Tied

"I've had him, you know...."

Arms snaked around him, fingers carelessly pinching a nipple, roving possessively over Methos' chest. Hardness behind, too, leather-clad and slender pressed up against him. He suppressed a shudder and played the game, leaning back into the touch and keeping the loathing from his voice as he asked lightly, "Had who?"

"Your Highlander, of course," Kronos answered brightly, slipping his hand down to rub over Methos' groin. "Your good friend, Duncan MacLeod." He chuckled lewdly, giving Methos' lax cock a hard squeeze through the fabric of his jeans. "He was good, too – not as good as you, of course, Brother. But then no one is quite like you." A wet tongue laved his neck and without thinking about it, Methos lifted his chin, tilting his head away to allow the caress.

He was lying of course – just another of Kronos' more ambitious lies. There was no way in this or any other universe that MacLeod would touch Kronos.

Never.

Methos was silent as Kronos licked his way from the point of his collarbone to the hollow beneath his ear. Despite his fear, he shivered and hated himself for it a heartbeat later. The silence around them was heavy – oppressive – broken only by the steady drip of water leaking through the roof of the old power plant. He jumped as sharp teeth sank into his earlobe.

"You don't believe me, do you, Methos?" Kronos whispered, his hands still busily plucking and rubbing over Methos' body.

"Well...now you mention it," Methos shot back, pleased with his ability to find that sardonic tone of voice despite the dread sitting heavily in his gut. "No."

Kronos cackled and the sound rang explosively in Methos' ear.  "Oh, Brother...I have missed you." The hand that had been caressing Methos' unresponsive groin grew bolder and deft fingers tugged his jeans open and slid inside to envelop him. "It's true," Kronos insisted, his voice still that terrifying mix of eager little boy and hissing viper. "Aren't you going to ask me how or when – surely there's no reason to ask why, is there?" His hand stroked, almost too gently, along Methos' cock, still stubbornly unaroused, despite Methos willing it otherwise.

It was too dangerous to let Kronos know the extent of his loathing, even after all these years. Better by far to go along – play along with whatever madness Kronos had dreamed up this time and wait for a moment to slip away quietly. Methos closed his eyes, ordering his body to respond to Kronos' touch, but even that, today, seemed beyond his control. He hissed as Kronos squeezed him hard, the sudden harsh grip of fingers tightening painfully against his crotch making his eyes water.

And he was still talking, Methos realized, less little boy now and a good deal more viper. "No need at all to ask why. He's really quite...exquisite in his own way. Lovely body, wonderful cocksucker mouth," Kronos chuckled, deep and low as if in fond remembrance and, not for the first time that night, Methos fought the very real urge to flee and damn the consequences. "And he does love to take it up that tight, tight little arse..."

Kronos' arms were tight around him, deadly and familiar -- repellent and grounding all at once. Methos allowed it, telling himself he could not do otherwise – telling himself that Kronos' words – his touch had no effect on him. Wishing it was true. Unmistakable arousal pressed even harder against Methos' backside and suddenly touch and reality and images collided -- fusing and melding into consuming need. All Methos could see in his mind's eye was Duncan, naked and beautiful, writhing beneath his own body, lost in passion. Lost.

We're through.

Methos twisted in his brother's arms and closed his eyes, leaning in to crush their mouths together. He felt Kronos' gasp suck the breath from his mouth, feeling the briefest moment of triumph for having surprised the little bastard at last. Then teeth clashed and blood tang sparked across his tongue as Methos bore his brother to the floor.

***

And, somehow, when Methos came back to himself they were lying – he and Kronos – on the same raised circular platform where he'd revived that afternoon. The chain – that chain – still lay where Kronos had thrown it and Methos knew with utter certainty that it all could have been so very much worse. Vague memories returned to him, blood, sweat, semen and searing, overwhelming pleasure so close to pain there seemed to be no distinction between them at all. But not once during the whole time had he dared look into Kronos' pale, mad eyes. Methos knew what he would see reflected there and he was close enough to being lost as it was.

Beside Methos, Kronos rolled up an elbow, turning to face him. A callused finger caught the point of Methos' chin and drew his gaze upwards until he had no choice but to meet those eyes at last.

"Shall I tell you about it now?" Kronos asked, his voice dropping a register, sounding husky and rough.

Methos looked into his brother's eyes and saw himself. Silently, he inclined his head in a single nod.

A look of deep satisfaction passed across Kronos' face for a second and then he smiled, shark-like and cold. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist. I know you too well, Brother."

Methos raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. He wasn't sure he could trust his voice anyway.

"All right, all right. I can see you are impatient for the story to begin. This is quite a change for us, isn't it, Methos? You were always the storyteller, still...some things do change...." Kronos trailed off almost wistfully and traced a finger down the side of Methos' face.

