DISCLAIMER - Highlander and its characters is the copyright of Rysher and Panzer/Davis Productions and no infringement is intended. Ares is pretty insistent that he just belongs to himself, and who am I to argue with a God? The story, such as it is, is copyright Karen Colohan April 2001.

Author's note - Thanks to Margaret for finding the following quote by John Rae, which helped provide the title of this story when I was drawing a complete blank. "War is, after all, the universal perversion... war stories, the pornography of war."

The tall, slender figure, dressed all in white, stood arrogantly with one hand idly caressing the pommel of his sword. He seemed unconcerned by the fact that he was standing perilously close to the edge of a high, rocky outcrop with nothing between him and a long - probably fatal - plunge into the waves crashing at the foot of the cliffs.

He merely smiled - the whiteness of his teeth accentuated by the blue paint which covered half of his face - and cast a disparaging glance at the dark, leather-clad man who faced him. If he thought him any kind of threat to his safety, he didn't show it.

"So, you're Ares..." Methos considered the warrior God. "Somehow I expected something - more." His tone was bordering on the dismissive.
Dark brows drew down in a frown. A wise man would have been afraid for his life at that moment. "And you would be...? I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

The deep voice promised danger, but Methos paid no heed to the implicit warning. His narrow lips twisted self-deprecatingly. "You might have heard of me: I am Death." The clear tones of his voice dropped in pitch and the green/gold eyes suddenly became cold and hard.


Ares eyed his adversary with disdain. "That's quite a claim... but I don't think so. To begin with, your fashion sense is all wrong. White is just too - pure for Death." Ares laughed at his own attempt at humour, but Methos did not join in.

"Did you ever hear that expression about never judging a book by its cover?" he asked insolently. "Or can you even read?"

Ares glowered at Methos. "You're starting to bore me. And for that, I think I'll be sending you to meet the genuine article."

"You can try," replied the other man, seemingly unconcerned by the threat.

Uncertain in the face of the other's calm confidence, Ares frowned again. He reached out, intending to end the miserable fool's life as painfully and messily as possible - and then he felt it. No wonder this man who claimed the mantle of Death showed so little fear - he was Immortal! Ares drew back, confusion clouding his dark features. But this was no God that he recognised. So who - or rather, what - was he?

Methos read in Ares' face the exact moment at which he realised he was facing another Immortal. The doubt and confusion were encouraging - it had to throw him at least a little off balance. Still, Methos had no illusions that Ares would be a pushover. He was no fool, and he was a God. He was powerful, and dangerous - perhaps even moreso now that he knew he faced a worthy opponent. All the same, he might be just a little more civil now.

"All right, let's just suppose for a moment that I do believe you're who you say you are. What do you want with me?" Ares watched the tall stranger warily. He approached slowly, circling the God. Ares turned, keeping him in his sights.

"Don't you think that War has need of Death?" asked Methos with a sly smile.

"I think I've managed just fine on my own so far," replied Ares with a tight smile of his own.

"Oh, but I could offer you so much more..." said Methos persuasively. His voice was soft, insinuating its way along Ares' nerve endings until he shivered.

"You may be Immortal, but you're no God!" snapped Ares, throwing off the seductive spell of Death's words. "You have nothing I want!" He began to turn away from the arrogant stranger.

Methos smiled lazily, stretching his long limbs and arching his back, cat-like. Perhaps a more direct approach was required here. Surely even Gods had needs... and he was an expert at catering to men's needs. He'd had long years of practice. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rich and deep with promise.

As Ares turned back towards him - caught, in spite of himself, by that sultry tone - Methos tugged quickly on the lacings of his tunic. The white fabric parted, baring his finely muscled torso to the God's gaze. Ares paused, his eyebrows raised. That was unexpected... but interesting. The pale chest was smooth, well-defined - in short, perfect. Ares licked his lips slowly, carefully reassessing the stranger.

"Well, when you put it that way... maybe we can talk about it," he suggested with a feral smile. The dark, neatly trimmed beard only served to emphasise the mobile lips.

Feeling his body's interest piqued by the considering stare, Methos returned the smile with one of his own - slow and seductive. "If you're willing to negotiate, there's more," he promised, his tone decidedly sensual.

Ares' eyes travelled over his companion's body more hungrily now. Oh yes, plenty more, the God found himself thinking as he focused on the other's groin. It was still shrouded in white fabric, but the outline of what lay beneath was now clear enough to be seen.

"Let me see," said Ares, his expression calculating. "I want to know what I'll be getting - if I agree to your terms, that is."

