Notes & Disclaimers: So this is something I started writing a few years ago and never finished. I dragged it out of mothballs on New Year's Eve this week and tinkered with it a bit, and decided that sometimes, no real ending is the best ending. So for what it's worth (not much)...

No plot, strictly a PWP.

Rated PG13

The Spaniard
by Ithildin
c. Jan. 2007



"This is wonderful." Methos took another sip. "Where did you say you found it?"

Triona sipped from her own glass, savoring the sweet, heady liqueur before answering. "A Spaniard I met on my last trip to New York. He told me about this little winery back home. Said they made the most exquisite sherry based spirits. Very few outside Spain know about the place."

"Spaniard, eh?" He cocked an eyebrow. "And just why did he decide to share his knowledge with you?" he asked with seeming indifference.

"I guess it was just my natural charm," she replied airily. "That -- and the fact he really liked blondes." Her eyes were sparkling wickedly as she waited for Methos to digest the last.

He made some unidentifiable noise -- a cross between a snort and a grunt. "And just how much did he like you?"

Getting off the sofa she walked over to the buffet, pouring herself another glass. Looking over her shoulder at Methos, she finally replied, "Oh, I'd say he liked me a lot. He told me I reminded him of an old lover." Turning once more to the buffet, she took a sip of liqueur. "And that when I moved it was like an echo of her in his minds eye." She felt him come up behind her, felt the heat of his body against her back. Teasing him, playing with his jealous streak, was always a risk. It was like playing with fire; never quite sure if you were going to get burned. "You know what Mediterraneans are like -- all earthy lust and smoldering passion."

He twirled her around, the force of the movement slopping the sticky liquid that filled the glass all over her. It trickled slowly down the skin exposed by her V neck dress. "I do," he said in a low voice. "But how do you?" He didn't wait for an answer, pulling her against him and kissing her hard.

For a moment she wondered if she'd pushed her teasing too far. But then she didn't care at all as his lips and hands worked their familiar magic on her body. There would be plenty of time to worry about retribution later. That thought sent a shiver of fear and lust up her spine -- there was always later.

Breathless, she pulled away, recklessly deciding to throw in one last tease. "You kiss much better than Paulo does." The look in his eyes made her forget how to breathe. Quickly, deciding she'd pushed a little too much, she added, "Did I mention that Paulo was seventy years old?"

"Seventy…" He just shook his head, shaking her a little before stepping away from her. "You little…."

Pouting, she replied, "I was only teasing. How was I to know you'd take it so seriously?" Looking up at him winsomely, she walked her fingers up his chest.

"Little girls who play with fire," he snagged her hand, "get burned." He smacked the hand he held lightly.

"Promises, promises." Tossing her head, she looked at him defiantly. "Besides, you’re the one that spilt all over the place," she said, holding up the empty glass accusingly. "Look at the mess you made!"

He took the glass from her hand, setting it down behind her. "Mess? So this is my fault?" he asked quietly, calmly. That should have warned her she was sinking fast.

"Well, it certainly wasn't mine," she said with just a hint of asperity.

His fingers grasped her chin, pulling her head up as her racing heart skipped a few beats. “Playing games can be dangerous, you should know that by now.” This was said in a voice so low, it barely brushed past her senses. “And if you’ve forgotten, my darling, then a reminder is long overdue...”

End?

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