He hadn't thought his gut could get any colder, but the gentleness was harder to bear than the violence. It always had been.

He sighed and Kronos looked at him for a long, silent moment, assessing, calculating. "Not feeling nostalgic, today, Methos? Ah, well. I am. And not just for our time, either, no.... Seeing MacLeod again has brought back all sorts of memories, some far more recent."

Methos gave a dismissive little shrug and pretended he didn't give a damn.

"I see you're eager for me to begin." Kronos smiled again, just with his teeth. "Where were you in the 1970's, Methos? Did you ever get to Paris? Wonderful city, full of..." a hoarse, lewd chuckle, the same as ever, "possibilities." Kronos' voice purred on and Methos fell into the story despite himself, seeing it unfold behind his eyes as they drifted shut, pretending the hands on his body were square and brown.

***

It was September and Paris was cold, the night air already crisp with winter. He walked along the narrow backstreet, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his coat, smiling to himself as he walked. The music from the club was just a heavy bass beat until the door opened and a couple spilled out onto the pavement, bringing the ear-splitting noise with them. He stepped around the men, paying them almost no attention at all, and walked lightly up the three stairs that led up into the club, taking a last deep breath of fresh air before he passed through the door.

It was as well he had; the air inside was anything but fresh, heavy scented with dope, booze and poppers and the faint promise of other odors almost, but not quite, obscured. Still, he hadn't come here for the atmosphere. But the company usually proved amusing. The crowd pulsed on the dance floor, all men of course; this wasn't the sort of club that encouraged a mixed clientele. They posed and pranced and he gave them an idle once-over, shrugging off his coat and checking it with the drag diva glowering at him from behind the counter.

His sword was still inside, but he wasn't going to need it here, besides, he still had the long knife in his boot if things came to that. He grinned to himself, feeling...what was that saying again...ah yes -- ten feet tall and bulletproof. A beautiful boy, all fresh and sweet and practically smelling of innocence very recently lost, brushed by him, not so innocently, and he ran an appreciative hand over his hard, little ass, sighing happily. Life was damn good.

But it wasn't the sweet, neon-colored pleasures of the upstairs room that he'd come to sample tonight, his interest, as so often happened, lay in the sharper, darker sensations one could only find on the lower level. In the 'dungeon'. Hah. If they only knew. He slipped through the crowd and headed for the stairs.

The music was still audible as he went down, but it grew duller with every step, suppressed by the thick, stone walls and the door that swung shut behind him. This lower part of the building was old – for Paris anyway. He was about halfway down the long stairway when the presence of another Immortal shivered over him. He paused with his hand on the railing and scanned the group below.

Leather seemed to be the dress of the day down here – for those that were dressed, of course. But which of the players was the Immortal? Not the pale young thing with the blood dripping from his back as a master lit into him with a whip. Not an Immortal with wounds like that, open and lovely against his white skin. Exquisite blood, almost black in the red-tinted light. He could almost feel the whip in his own hand and he had to bite off the surge of desire to go and play. Tonight was for other games.

Perhaps it was the strong-looking one bent over the horse with another man's fist inside him – forearm deep while he bucked again it, begging for more, and a small crowd of onlookers, well...looked on – or waited their turn. He was a possibility. But not the only one, so he continued to scan. He was beginning to think he was going to have to go down, take a closer look, when his eyes landed on a vaguely familiar figure manacled against the wall.

Oh, yes. That was the one. The hair was all wrong, of course, the long mane replaced by some hideous shaggy thing that just brushed his neck. All the rage these days, although why was anyone's guess. But it was him all right, he could see that unmistakable profile lit by the fake torch glowing from the sconce nearby. Not just an Immortal, but one who owed him. Time to repay the favor. He was going to enjoy this.

Duncan MacLeod, the Highlander, one-time Texas Ranger and defender of the weak and helpless.... Hah...wasn't that an interesting turn of events? He ran his tongue over his teeth and grinned.

His cock twitched impatiently in his pants as he wandered down the rest of the stairs and into the dungeon proper. He couldn't take his eyes off the figure against the wall: his hands locked above his head, pulling the muscles of his shoulders and back tight, sweat slipping down the vee they made, glossing the skin and leading his eye down to his ass and his wide-spread legs.

And the other man's hand very busy between those legs.

Well well well, who knew? It really was quite amusing – not to mention arousing – to discover that MacLeod had a taste for the darker side of life. Gave them something in common, which was even more amusing. To him, anyway; he doubted MacLeod would find it so. A voice whispered in his ear and a hand skimmed down his side, but he brushed it away without even looking at the man. He had bigger fish to fry...or something.

The thought gave him a warm little glow as he walked the rest of the way across the dungeon room. MacLeod was pushing back against the man's hand, shuddering with pleasure as something large and black disappeared inside him. The other man was a nothing – a clone – muscles, long, blond hair, nothing he couldn't get anywhere in the world. And he had to go; he had plans for MacLeod that certainly didn't include anyone else.

