"You are not, Joe," Methos said as he set a mug of coffee in front of the other man.
Joe was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. "Yes, I am. I've lost my sight. I'll never be able to Watch again."
Methos rolled his eyes and continued to make breakfast. There weren't enough eggs for omelets so he had opted to make French toast, especially seeing as how there was real Fancy Grade maple syrup tucked in the back of the refrigerator. "Well, next time you'll knock," he countered.
Duncan sat next to Joe, his face clouded in concern. "Maybe we should take you to the hospital," he suggested. He watched Joe tentatively reach out and try to find the coffee, groping unsuccessfully before Duncan guided his hand to the mug. "You're in shock," he said, guilt lacing his words. "You've had a stroke or a seizure. Maybe an aneurism."
"He's not blind," Methos insisted. He finished piling the French toast onto a plate and added a pat of butter to the top before bringing it to the table where he doled it out. "Here. Eat. You'll feel better any minute now."
"I highly doubt it," Joe said, still hunched over and pressing his fingers against his eyes.
Methos smiled at Duncan. "Besides, I'm thinking our blood sugar must be pretty low by now."
Duncan stared hard at Methos for a moment. Damn, the man was teasing him again. He was torn. He should continue to attend to Joe, the poor man had lost his sight! But Methos was picking up a strip of French toast between his fingers and the toast was glistening with butter and syrup. Methos popped the piece into his mouth and then proceeded to lick at his fingertips, his tongue darting out, pink and sharp.
Duncan felt his breathing speed up, his attention riveted to the performance in front of him.
Methos plucked another strip from his plate, closing his eyes in apparent ecstasy as he chewed. The amber syrup had run over his knuckles and had started lazily spreading towards his wrist.
Duncan reached out and caught the wrist just before Methos turned it to start licking again. He brought the sticky hand to his own mouth and gently began licking and sucking the sweet boiled sap from those long, tapered fingers. He trapped Methos' index finger in his mouth, pushing the pad of the finger towards his palate and sliding his tongue past the distal knuckle and over the broad, smooth fingernail. He could almost taste the wood-smoke in the syrup and the salt from Methos' skin piqued the abundant sweetness. He allowed the fingertip to scrape along the bottom of his front teeth and escape past the suction of his lips. Methos let loose a long, rumbling breath and Duncan felt desire flare deep in his gut.
Still clasping the buttery, sticky wrist, he leaned forward and licked at Methos' lips, sweet and salt mingling together and causing his mouth to water. With his free hand he reached out and clasped behind Methos' neck, brought the other man closer, and began to devour that which was necessary to sustain life.
Dimly, behind him, he heard Joe begin to move.
"Guys? I think I'm better. I can see light again. I'm okay now." Joe stopped pressing against his eyelids and finally opened his eyes. Then he made a strangling noise.
Reluctantly Duncan pulled away, Methos tenaciously resisting separation for a moment. "Joe? Are you okay?"
"Shit! I'm blind again!"