anticipation, Duncan reached out to wrap his hands around Methos' enormous erection.  /The man is hung like a rhinoceros,/ he thought admiringly.

---

"Skipping ahead to the good parts, are we?"

<Yeah, doesn't look like she needs much help here.>

"Excuse me? I've walked in on you in the shower, remember?"

<Fine. I'll change it to horse.>

"What ever you say, Methos. You're the beta. But shouldn't Duncan's next line be 'ouch?'"

"Why do *I* get a present when Richie's the one just home from abroad?" Methos asked, shaking the gaily wrapped box.

"Well, I know how much you've been wanting a kitten, Methos, and I really, really wanted to get you one, but our lives just aren't designed for pets, so I hope this will be almost as good," Duncan said smoothly, watching as Methos unwrapped the box with childlike delight.

Inside was a Mrs. Noah cat, the best of all the best stuffed animals, soft and silky, its fur the same ivory shade as its new master.  Methos buried his face in the soft fur before reaching out to embrace Duncan, whispering under his breath, "I adore you, you broody, beautiful Boy Scout."

---

<A fake cat? He's giving me a *fake* cat?>

"It's sweet. I especially like the 'childlike delight' and the way she color-coordinated it with your skin."

<It's a fake cat! Does he think I'm that easy?>

"See how well I treat you? Not everybody thinks you deserve diamonds, old man."

<I'll give the beautiful boy scout something to brood about!>

"Methos, chill. If you don't like it, change it."

<Oh. I forgot for a minute that it wasn't the *real* Duncan.>

"The *real* Duncan?"

<Of course. This one is just fiction. The real Duncan is in the closet.>

"Uh, Methos..."

<What?>

"Never mind."

"So. What are you going to do now?"

<About what?>

"The story, Methos. You just eviscerated that poor woman's story. You left her with half an intro and a litany of your supposed virtues, physical and otherwise."

<Well, it's not like you were a lot of help.>

"I wasn't supposed to help. I fetched a hell of a lot of beer though."

<Yes, we've finally found a job worthy of your talents.>

"Do you want to hear what I think you should do, or not?"

<I'm not sure, but probably not.>

"It's an evil idea, Methos."

<"Is it wicked and underhanded?>

"Almost worthy of *you*, Methos."

<I'll bite. What is it?>

"Send her to the Senfic people."

<That's nasty. Horrible. One might even call it cruel. It's absolutely perfect!>

"I thought so. I wonder how high she can make the hairy, little, dickless wonder bounce?"

<You've redeemed yourself, Grasshopper. I'm very proud of you.>

"Thank you, Master."

 The End

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