by FF Calliope


For those of you with long memories, this is the Methos/Kronos slash piece that I promised Jenn when she copied "Rowing With the Wind" for me. Sorry it took so long, Jenn! This is my first slash piece (I am a Hetskateer, after all <G>); I hope I haven't mangled the genre too badly.

This story contains violence and male/male sex. Therefore, if you are a minor (under 18 years of age) or are squeamish, drop this like a hot potato. If you continue to read after this warning, don't blame me.

The Other Legalities: Highlander is the property of Gaumont Television and Rysher TPE, based on the character created by Gregory Widen and the underlying characters and concept of Davis/Panzer Productions, Inc. I just like playing in their sandbox; no copyright infringement is intended.

Many thanks to Emma B., Ann Stephens, Cindy Deas, Meg Wittenmyer, and Jennifer Ship for their beta-reading. They all helped me to improve the story immensely. Any errors, grammatical or otherwise, are my own damned fault and none of theirs.

copyright August, 1997

"I don't really enjoy punishing you, Methos." Kronos grinned down at his prisoner, hands on his hips. The other man lay in a bloody heap on the ground, barely alive. His wrists were bound together, still attached to the horse which had just dragged him across several miles of desert. "It doesn't have to be like this."

Methos rolled onto his back, his face a mask of pain and exhaustion. Sneering sarcastically, he retorted, "And how else can it be?"

"I could give you everything you ever dreamed of." Going to the horse, he untied one of the water skins and worked the cork loose. The other man pretended to ignore him, but he knew better. Kronos raised the skin to his lips and drank noisily. "Ahhh, that's good. Thirsty?"

Methos didn't bother to answer. Chuckling, Kronos knelt beside him. A strong one, this. Stubborn as a mule and more clever than a magician, good with a sword, and much more pleasant to look at than either Caspian or Silas. More of a challenge, too. He'd make a fine addition to their band. Holding out the skin, he said, almost casually, "Drink."

Dark eyes narrowed, not trusting him, but at last the bound hands reached out to grasp the skin. Methos sat up and drank carefully, not making himself sick by taking too much all at once. Smart, and self-controlled, Kronos thought. The closest I've ever found to an equal.

"You see? I can be quite a good fellow, if you give me a chance. I want us to be friends. More than friends - brothers." A thrill of anticipation flashed through him. What a team they would make.

The prisoner choked on a mouthful of water, clearly neither expecting nor trusting such an offer. Scowling, he retorted, "You have an interesting way of showing it."

Kronos grinned. He did like a man with a sense of humor. "Well, I could hardly let you get away with trying to kill me, now could I? Sets a bad example." Taking the skin back, he re-corked it and put it away.

"It was my job. They hired me to guard the caravan. Nothing personal."

"But you kept trying, long after there was nothing and no one left to save. You're the most troublesome prisoner we've ever taken. Made quite a nuisance of yourself."

"What did you expect?" Methos snapped. Then, more slowly, he added, "Do I look like a man who'll willingly be another's slave?"

"No." His smile faded, and he leaned close to stare into his prisoner's eyes, so close that his breath stirred tangled strands of hair. "You look like a man who should be a god. You look like one of us."

Methos didn't back away from him - if anything, he leaned in closer. Trying to show he wasn't intimidated? Or was there some other reason, Kronos wondered, pulse beating faster. Something flickered behind those multi-colored eyes, and Methos said, "Keep talking."

Even battered and dirty, his clothing in shreds, he remained arrogant as a king. What a perfect tool he would be for a man who knew how to use him! First, though, he must learn his place in the grand scheme of things.

Kronos stood and drew his sword. Grabbing hold of the rope attached to his prisoner's wrists, he jerked him to his knees so that his long body stretched out like a sacrificial offering. Then he brought the blade up and held it to the slender, vulnerable neck. His prisoner stiffened, chin rising, jaw tightening. The sight of it made his cock swell until it strained against the leather of his breeches. Feel my power over you, Methos, he thought. Never forget who owns you, body and soul. I'll give you the illusion of freedom, but you will always be mine.