"Of course..."

Without hesitation Methos dropped his hand to the cord holding his trousers closed. It unfastened easily and the pale material dropped down around his ankles, effectively hobbling him. Quite unself-consciously Methos posed for Ares, well aware of the effect of his naked body. It had always been enough to bring Kronos to heel like a dog in heat. Why should the God of War be any different?

"Nice," observed Ares with magnificent understatement. His eyes remained firmly fixed on the other man's erect penis. Now there was a sword worth wrapping his hands around.

"So I've been told," agreed Methos, eschewing false modesty.

"I'm sure," muttered Ares dryly.

"Well then, do you want to taste Death or not?" Methos asked, his eyes glittering with green fire. To be fucked by a God... Now that would give Kronos something to live up to! And it paid to keep Kronos on his toes - never to let him become too complacent where his favourite brother was concerned. Methos didn't care to be taken for granted.

"I have to say it's an - intriguing proposition." The God of War shrugged carelessly. "But I see Ares wannabes all the time. What makes you any different from the rest of them?"

"How many of those... pretenders to your Godhood are Immortal, like you?" Methos pointed out, his gaze steady. "What's the life expectancy of the average warlord these days? Not very long, I'm sure. It must get tedious, constantly breaking in a new man, training him to the right level of abject obedience..."

"And your point would be?" asked Ares impatiently.

"I count my age in millennia, Ares." Methos tilted his head to one side, watching carefully. "Choose me as your right arm and you won't need to train another for centuries."

"But what if I tire of you?" Ares looked the slender figure up and down once more - assessing.

"Oh, I don't think that's likely." Methos bared his sharp, white teeth in a smug grin. "I'm very inventive."

Conceding the point, Ares gave a curt nod. "But do you know how to take orders? All I've heard so far are boasts and insolence." He folded his arms across his chest, the action emphasising the strong curve of their muscles. "I am a God, after all. I expect certain - standards from those who serve me."

"When the master is worthy of it, he can expect my complete obedience." Methos lowered his head demurely, glancing up at Ares through long, dark lashes.

Ares laughed darkly. "Well, you certainly know how to make a whore of yourself. So, what else do you have to offer me - besides the obvious?"

Methos' lips curved in a smile that abruptly turned bleak. "I kill people," he replied, without inflection.

"You call yourself Death - I'd be surprised if you didn't." Ares shrugged dismissively. "It hardly makes you unique."

"I kill a lot of people," Methos continued, unperturbed. "I like to kill... and I'm good at it."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you take pride in your work," Ares countered sardonically.

Hazel eyes flashed dangerously. Methos' patience had limits - even for a God. "Don't make the mistake of underestimating me," he hissed. "My brothers and I bring terror and destruction wherever we go."

"You and your brothers? You mean, there's more like you at home?" In spite of himself, Ares found that thought strangely enticing.

"Not exactly..." Methos saw the interest in the God's eyes and knew his battle was almost won. "We are four - and we are brothers in blood, not by birth. Perhaps you've heard of us."

"Unlikely, but do enlighten me..." Ares raised a dark brow mockingly.

"They call us the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse." Methos delivered the knockout blow with a smug smile. Ares had reacted at the name; it was clear their reputation had preceded them. "Now are you interested?"

"Oh, I was always interested," Ares assured him, eyes dropping once more to Methos' crotch and his long, engorged cock. "I just needed to check your credentials."

"And now?" Methos asked.

"And now I have."

Without another word Ares seemed to uncoil from his posture of readiness like a striking snake. He strode over to Methos and clasped the Immortal's shoulder in one strong hand, even as he raised the other in a quick, emphatic gesture.

Methos felt the ground disappear from under his feet and lurched against Ares, holding on for dear life. He felt dizzy and disorientated, unsure what was happening to him. How quickly the balance of power shifted, he thought wryly.
Ares studies Death Seconds later, the world reformed around him. He was no longer outside, standing on a rocky headland. Instead, he found himself in a large, sumptuously furnished bedchamber. And now his clothes had vanished completely, leaving him to stand naked before Ares - who was, damn him to hell, watching him with barely concealed amusement. Methos blinked and tried to feign nonchalance as he looked around him.

"Nice place you have here," he commented blandly.

"I've always thought so," agreed Ares. "Now, I believe we have things to discuss."

"Such as?" asked Methos casually.

"I seem to recall something about complete obedience to a worthy master." Ares smiled, a distinctly lupine hunger in the expression. "You make a lot of very interesting offers, Death... may I call you Death?"

