Den of Chaos Fiction
Highlander: the Series

A Little Night Music
by Sandi


Warnings: This is a slash piece, Methos/Kronos. If you're underage or homophobic, you don't want to be here.

Kronos stood with his back against a tree trunk, staring out across the lake. The water shimmered in the moonlight, and stars lit up the sky like a splash of diamonds across black velvet. The air around him was still and quiet.

That was the problem. He hated "still and quiet". Restlessness stirred deep inside him like some slowly waking dragon.

He tensed as his senses registered the approach of another Immortal, then relaxed as he recognized the familiar signature.

"Out for a midnight stroll, Methos?"

"I saw you from my window. Something wrong?"

Kronos shook his head slightly. "No."

Unspoken words hung heavy between them.

Methos studied the man in front of him, taking note of his tense posture. Others would never notice, but then no one knew Kronos quite as well as his Brother did. Knew his moods, his needs, his desires, his fears. Because even The End of Time had fears. And after thousands of years, centuries of closeness, Methos alone was allowed past the emotional barriers which Kronos had oh so carefully constructed. Methos alone was equal to the challenge that was Kronos. Because, as much as he might not admit it, when all was said and done, they were that much alike.

Methos recognized the unrest stirring within Kronos well, because it took hold of his own soul all too often. Instinctively, the ancient Immortal stepped towards his Brother to offer a most effective, however fleeting, balm.

Kronos stilled as Methos placed a warm hand on the back of his neck, pulling him gently but insistently towards him. His kiss was sure and steady, without the almost desperate urgency which usually marked their coupling. Kronos answered the invitation willingly, opening his mouth to allow the soft slide of Methos' tongue inside. The sultry night air seemed to close around them as he wrapped his arms around his ancient lover's waist and settled against his slender form, surrendering to the intoxicating pull of the world's oldest man.

Their tongues mated in an easy, languid dance which was older than even themselves, and the world around them slowly receded, until once again, it narrowed down to just the two of them.

Kronos moved his mouth to the vulnerable skin of Methos' neck, giving in to a primal need to mark this man as *his*. He sucked hungrily, rewarded by his lover's soft moans. He let the familiar taste and scent of Methos wash over him, grounding him as it had so very many times over the ages. He felt sure hands drag down his spine to cup his ass and pull him closer, as his fingers worked at the buttons of the older man's shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the damp grass at their feet.

His skin was cool against the warm summer air, and Kronos felt him shiver under his palms as they grazed his nipples.

Taking a step back, Kronos watched as Methos slowly removed the rest of his clothes until he stood naked. Light from the moon shone on his pale, slender form, making him look like the elusive spirit that he was. Five thousand years old. Magical. Mysterious. So damned seductive.

Kronos pulled his T-shirt up and over his head, tossing it carelessly aside, and immediately found himself back in his lover's arms. His breath caught as Methos' tongue made a slow drag across his chest...teasing at his nipples...drawing erotic patterns on his stomach. Deft fingers unsnapped his jeans, and it was his turn to shiver as Methos dropped to his knees, sliding the denim down his thighs.

He clenched his fists as the other man continued his tantalizing journey, breath warm and soft against his belly, teeth nipping at the hair at his groin, lips sucking the skin of his thighs, until a low moan escaped him. Methos paused then, looking up at him, and it was all Kronos could do not to come at the sight of this ancient man at his feet. Pale hands rested on his thighs. Hands that had for centuries caressed...nurtured...loved. Hands that had tortured...raped...killed. Eyes now soft and clouded with passion were the same eyes that had stared at death countless times and conquered it. Eyes that understood every dark corner of Kronos' soul. Understood and accepted.

Despite himself, Kronos' fingers shook a little as he threaded them through Methos' dark hair. Tilting his hips, he sighed as he slid his cock past his lover's lips into wet, welcoming heat.

The night around him took on a dream-like quality as Methos worked his cock. The sultry air hung heavy , and moonlight bathed them in an ethereal glow. Somewhere in the distance, a night bird called out. Water lapped gently at the shores of the lake. And over and above everything, there was Methos. Giving to him. Taking from him. Challenging him. Surrendering to him.

Strong fingers kneaded his ass, pulling him closer. Cupped his balls with expert care. Kronos felt a slow burn deep in his gut as he fisted his hands in Methos' damp hair and began to fuck his mouth with long, steady strokes. His partner sucked greedily, his groans driving Kronos closer and closer to release. The Horseman drew a ragged breath as Methos pushed a moist finger deep inside him and Kronos screamed as he came. Spasms rocked his body as his cock pulsed, sending streams of hot fluid into the throat of his Brother, who milked him greedily until Kronos sank to the ground, supported by the steady strength of Methos' arms.

Those same arms held him securely as his breathing slowed, his heartbeat settled into something approaching normal. Gradually, Kronos became aware once more of his surroundings. Felt the solid warmth of his lover's body...the sweat-soaked hair under his hand...the long, lean legs entangled with his own....the insistent pushing of Methos' erection against his thigh.

He shuddered as Methos tongued his nipple, and spread his legs as the older man shifted to lie between them. Methos raised his head to look at him, and Kronos felt his insides tighten with want. Hair damp on his forehead...pale skin flushed...lips swollen...eyes unfocused and heavy with need. He looked impossibly young, enticingly vulnerable...imminently dangerous. And he was the only man alive that Kronos would allow to take him.

Methos kissed him once more. A kiss that affirmed the bond between them. A kiss that spoke of trust. Of promises made. Of debts paid. Of secrets kept. Then, he rose above him and spread his legs wide, bending them, holding him open and vulnerable. Finally, breaching his body with a long, savage push, instinctively measuring his Brother's need, and filling it. Kronos cried out, his hands clawing at the ground, and thrust his hips up to meet him.

Sweat stung his eyes as he focused on his ancient lover, his harsh whispers breaking the silence of the night. "Do it, Methos. Fuck me."

With a ragged moan, Methos braced his hands on the ground beside him and did just that, pounding into him again and again as if to lay claim to him, body and soul. Until, with a final, deep push, Methos came inside him, filling him with hot semen, grinding into him relentlessly, before collapsing into his arms.

Kronos stirred, aware that dawn was approaching. The stars had faded, the moon was sinking low, and a faint tinge of red highlighted the lake. He shivered as a soft breeze brushed his body, and he sat up to reach for his jeans. As if hearing some silent, mental signal, from his Brother, Methos opened his eyes and stretched lazily.

After dressing unhurriedly, the two oldest men on Earth made their way into yet another day.

The End 

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