Like a cat toying with its prey, he pressed the edge of the blade in just enough to break the skin. Methos gave a little shudder, then his dry, cracked lips parted in ... invitation? Kronos almost couldn't believe his eyes, but the signs of arousal were unmistakable. Sexual tension charged the air between them, dark and elemental. His gaze focused on the perfect curve of his prisoner's throat, and fresh blood welled up to glitter in the sunlight, making his heart beat faster as he inhaled the coppery scent of it. With a voice as sharp as his sword, he said, "There are two kinds of people in this world: those who take what they want, and those who lose what they have. Which would you rather be?"

"Which do you think?" The answer was a hiss of air, barely audible.

"I think that the four of us will be unstoppable." Kronos pushed the prisoner's hands down behind his head so that his elbows jutted up awkwardly. The slim body arched. "You and I are alike, Methos. Together, we'll rule the world." Shifting his grip on his sword, Kronos turned it to lay the flat of the blade against Methos' chest, then slid it downwards in a deliberate caress over ribs that rose and fell with each ragged breath, over the flinching muscles of his stomach, finally bringing it to a stop at the hipbones. Just beneath, his prisoner's cock jutted out, erect, his clothing too tattered to hide it. Kronos' lips drew back to bare his teeth. "See how well I know what you want?"

He had to feel humiliation, but Methos didn't show it. Black eyes glittered in a mosaic of hatred and desire, and his voice deepened into a challenging growl. "What do you want, Kronos?"

"Everything." His erection throbbed painfully. Tossing his sword away, he grabbed hold of the angular face and bent down to savage dirty, dry lips with a kiss as harsh as his needs.

The lean body twisted, throwing him off-balance, and Kronos found himself on his back. An elbow stabbed into his ribs forcefully enough to break them, sending pain like a flash of light through him, and one hard forearm slammed over his throat, pinning him down.

"Brothers," Methos snarled. "Not Master and slave."

Rage flared, but in the next instant he grinned. This was too perfect. When the forearm eased up enough for him to talk, he thrust his hips higher so that their erections rubbed together, and answered, "Brothers... and more."

Lust drew the skin tight across the sharp bones of Methos' face. Straddling Kronos, he sat back on his heels and shoved his bound hands forward. "Cut me loose... Brother."

Kronos drew his dagger and sawed through the rope. Watching the other man closely, he slipped the blade under the shredded remains of his clothes and cut them away, taunting him with little flicks that made sunlight dance over the metal. Methos' eyes narrowed, and his cock twitched visibly. When the tip of the knife scratched into his pale skin, though, he captured Kronos' wrist and forced it back.

I'll let you have your way, this time, Brother, Kronos thought. Already, he felt the magic of immortality healing his ribs, re-knitting them, and its prickling sensation deepened his arousal. Resisting just enough to make him work for it, he allowed Methos to push his arm down to the ground, while his free hand reached between those long legs.

Hard muscles shifted as the thin body leaned over him. Methos thrust into his grasp, and kissed him violently enough to draw blood, the taste of it whipping him into a frenzy of excitement. Teeth clashed and tongues tangled wetly together in a duel for dominance which neither man won.

Abruptly, Methos released him and slid down his body. Strong fingers yanked his pants open, and off. Kronos rose up onto his elbows to watch as his cock sprang free, only to be covered by a hot, slick mouth. Pleasure drew a hiss through his clenched teeth. Gods, yes. Silky friction pulled at him relentlessly, sucking up and down his shaft, making it gleam. His balls tightened, and he reached down to grab a fistful of hair, guiding Methos' head, faster, just like that, yessss, perfect --

With a sharp jerk, the other man tore free of his hold, replacing his mouth with a hand. He'd have preferred to drill his seed into the back of Methos' throat, but it was too late to stop. Long fingers curled around him and stroked, and he exploded, pulsing against the callused palm, sticky wetness pumping all over them both.

Methos gathered up the thick, creamy fluid and sat back on his heels to coat his own cock with it. Before he realized what the other man intended, Kronos found his knees hooked over broad shoulders, his ass lifted high, cheeks spread open. The cock speared into him, and he howled at the pain of it, but at the same time, his orgasm intensified tenfold until the world reeled. It was still twitching through him when he felt Methos begin to spurt deep in his bowels. A snarl of victory twisted the narrow face, and together they rode it out until both were finished.

Panting, the two men stared at each other. Adversaries, brothers... and more.