....."And in return?" Methos asked dully.

"You kill Duncan Macleod."

Methos was incredulous. "But he's my friend" he shook his head slightly. "He's nothing to you. Why?"

"Why?" Kronos seemed amazed he'd even had to ask. "Because he's your friend. Because you still have to prove yourself and BECAUSE YOU OWE ME!" The shouting stopped as quickly as it had started. /That was part of the attraction /Methos thought, /you never knew what mood the mercurial man would be in from one minute to the next. It was both dangerous and stimulating to be near him./ He was suddenly aware he was still attracted to Kronos, hundreds of years of intimacy tended to hardwire thoughts like that into your brain.

Calmer now, Kronos lifted the dagger to his left hand and cut deeply into the palm. The blood splashed to the floor by his feet. He passed the knife to Methos "Now swear. Swear you will kill Macleod"

Methos acquiesced, cutting his own hand, wincing at the pain "I swear" he finally managed to say as Kronos clasped their hands together firmly. The blood mixing, the warmth of the healing shared between them, fanned the flames of old remembered passions for both of them. Kronos moved closer until they were pressed together from the hip down.

He met Methos' eyes holding his gaze, savouring the sensation, the look of fear tinged with desire, then he gripped tighter, twisting the other's hand sadistically. The older Immortal cried out, with a mixture of pain and anticipation, as Kronos forced him to his knees. It was obvious the saturnine man intended to seal this bargain in more than blood.

"Stay there" Kronos commanded. His pale blue eyes shone like jewels in the half light "Move as much as a handbreadth and I'll cut out your eyes and feed them to you."

He was smiling, but Methos knew this was no idle threat. He knew exactly what his old friend had in mind; the growing bulge in his jeans as he'd pressed against Methos had given that away. Their partnership had always been like this. Kronos had a need to dominate, to express his power, to be the leader; Methos - Methos had other needs which this relationship satisfied.

Kronos stripped off jeans, boots and socks almost in one fluid movement not wanting to be left vulnerable with his ankles tangled in clothing. The jacket, jumper and t-shirt quickly followed. He smiled at his friend, running his hands sensually down his own sculpted body, toying with his growing erection. A pause - a thought - he smiled again and put the leather jacket back on, all the while keeping eye contact with the kneeling man. He breathed deeply letting the delicious tension spread through his body. How he loved this.....the power, the knowledge that he, Kronos, could have so much control over another Immortal without even having to resort to swordplay.

Methos made no attempt to escape. He knew he wasn't physically or mentally strong enough to resist. Part of his mind didn't even want to. He tried to shut his eyes, to look away, but physical need took over from mental squeamishness. As on every occasion in the past he felt his body betray him, responding to the naked man. Hard as he tried he'd never been able to resist his brother Horseman and knowing he'd not be able to do so now, after so long apart, he abandoned himself to the other Immortal's will.

Kronos stepped closer, touched him, pulled his face closer to warm, strong flesh. Methos pressed his face to the leather, breathing in its heady scent, the smell of Kronos, reassuringly familiar to him. It was a poignant reminder of the old days. He could almost hear the sounds of the camp, feel the heat of the sun on his body, Kronos stroking his hair as if he was a puppy. It felt like coming home after so long in the clean, sterile world of the twentieth century.

It was only here, here with Kronos, that he could abdicate all his responsibilities, abandon all semblance of control, give himself up totally to feeling rather than thinking. It left him vulnerable, totally exposed but he didn't care, at this moment Kronos' need was as strong as his and there would be no betrayals tonight. Already his breathing was ragged, the lack of oxygen encouraging a dizzy, heady wantonness.

Kronos stood above him, hands on hips, waiting, silently demanding attention. "You haven't forgotten what I like?"

Methos looked up. "No, I haven't forgotten" He lowered his eyes with the humiliation of what he was about to do. /Humiliation? Shame?/ Methos examined these unusual thoughts /He'd never felt shame before, damn Macleod and his moral outlook, some of it must be rubbing off./ The new feelings gave the experience an added frisson. In spite of and because of them he felt the response in his body growing stronger and shifted, a little uncomfortably, to accommodate his growing erection.

He stroked his smooth cheek along Kronos' long, hard cock, eyes closed, making his way by touch alone. So like his own body, steel wrapped in silk, strong and perfect. Gently his tongue traced intricate patterns over Kronos' abdomen, unconsciously mimicking designs of the distant past. He kissed softly, then with growing ardour down through the dark curled hair taking first one testicle, then the other, into his mouth, licking and sucking, feeling the skin tighten and harden under his tongue. Kronos moaned under his touch, thrusting gently against him. Slowly he increased the pressure licking up to the base of the engorged cock. He teased for a moment, placing tiny wet kisses along its rigid shaft, taking soft nips at the firm skin. Kronos' growl of frustration left no doubt as to how dangerous this course of action was. Methos smiled against the hardness, taunting with more kisses, hoping, longing for a response. He didn't have to wait long.