"Death seems so formal amongst friends," observed Methos with a touch of insolence. "Why don't you call me Methos."

"Methos." Ares nodded thoughtfully. "Well - Methos, those offers of yours... Are you ready to make good on any of them? Or are you all talk, like so many before you? I do so hate to be disappointed."

"I don't think you will be... I am yours to command." There was a faintly ironic twist to Methos' lips as his hands gestured towards his own bared body.

"Then I believe I'd like you on your knees. Respect is so important, don't you think?"

Ares' eyes narrowed in challenge as he waited to see if the proud Immortal would obey. He caught the flash of something dangerous, something deadly in the other man's gaze, but it was quickly hidden. Oh yes, this one would need careful watching, but he promised to be worth the effort.

With fluid grace the tall warrior sank to his knees before the God of War - head bowed, hands folded primly in his lap. "As my master wishes," said Methos demurely, and his thick lashes hid the stubborn fire which lit in the depths of his eyes.

Ares stood arrogantly in front of the kneeling figure, his legs braced wide apart. The supple black leather which clothed his lower body was stretched tight over a very obvious erection. His lips quirked in a calculating smile.

"Please me," Ares demanded, without further elaboration.

Methos tilted his head back, taking in the enticing sight of the black-clad God towering over him. Quickly he dropped his gaze again before his own hunger became too apparent. Nevertheless, he licked his lips lasciviously as he contemplated the veritable feast before him. Sometimes the rewards from his plans exceeded even his greatest expectations.

Hiding his desires once more behind the submissive facade, Methos inclined his head gracefully. "As my master wishes," he said softly.

Reaching up slowly, he carefully brushed his long fingers over the taut leather, feeling the warmth radiating from the body within. The touch was too gentle for real stimulation, but it still made Ares shudder. Then Methos curved his palm, cupping the large bulge and igniting a further flare of heat deep inside the God.

"What are you waiting for?" Ares snapped impatiently.

"Forgive me," replied Methos meekly, "but in my experience some things are so much better for a little anticipation. Don't you find it to be so?" There was a sly gleam in his eyes as he looked up through the veil of his dark lashes.

"I find you to be very insolent." Ares voice held a note of warning.

"My apologies..."

"I'll overlook it - for now," Ares interrupted.

He wanted what that sure touch promised. He could deal with the Immortal's lack of proper respect later. Then all thoughts of punishment fled as Methos deftly unfastened Ares' trousers and slipped his clever fingers inside. They closed around hot, swollen flesh and squeezed lightly.

"I can be very forgiving," Ares gasped as pleasure suddenly exploded along his nerves. "In the right circumstances."

Carefully, Methos eased Ares' cock - which was truly of god-like proportions - free of its leather prison. He found himself thinking that, after a taste of this, Kronos really would have a lot to live up to in future. It was a pleasing thought; it would be good to shake his dear brother out of his complacency. Methos had never liked to be taken for granted.

Dragging his wayward thoughts back to his present situation, Methos focused once more on the heavy length of the cock filling his palm. He stroked the thick shaft with his other hand, easing the hood of skin back to allow him access to the head. He leaned in closer, scenting the deep, musky smell of Ares' skin - sweat, leather and sex, a heady combination. As he exhaled, his breath caressed the swollen flesh hotly.

Ares cursed and grabbed Methos by the hair, hauling his face up. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Admiring you," replied Methos honestly. "I thought you wanted me for my skills, master. Won't you let me exercise them?"

"Admiration is all well and good," Ares growled in return. "I like to be worshipped - what God doesn't? However, there are times when actions speak louder than words - and now would be one of them."

"Indeed, master." Methos gave him another smile - damnably sly.

Ares narrowed his eyes, uncertain. Roughly he shoved Methos' head back down to his groin. From this position he was unable to see the green fire glittering in the Immortal's eyes - a clear warning to anyone who knew him.

With the appearance of perfect obedience Methos returned to his task. He flicked his tongue lightly over the head of Ares' cock, tasting the beads of sticky moisture which had seeped from the tip. "And is this nectar, master?" he enquired sweetly.

A throaty laugh escaped Ares. "Well, your mouth is certainly good for one thing - speaking honeyed words. Tell me, does it have any other talents?"

"Oh yes..." purred Methos. And, without warning, the Immortal deep throated him in one swift movement.

Ares gave a positively undignified squawk and grabbed onto Methos' hair again - this time for balance.

