A Drabble is a story of exactly 100, 250, or 500 words. The Richie/Methos List was challenged to write Drabbles about Valentine’s Day which also included the word Cupid . These three, of increasing length, are sequential. Each section has its own disclaimers and warnings.

All right, here’s the 100 word drabble. The heck with a title. I can’t think of one and I’ve already spent more time than it took to write it. Not mine, no profit. Thanks to Emma for the read-through. Not enough words allowed to have sex in this part, although if we get to the 500 word story, we’ll have to see how creative (and brief) the boyz can be.
Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone : )

“ M eth, order the beer and I’ll meet you at the table, okay?” Richie asked. “I have to pee.”

“Sure,” Methos agreed, trailing his hand across Richie’s shoulders as Richie crossed towards the restrooms. He made his way to the counter and was about to order, when a pair of sparkling green eyes caught his in a nearby mirror. Damn.

Striding over to the seated figure, he muttered an irritated, “Cupid.”

“Hey, Methos! You and Richie out for Valentine’s Day?”

In one powerful movement Methos grabbed the neck of Cupid’s t-shirt and hauled him up. “What have you done?!” he shouted.

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Here's the 250 word drabble. Same story with the title. Usual disclaimers.
Another big thank you to Emma. : )

“I’ m sorry about that,” Richie apologized when Cupid’s feet were once again on the ground and Methos was safely across the room.

“Don’t be. The Old Timer and I go way back.” Sensual lips curved wickedly. “I just gave him a start, that's all.”

“Oh?”

Cupid leaned his head close to Richie’s. “Your boyfriend is afraid I shot him with one of my arrows, and that all of the slippery romantic feelings he’s been having are my fault, and not some happy twist of fate.”

Richie gazed levelly at the other man. “Did you? Did you shoot him, shoot us?”

“I didn’t have to,” Cupid admitted with a laugh. He nodded towards a couple in a nearby booth. “That woman there I shot last week, set her up with a guy that was perfect for her. Now here she is back with the loser ex-boyfriend who beats her. Why she thinks that’s love, I have no idea. That man at the bar got hit right between the eyes last week while he was ignoring this girl that was perfect for him. He loves her, but he’s here alone because he doesn’t think he deserves her. Idiot.” The beaming smile returned. “You and Methos know what love is, and you’re both smart enough to hang onto it. Doesn’t leave a whole lot for me to do.”

“Sorry,” Richie grinned.

“Don’t be,” Cupid chuckled. “It’s still not going to be easy, you know.”

“I don’t need easy,” Richie answered. “I need Methos.”

---

Here’s a 500 word Drabble. If it had a title, it would be Listen . Disclaimers, yadda, yadda.
Thanks again to Emma for the beta. : )

“ I f that little punk...”

“He didn’t ,” Richie insisted, pushing Methos inside their apartment.

“And you believe him?” Methos exclaimed, stopping abruptly.

“Yes,” Richie replied. “But even if he did shoot arrows at us, it doesn’t change anything. Either way, Methos, I love you.”

The angry light in the hazel eyes was replaced by sweeping tenderness. “I love you, too, Richie.” Methos caught the twinkle in Richie’s eyes and the smile playing on his lips, and questioned, “What’s so funny?”

“It’s nothing,” Richie answered, shaking his head. “It’s just... Cupid called you my boyfriend.”

“And you don’t like that term?” Methos asked quietly, a thread of tension in his voice.

“It’s just so... high school, I guess,” Richie explained. “We’re not... we’re not holding hands in the halls, making out in the backseat of some old car, and sneaking in after curfew.”

“So if not your boyfriend, then what am I?” the older immortal pressed, more relief in his smile than he cared to admit.

“You’re everything.”

The simple words hit Methos hard.

Everything .

His smirk faded as emotion flooded through him. He pulled Richie into a fierce kiss, the brief explosion of feeling settling his nerves even as it sparked desire. Today of all days there were things to say to Richie, things to say not in the heat of passion but from the depths of his heart.

In silence he took Richie’s hand and led him to the living room. Richie sat on the rug in front of the fireplace while Methos coaxed the fire to life. Once the fire burned steadily, he sprawled on the rug next to Richie, weighing his words carefully.

“You have a way,” Methos informed his lover at last, “of making complicated things very simple. You’ve already said in two words what I have struggled to say in a hundred, in a thousand.” A wry grin appeared, and Methos continued, “I don’t know why I have trouble finding words for you. It’s so clear in my mind, in my heart, but somehow it seems to get lost in the translation.”

“I know you love me, Methos.”

“I hope so, Richie,” the older man sighed. An elegant hand reached out to cradle Richie’s jaw. “You are the reason I get up in the morning, and the reason I am able to sleep at night. I lived without those things for so long.... Can you even begin to understand what it means to me to have you in my life?” With a frustrated sound, Methos frowned. “I don’t have the words, Richie.”

“Yes, you do,” Richie reassured Methos, taking his hand and kissing the palm. “I hear them. I hear you. In my mind, in my heart — all the time.” Pressing Methos back onto the carpet and stretching out on top of him, Richie captured his lips in a deep, tongue tangling kiss. I love you. I love you, it proclaimed.

“I heard that,” Methos breathed with a cream-licking smile. “But you’d better let me listen again.”

© 2002 Nikki Memmott