Suddenly he felt ice cold pain across his shoulders as Kronos traced a long curve with the dagger; shallow near his throat, deeper, almost to the bone, nearer his arm. Yes, this was what he had missed, this was what he needed. The pain was excruciating and intensely erotic at the same time. He opened his mouth to gasp in delight and immediately Kronos thrust into him, filling him, pressing hard against the back of his throat.

Methos revelled in his helplessness. Kronos could easily kill him this way, choke him to death with one hard, held thrust, cut off his air completely. It had always been one of his favourite methods of punishment, one which the kneeling man had 'deserved' on many occasions. Methos both feared and desired this outcome; the oblivion of death at the point of ecstasy. In his excitement he forgot the unspoken rules of their relationship and reached to touch himself through the thick fabric of his jeans. Kronos was immediately aware of what he was doing.

"Don't! You do nothing unless I tell you!" His voice was hard, barely betraying the excitement his flushed skin and uneven breathing indicated. He moved Methos' hand aside with his foot and stamped hard, holding the older man’s hand quite still against the rough floor, his twisting heel breaking two fingers. The pain, coming while he was still healing from the knife, was exquisite. Lightning flashes ran up Methos' arm momentarily overwhelming him. As the pain subsided and the bones started to knit he lifted the hand and used it to slowly caress Kronos cock and balls. The sparkling power of Immortal healing flowed between them sending convulsions through both their bodies. Kronos dropped the knife, his hands flexing. /This was more than he'd hoped for/

Strong fingers caressed Methos' neck, traced over his cheekbones and tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. He let his jaw go slack, allowing his partner to thrust deep then withdraw. Swallowing against the next stroke he increased the friction with lips, tongue and teeth; alternating between letting Kronos thrust deep into his throat and preventing him, with teeth and tongue, from pushing in more than a couple of inches.

The feelings between them were too strong for this to last long and Kronos' movements rapidly became frantic. In the dark, wet, heat of Methos' mouth he gave in to the pressure with a long shuddering cry. As he finally pulled away Methos smiled and licked his lips, savouring a taste as familiar to him as the scent of the leather had been earlier.

He waited, Kronos would allow nothing else. Frustration flooding through him, his body crying out for release, for sensation. Shifting slightly, the constriction of his clothes made him moan with arousal.

Kronos leaned heavily on Methos’ shoulders his heartbeat gradually slowing. Finally, getting control of his trembling body, he met Methos' hazel eyes and stepped back.

"Take your clothes off" he commanded.

Methos did as he was told. Then stood, head lowered, unwilling to let Kronos see the extent of the urgency reflected in his eyes.

For Kronos this was the ultimate thrill, as arousing than anything physical. To take exactly what he wanted, to force Methos to perform for him, to see his need, need that could only be satisfied in this twisted way. Fancy analysts said this wasn't about sex, it was about power, but, one without the other, he knew from long experience, was only a shallow reflection of the whole.

"You were good. Been practising?" Kronos walked round him, touching, pinching, cutting small nicks with the knife which he'd retrieved from the floor. "I think I might let you touch yourself. But only until I tell you to stop. No longer. Do you understand, brother?" He ran the cold steel down Methos' spine stopping just above the cleft in his buttocks. Methos felt the blood trickling down his back. "Do you understand?" he repeated.

"Yes" Methos sobbed, his voice catching in his throat. The sheer bliss of the pain and healing combined stimulated him far more than mere gentleness ever could. The blade scratched along his erect cock leaving a thin red line in its wake. The sensation, as the wound closed was amazing, as if liquid fire were followed by soothing water. His eyes widened and his breathing came in short, shallow pants. Oh how he'd missed this, how he'd missed Kronos. He closed his hand over his straining cock, his body screaming for release. Caught up in the rhythm his hand moved at the same rate as his heartbeat, each driving the other to a faster and faster rate. Without realising he shut his eyes and breathing harshly through half open mouth lost himself in sensation.

"Look at me." Kronos' voice was soft, but threatening. He wouldn't like to think Methos was fantasising about someone else while he was there in front of him

Methos was almost surprised at the voice. He locked eyes with Kronos, his hand still moving rhythmically driving him towards blissful release.

"Stop" he saw rather than heard the word. His own heartbeat drowning out all other sounds. His fist convulsed in one more stroke, the overwhelming desire for completion destroying his reason.

Kronos backhanded him hard across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor. "I said stop!" he hissed. He pressed Methos to the cold concrete, his arm across the prone man's throat. "Defy me again and I 'will' kill you. Slowly" He lowered his head taking Methos in a hard, brutal kiss, his tongue thrusting between Methos lips in an almost obscene parody of the sexual act.

He pulled back to regard the older man quizzically. "Is Macleod your lover? Is that why you haven’t killed him?" he asked suddenly

"No, he's not my lover." Methos wriggled against him, desperate for more contact, more sensation. Kronos pressed the knife to the soft skin of his abdomen and he gasped in pleasure.

"Do you want him? "

"No" There was no point in lying, Kronos knew him too well, so he gave in "Yes, but...he’d never.." His words were cut off by another caress of the knife, this time along the sensitive flesh of his inner arm. He moaned, his body twisting against the sharpness forcing it deeper.

