Warning: Adult, Slash. This is sort of a companion piece to "Connected". Methos/Kronos
It takes place at Bordeaux at the Sub base, before Duncan came along and pissed us off.
I stand on the catwalk and look down at him, and today I don't spend time trying to understand the whys that made me track him down. It's enough that I've found him, and brought him back into the fold. Back where he belongs.
Five thousand years old. Centuries..no...millennia of knowledge, of strength, of fucking power. When I think about what he's capable of, it makes it hard to breathe.
No one else on earth can come close to what he is. Except for me. What we've done together, what we've been together, and what we will yet accomplish together binds us into a force that will not be conquered. Not by his Watcher associates. Not by the mortals he's mistakenly befriended. And certainly not by his sanctimonious Highland lover. Silas and Caspian have gone to take care of that little distraction.
The movement of his hand catches my eye as he turns the page in front of him. He has the hands of a scholar now and they lie still and calm on his book. He says he doesn't kill any longer, except as necessary to survive. But, he will. Because I've seen him at his best, at his most powerful. I've seen him close those same fine-boned hands around the most lethal of weapons and consign tens of thousands of souls to their fates, with not a second thought. Guilty or innocent....young or old...paupers or kings, it mattered not, he ruled them all. *We* ruled them all.
I feel myself harden at the memory of Methos in battle. A more brilliant strategist, there's never been. gods, he was magnificent! Such deadly cunning, such cold arrogance. And the strength to back it up.
He pauses in his reading now to stretch slowly, his movements a study of effortless grace, and I remember the long, hot desert nights when we lay together.
I rub the denim covering my crotch now as I watch the lamplight cast shadows on his face and remember the campfires of ages ago. We would lie awake and plan our raids, his voice sure and steady in the night. His eyes so intense, as he drew his battle plans in the sand. His laughter echoing softly in the night air as his excitement over the upcoming raid grew, until, as the fire died down and darkness crept over us, he'd reach for me.
Now, as my pulse quickens, as my memories take over, I unfasten my pants, needing release from the tightness. My cock is hot and hard and fills my hand as I remember Methos bearing down on the village at a furious pace, tall and proud on his mount, his voice screaming hoarsely, striking terror into the hearts of the fools in his path.
I clinch my teeth to bite back a moan as I fist my cock steadily, surrendering to the pictures in my mind. The Horsemen thundering into the midst of the village, blades cutting through the air...the screams of the stupid mortals....the metallic scent of blood...the frenzied cries of the beasts beneath us...the fear...gods...the fear in the faces of those who would challenge us.
And always...always beside me...there was Methos. Ruthless, coldly efficient, terrifyingly thorough Methos.
Fire burns in my belly and my dick pulses against my hand, as I see him in the aftermath, kneeling upon the hot sand. Tunic torn and muddy, dark hair soaked in sweat. I kneel beside him and his eyes are hot with lust, his chest heaving, his hands bloodied.
And I would throw back my head and my screams would echo throughout the land, declaring yet again the invincibility of The Horsemen. And we'd sink to the hot sand and fuck like mad things, clutching and grunting and biting and *consuming* each other.....and no one...no one would ever stop us.
I feel my balls tighten and a shudder runs through me as I come hard, his face and smell and image so real in my mind that I can feel him. I gasp, trying to catch my breath, reeling as I milk the last of the hot come from my body.
Sinking slowly to the concrete floor, I once again look down on my Immortal Brother. Yes. We will ride again.