He knew it the second MacLeod felt his presence. These young things...no range at all. MacLeod surged against his bonds, straining frantically to see who was behind him. He slipped behind the fisting group and evaded MacLeod's eyes. He could see the blond trying to soothe him, trying to still his desperation, while still working the dildo inside him as he rubbed his cock against MacLeod's hip. MacLeod bucked and fought, managing to throw the man back, even though his feet were chained as well as his hands. He really was quite something. This was going to be such fun.

Steps away now and he stopped short as MacLeod's playmate grew tired of his lack of enthusiasm and slapped him hard on the ass, walking away with a look of disgust on his face. He didn't miss the fact that the blond left the dildo still firmly embedded, peeking obscenely out from between MacLeod's cheeks. MacLeod was calling him back, ordering him in French to come and uncuff him, but the man shrugged and flipped him off. MacLeod hauled on the manacles, but all he succeeded in doing was tearing at the skin on his wrists. Pity that. He waited a moment longer, letting the anticipation build. Then it was time.

Showtime. He strode over to MacLeod, unzipping as he went. MacLeod looked over his shoulder, but in the wrong direction. Silly boy. Times like this, he just knew the universe was on his side. He fisted a hand in MacLeod's abortion of a haircut and pressed his face to the wall before the man could get a look at him.

"Quiet," he hissed in French. "I can hardly take your head here in front of all these witnesses, can I?"

MacLeod stilled a little, breathing heavily and Kronos ran a hand down to wrap around his captive's cock. Any harder and it'd burst – wouldn't that just be a shame.... Kronos slid his hand up from MacLeod's groin, over his belly and up to his chest. His nipples were hard and the heart beneath galloped. Fear or arousal, it didn't matter – it was all the same in the end. He blessed each nipple with a hard pinch and moved on.

"Come here often?" he teased, grasping the end of the dildo and giving a quick twist. MacLeod hissed and tried to pull away, but when one was chained to a solid stone wall, one had limited options for how far away one could get. He worked the big phallus in and out, ignoring MacLeod's struggles. He had to be loving this. Kronos leaned in closer, sinking his teeth into the taut muscle at the top of his shoulder.

MacLeod hissed and threw his head back. "Who the fuck are you?"

"No one you know – or perhaps someone you do." Kronos chuckled and bit him harder, blood welling over his tongue, hot and delicious. He licked it away, healing tingling over his tongue, wonderfully familiar, almost like sherbet. "Does it matter?"

MacLeod bucked, the movement driving the dildo into his body as far as it would go. He gasped out loud, then bit off the sound. "You don't have to do this. Let me go."

Kronos nearly laughed at the temerity. Giving orders, no less, as if he wasn't manacled to the wall of a sex club with a dildo the size of a donkey prick up his arse. "Nice try, boy." He pressed more firmly up against the long, hard body, tightening his grip on the hair, as MacLeod tried desperately to see who was holding him. He'd have to try a lot harder than that to get the better of Kronos. He let go the dildo and slapped MacLeod's arse hard. "Be still."

MacLeod was still, but Kronos wasn't kidding himself that it was a permanent state – he didn't trust the sun had risen until he saw it himself. The dildo was slipping and Kronos eased it back in, giving it a long, slow twist as he did. He didn't miss the shudder that ran through MacLeod. "There, now...isn't that better? You don't really want me to stop, do you?"

"Yes," MacLeod gasped unconvincingly. "I don't want this." He started struggling furiously to free his hands from the restraints again.

Kronos stepped in closer and pushed his cock between MacLeod's legs, so it brushed against his balls. "Well, which one is it, boy? 'Yes', or 'I don't want this'? You can't have it both ways." His fingers found a nipple and twisted hard. MacLeod's body surged against him, panicked and hot as hell all at once. Wonderful. "Ooh, that is lovely – do it again."

"Go to hell." MacLeod's voice was cold and low, and he stood very still.

Kronos sighed. He'd been patient and kind, and this was the thanks he got. One last try before he got really pissed. "You really aren't being very sensible. I'm here...you're here...we both know why we're here... Why don't we forget about the Game for a while and just enjoy..." another long, slow pull and thrust with the dildo, tilting it forward just a little to brush the sweet spot, "this. You know you want to."

"No."

"Ye-es...." He left the dildo where it was, held it there by pressing his body close and reached around to take hold of MacLeod's cock, giving it a long, firm stroke.

"Let. Me. Go."

"I. Don't. Want. To." MacLeod didn't really want to be let go; not if the pre-cum dripping out over his hand was any indication. He gathered it up and stroked again.

