The blackness of the night, magnified by the tall trees clustered thickly around the campsite, pressed in oppressively on Methos as he sprawled out in front of the fire, staring at the flames moodily. If only he'd prepared for this little eventuality. Who would have guessed, however, that Kronos would ever find him? After all, it had been over two thousand years since he last seen him. Methos was sure someone would have killed the bastard long before now. He should have known, though, he should have guessed.

Kronos was circling the fire, stalking like some black panther escaped from a tropical jungle and forced to live in the colder forests to the north. Methos watched him with narrowed eyes, never letting his gaze slip from Kronos lest the other Immortal try anything untoward. As if Methos could do anything about it if the bastard did try something.

"Is something bothering you, brother?" Kronos suddenly asked, all insincere courtesy and solicitousness.

Methos worked his mouth, thinking quick to come up with a good answer. One that wouldn't reveal his thoughts nor give away something that could be perceived as a weakness. "It's nothing." He winced internally. 5000 years under his belt and he couldn't think of something better?

"It doesn't look like nothing." Kronos rounded the fire to stand towering over Methos. Methos felt a small shiver travel up his spine and desperately he wished to God that it hadn't been visible. Inward, he was disgusted at himself. No matter how many times he swore it off, he was always the adrenaline junkie, eternally searching for the next dangerous creature to heat his blood. And they didn't come much more dangerous than Kronos. Was it any wonder he'd been so attracted to the man so long ago?

Whatever had happened, however, Methos couldn't regret it. At the time, it had been what he wanted, what he needed. And at first, it had actually been good. Before it soured. Before Kronos' jealousy began to overwhelm him. Kronos had always needed Methos more than Methos needed him and Kronos was well aware of that fact. Thus his need to keep Methos completely unattached to anyone beside Kronos himself.

But that was the past. This was now and Methos was damned if he was going to let Kronos dominate him again. He couldn't afford it, for more reasons than one. "Really?" Methos asked, nonchalantly as he could manage, looking away so as not to betray himself.

"Yes, really." Kronos reached out, tilting Methos' face up towards him. "We don't hide things from each other, brother. Do we?"

Methos swallowed, fighting not to lean into that touch. He argued with himself. It was pure instinct. It had to be. Kronos had lost his only real attraction for Methos long before the Four Horsemen had split ways; the rest of the time had been pure habit and survival instincts, submitting to Kronos only because it was less painful than putting up a fuss. Methos wouldn't revert after so long; he was sure of it. He didn't want it; he had too much to lose.... If he hadn't lost it already. His life, his soul, MacLeod. They were so entangled Methos didn't know where one left off and the others began. He could have wept at the thought but Kronos was there and his touch was becoming rough, forcing Methos from his reverie and demanding an answer. "No, brother."

Kronos' smile was as cruel as it had ever been. "That's better." He sat down beside Methos, his touch still firmly in place and his grin slipping into an expression less savage and more sincere. Kronos' caress was gentle as it slid around to the back of Methos' neck. Methos closed his eyes, fighting his internal battle not to submit, to think his way out of this mess. His body screamed at him to heed Kronos' call as it had done thousands of times before. It demanded it of him, offering sweet memories for Methos to latch on to but Methos denied each one. Kronos was gentle, yes, he offered pleasure, yes, but that was how it always started. Methos had never minded the beginning of Kronos' seduction scenes; it was just afterwards that he began to regret having let the other Immortal get so far. Not that he could have ever denied Kronos, of course. To do so was to invite excruciating pain. Methos' body remembered such times and shuddered, not in arousal, but in terror. Perhaps...perhaps it was better to just let Kronos have his way...

When Kronos leaned in for his inevitable kiss, Methos felt himself responding instinctively, his lips moving in the practiced caresses that they knew so well, his eyes drifting shut in feigned pleasure, acting out the scenes he knew turned Kronos on. As Kronos laid him down on the hard ground, Methos spread his legs invitingly, twining his arms around the other Immortal's neck. He could do this. He could. After all, he was nothing if not a survivor. He could enjoy it, and, if he tried really hard, he might just be able to imagine that Kronos was--

"MacLeod."

Methos' eyes snapped open, to stare up at Kronos' scarred face in blatant shock.

"You think I didn't know?" Kronos taunted. "Why you couldn't kill him? You always did have a hard time killing your former lovers, Methos. And make no mistake, he is a former lover. Do you understand?" Helpless to do anything but, Methos nodded mutely. "Good. Now keep your eyes open. I do not want you pretending that I am him." Kronos' grip of the back of Methos' neck slid around to the front, pushing down, robbing the other Immortal of his breath. "I don't like that."

Kronos kept his grip on Methos' throat until Methos felt his eyes roll back in his head, his back arching with agony, his lungs burning with the complete lack of oxygen. Methos felt for sure that Kronos would kill him--again--just to prove a point. Some jaded part wondered if the bastard would fuck his dead body before Methos had a chance to revive, but it was only a small section of his mind. Kronos proved him wrong, however, as he let go just as Methos was on the brink of death, smiling his savage grin. Methos slumped back to the ground, panting heavily, waiting for Immortal healing to fix the damage that had surely been done while Kronos amused himself by suckling on Methos' severely taxed throat. "Now, brother," he growled mockingly, "you'll take what I give you."

/It's warm/, was Methos' first thought as he slowly came to. He stretched lazily, enjoying the heat as his eyes slid open and he found himself staring at a blazing fire, a warm body curled up behind him. It had been anyone else beside Kronos, Methos would have been touched. As it was he was already feeling dangerously sentimental about the fact that Kronos had not only remembered that Methos hated the cold but had acted on that memory, making it so no part of Methos would be even slightly chilled when he came to. But that still didn't change what had happened.

A hand coursing over his belly reprieved Methos of having to relive old memories by grounding him in the here and now. "Amazing," Kronos drawled in Methos' ear, moving his now semen-covered fingers to Methos' mouth.

"Mmm?" Methos asked, sucking on Kronos' fingers, just as the other Immortal wanted, trying not to think too hard about the consequences there might be if Mac ever found out what had transpired tonight. If he still cared. He had Cassandra, after all, and if there was one thing Cassandra was good at, it was making a person forget everyone but her.

"How you can force yourself to come like that." Methos stopped his suckling, alarmed despite himself. Kronos laughed. "Oh, don't worry, brother. I'm not angry, only impressed. Not many men can do that." He nuzzled Methos' nape. "But then again, you are a survivor, aren't you? Always a survivor."

That, Methos thought, had to be the only thing Kronos and him could agree on anymore.