"No, I don’t suppose he'd understand this." Kronos continued to carve a starburst pattern from elbow to wrist "He’s too judgmental, too much of a prude...and you, my dear brother, you are a slut. He could never understand your ‘needs’ in the way I do. Give him up, brother, kill him, come back to me. Only I can give you everything you desire. Don't fight it."

Methos couldn’t argue with him. Kronos was the only lover who'd really been able to satisfy all his cravings, fulfil all his fantasies. He knew Macleod would never understand those needs but he also knew he'd never be able to kill the Scot. He was torn between the two men; one who would give him everything he needed, at a price, and the other untouchable, pure in heart in a way Kronos could never understand. As he'd told Kronos before, he had changed, though not as much, he realised as Kronos continued to cut him, as to deny himself these pleasures when they were offered.

As he pondered, Kronos moved to straddle him, balls resting at the base of the prone man's cock. Methos arched against him rubbing erotically, breathlessly trying to find release. As he reached up to run his fingers across Kronos' nipples the man slapped him across the mouth again and again. Kronos ground his hips downwards and his blows grew harder as his own desire rose again.

/Pain.....but oh it felt so good./ Methos was in heaven, the blood ran from split lips, the back of his head and his shoulders smarted from contact with the concrete. Rivulets of drying blood all over his body marked the passage of Kronos’ knife. Agony and ecstasy all rolled into one. The blood rushed through his veins hammering in his ears, his eyes black with arousal. Once more he pleaded silently. One more slap, more pressure, just a little more would drive him over the edge. Kronos knew that, years of experience had made him sensitive to his partner’s weaknesses, he knew just how far he could push, just how far his control extended. As he felt the muscles in Methos' thighs tighten he stopped, panting a little from the exertion, and leaned forward, the length of his body pressed hard against Methos. He captured his lover’s hands and forced them above his head.

"Shall I make you beg?" he licked away the blood "No that's too easy. 'You're' too easy. Making you beg really wouldn't be any challenge at all, would it brother. I'll have to think of something better than that." He seemed lost in thought for a while, his eyes unfocussed. All the time Methos squirmed under him trying to drive him into doing something, anything to relieve the pressure in his body.

Then Kronos smiled and kissed the very tip of his nose. Methos felt a shiver of anticipation as the scarred man dragged him to his feet.

"Finally" the voice in Methos’ mind screamed. But, a wave of shame flooded him again. /How could he want this, how could he want the pain, the humiliation?/ Dismissing it, he gave in to temptation, now wasn't the time for rationalisation.

Leaning against the table Methos found his body remembered the most comfortable position without prompting. Just at the right height to make it easy for the shorter man to enter him, not contorted enough to cramp muscles.

"A new rule" Kronos whispered into his ear. "No sound...no sound at all. Or it will be this inside you instead of me" He held the knife to Methos' throat, cutting a shallow line like a bloody collar. He knew exactly how this new rule would affect his partner. Methos had always been very vocal in his appreciation, this silence would be sheer torture. He had thought about chaining him up too but the chains he'd held earlier were too bulky to be an effective restraint. If he'd been sure he was going to find Methos he’d have been much better prepared.

Methos felt a warm hands on his thighs moving upwards to cup his buttocks. Thumbs parted the twin mounds of flesh, opening him to the heat and hardness that was Kronos. Unconsciously he tightened his muscles against the invasion and was punished with agony. He bit his lip to keep from screaming, the trails of blood on his chin matching those now running down the insides of his thighs. The pain was so intense he could almost believe Kronos had used the knife. Kronos withdrew almost all the way then thrust brutally into him again, re-opening the rapidly healing wounds, again it took all his control not to scream.

This time Kronos waited buried in hot healing flesh. His fingers digging into Methos' hips. As the final wound closed he shuddered uncontrollably and started a slow, teasing movement. He was determined to make Methos cry out. Determined to find an excuse to 'punish' him further.

Slick with blood now, the thrusts became bearable, pleasure right on the edge of pain, the best kind. Methos almost forgot himself again as Kronos reached round to grasp his cock, the grip just too hard to be comfortable, not hard enough to dampen his arousal. He stifled the cry just in time.

Kronos had forgotten how good this could be. Linked together in this way Methos' body was an extension of his own. It was the ultimate egotism, his lover, his brother, part of himself. He thrust deeper and harder caught up in the incredible rush of power. This wasn't some faceless, nameless captive but Methos, his strong right arm, and he had enough control over him to do anything he wanted. The thought alone was enough to drive him over the edge. He threw his head back as he felt every muscle in his body tighten then, in one massive explosion, release in white hot pulses.

For Methos all sensation coalesced in one place, sharp and burning. He gave himself up to the demon that drove him and spilled himself into Kronos' hand. His own tiny whimper of fulfilment lost in Kronos' animalistic cry. As Kronos withdrew all the tension drained from his body, his legs unable to support him, he crumpled bonelessly to the floor.

For one brief, tender moment Kronos held him, wiping away the tears of shame with a broad strong hand, stroking his hair as they both came down from the experience. Then he was gone, his parting words hung in the air between them.