MacLeod shivered, shuddered like a horse under the whip. Delicious image. He was still at last. Another stroke -- a whimper that was as good as a yes, and Kronos knew he had won. The dildo was withdrawn and tossed away – irrelevant now – and Kronos replaced it with his cock before MacLeod could breathe.

Lovely, lovely heat, tightening around him as the muscles tried to return to their normal state, instead wrapping snugly around his cock. Kronos let go of MacLeod's hair at last and slid his hands to MacLeod's hips, waiting for capitulation. He didn't have to wait long.

"Do it— if you're going to." MacLeod's voice was half gasp, half growl, all challenge as he pressed back against him. He could have looked back and seen him – if he'd wanted to.

"Are you sure...?" Gods, he loved this game. He licked a broad swathe from one shoulder blade to the other and finished with a nip to the tender skin where arm met back. Hips pressed back further and Kronos pulled back a little, the taut ring of muscle clinging to his cock, refusing to let him go completely. He left just the head inside, while MacLeod stretched back towards him, admitting with his body what he hadn't yet admitted out loud. But he would. In a moment.

And he did. "Do it," MacLeod rasped.

The sheer joy of his own power rippled through him. Kronos took him then; no more waiting, the game was all but over. He took him hard and fast and rough. MacLeod was with him every step of the way, meeting his thrusts, gasping, crying out, greedily eating up every sensation. Blood flowed down his arms from his torn wrists and Kronos reached up, slipping his hands through it, hot and slick, smelling of life and death. Was there anything better than this?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Kronos slowed, changing the rhythm of his thrusts to a sort of undulation of his whole body while he held tight to the blood-slick wrists. MacLeod made a suffering noise and shoved back hard.

Very naughty. Kronos pressed his lips to the broad muscle at the top of MacLeod's arm and lingered there, just for a moment. Then bit him – hard.

"What the hell?" MacLeod growled.

"My rules, boy," Kronos returned as he crowded MacLeod up against the wall and dragged a shuddering sigh out of him with a long, slow rotation of his hips. "Let's not forget whose game this is."  He stopped. "Or shall I go and leave you to your little friend? Hmm...? I'm sure we could entice him back." He waited, still sitting high and hard inside MacLeod's arse.

"No...." Predictable, the eager whisper, the reluctance all for show.

"Then. No. More. Playing. Around." Kronos punctuated each word with a thrust so hard he could hear the grunt of air being pushed out of MacLeod's chest as he was shoved against the stone wall. "Are we clear?" he asked, stopping again.

"Yes..." MacLeod hissed. Honestly, these games were such fun....

MacLeod pressed back again, just a little, tightening the muscles around Kronos' cock. Encouragement this time, not a demand. He always did appreciate a quick study. Kronos rewarded him with a deep, grinding circle of his hips and heard the ghost of a sob in MacLeod's rapid breathing. So much better.

He wasn't fool enough to think he had this one tamed – but restrained? Oh yes, that would do nicely.  Especially since MacLeod's own desires were restraining him much more effectively than any steel could do.

Kronos slipped his hands, sticky now with drying blood, down MacLeod's arms and forwards to his chest. Moving inside him, taut muscles massaging his cock in the hot, slick passage, the scent of blood and sweat and come all around him, Kronos could have forgotten all about his game and simply taken his pleasure of this reckless youngling. It was tempting....

He pinched and teased at the hard little nipples, dipping down occasionally to flick a thumbnail across the head of MacLeod's cock, until finally MacLeod threw his head back and moaned out loud, "Oh god. Please...."

It was too much. What good was temptation if one couldn't give into it sometimes? Kronos grabbed MacLeod's hips in both hands and fucked him hard and fast -- fucked him until his hair dripped with sweat and dark spots danced before his eyes.

But it was good, damn good. He buried himself balls-deep inside all that heat and simply let the sensations take him where they would.  He was far, far inside himself, so far that MacLeod was simply the sensation of heat and pressure and a deeply evocative odor, nothing more. All that mattered was the pleasure rippling through his own body.

Until MacLeod bucked against him, letting go of a groan that vibrated all the way down to Kronos' cock.  He was coming, roaring with it with moans that sounded like they were ripped from his gut and it was impossible for Kronos to tell what finally drove him over the edge, the sheer pleasure of the body spasming around his own or the completeness of his victory.

***

"But then, you know what that feels like, don't you, Methos?" Kronos whispered, so close to Methos' ear that it made him shiver. "Does he still cry out like he's dying when he comes?"

"I wouldn't know," Methos replied blandly. And neither would you, he thought. It never happened. Never. It was just another of Kronos' headgames. Fucking with Methos' head while he fucked his body. Not a new game at all.

But the images played behind his eyes as Kronos moved over him, hard and ready to take him again and the sliver of doubt wedged like glass in his heart made him search the pale eyes for the truth.

It wasn't there.

The End

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