Sunday at home with nothing to do... (Possibly NWS)
Weekends were blessedly quiet. Methos could spend them relaxing in his apartment.
It still felt as though he were invading CJ's space. The sensation was not altogether unpleasant. She'd only been here for a few weeks, but the possessions she left behind spoke to an eclectic and lively mind.
He went to lean against the railing, looking back into the patio. She'd stood there, inches away, and he imagined what it would have been like if she hadn't moved away. If he had leaned foward and laid his lips on hers.
They would have been cool from the beer they both were drinking, warming under his. Tentitive, maybe, but not shy. He imagined bringing ohe hand up to cup her cheek, to slide his fingers into her hair...
And in his imaginings, a hand settled on the small of his back, intimitely low. Not hers; hers were on his shoulders. The warmth of another person pressed behind him, a masculine chuckle in his ear.
He could feel CJ smiling against his mouth, her hands pulling him -- them -- closer to her. Arms slid around him from behind, palms flat to his abdomen, as CJ broke their kiss to lean closer and catch the mouth of the Doctor behind him.
Methos blinked and came back to himself, standing alone on the patio. For a few moments he did nothing but attempt to draw air into lungs that were strangely choked of it. Then he went back inside to take a very, very cold shower.
It still felt as though he were invading CJ's space. The sensation was not altogether unpleasant. She'd only been here for a few weeks, but the possessions she left behind spoke to an eclectic and lively mind.
He went to lean against the railing, looking back into the patio. She'd stood there, inches away, and he imagined what it would have been like if she hadn't moved away. If he had leaned foward and laid his lips on hers.
They would have been cool from the beer they both were drinking, warming under his. Tentitive, maybe, but not shy. He imagined bringing ohe hand up to cup her cheek, to slide his fingers into her hair...
And in his imaginings, a hand settled on the small of his back, intimitely low. Not hers; hers were on his shoulders. The warmth of another person pressed behind him, a masculine chuckle in his ear.
He could feel CJ smiling against his mouth, her hands pulling him -- them -- closer to her. Arms slid around him from behind, palms flat to his abdomen, as CJ broke their kiss to lean closer and catch the mouth of the Doctor behind him.
Methos blinked and came back to himself, standing alone on the patio. For a few moments he did nothing but attempt to draw air into lungs that were strangely choked of it. Then he went back inside to take a very, very cold shower.