Had his mouth not been thoroughly filled by Ares' erection, Methos would have laughed out loud at the reaction he had provoked. Instead - robbed of the ability to give voice to anything but breathy sighs and moans - he concentrated on learning the contours of the God's cock. It was long, thick and tasted good as he wound his tongue around its girth - salty and masculine. Methos sucked hard, bobbing his head rhythmically and feeling the fleshy tip nudge the back of his throat time and again.

Ares' fingers tangled deep in Methos' long, dark hair, starting to guide the tempo of his movements. Methos let him have that control, content to simply enjoy the act - and the Immortal did enjoy it; he always had. Drawing on his accumulated skill, he brought his teeth and tongue into play. He nipped and lapped at the slick shaft as it glided between his lips, sometimes biting down harder until the rasp of his teeth bordered on pain. Then he soothed the scrapes with leisurely swipes of his tongue. He was rewarded for his actions with fresh surges of bitter pre-come.

After a while Methos raised a hand to cup Ares' sac, feeling the weight of it. He could tell from his frenzied thrusts that the God was on the verge of coming. Gently, he squeezed the heavy balls, wringing a deep moan from Ares and a convulsive clutching of his fingers in Methos' hair. His other hand slipped around to cup muscular buttocks through supple leather. The touch tacitly encouraged a harder, deeper thrusting.

And Ares was more than happy to oblige, fucking Methos' mouth roughly. Had he been less distracted he would have noticed the way the Immortal's eyes closed in something akin to ecstasy at the rough handling. But Ares was too near to completion to think of anything but reaching that goal. A few more hard thrusts and he was spilling into Methos' long throat, making him swallow convulsively. The contractions against the head of his cock wrung even more pleasure from Ares as he rode out his climax. Methos' hands were supporting him now as the intense release momentarily caused his legs to tremble.

Quickly, though, Ares pulled himself back together, roughly jerking out of the steadying grasp. As he did, the last of his come spilled over Methos' lips and down his chin.

The Immortal's eyes were heavy-lidded with pleasure and he licked his lips to catch the traces of the salty fluid. His fingers wiped the rest from his chin. Looking up provocatively through dark lashes, Methos sucked his damp fingers into his mouth, savouring the taste.

"Infernal tease!" Ares growled, watching the deliberately wanton display.

"I thought that's what you liked about me... master," Methos purred. He finished cleaning his fingers, letting them slip from between his lips with an audible pop.

"Stand up!" Ares ordered, scowling.

Gracefully, Methos obeyed and Ares surveyed him slowly and thoroughly, feasting his eyes on the unsatisfied erection.

"Didn't that please you?" He sounded angry, almost petulant, as if he saw the still-swollen cock as an affront to his own desirability.

"Oh yes," Methos assured him fervently. He was feeling more than pleased, but he had hopes of far greater pleasures yet and he didn't want them snatched away because of a God's offended pride.

"You're still hard." Ares remained suspicious. "Why?"

"My master didn't give me permission to come," replied Methos sweetly. "Had I done so I would expect to be punished for my disobedience."

"Would you now..." Ares glared at him, a calculating light entering his eyes.

"Of course." Methos met his gaze with a look of perfect innocence.

"And why do I get the feeling that you'd like that?" A dark smile graced the God's mouth, accentuated by the neatly trimmed beard.

Methos couldn't quite hide the answering smile that twitched at his narrow lips, but he said nothing. He didn't need to. They understood one another perfectly well without the need for further explanation.

Ares stepped closer. "Sooo, Death gets turned on by a little pain... how appropriate. Was that why you made me fuck your throat raw?"

Still Methos kept his silence, his eyes once more cast down demurely.

"Answer me!" Ares demanded, his patience for these games waning.

"Yes!" Methos snapped suddenly. His head came up and his hazel eyes were blazing defiantly. "Yes, I liked it! Happy now?"

"Ecstatic!" Ares grinned nastily. "Finally you show me your true colours. Well, lucky for you, I like your spirit."

He grabbed Methos by the shoulder and tugged hard, causing him to stumble into him, off-balance in more ways than one. The Immortal's cock was jarred hard against Ares' body and he gasped.

"Strip me," Ares ordered, his face scant inches from Methos' own. Then he shoved him roughly away, across the room.

Stalking back with feline grace, Methos reached out and searched for the fastenings on Ares' clothes, beginning to undo them. His hands glided over the strong muscles in the God's arms as he pushed the leather down off his shoulders and then discarded the garment carelessly. Methos admired the leashed strength without fear. It tempted him to further exploration and his palms traced the broad lines of the bare chest.

His fingernails briefly scraped nipples already taut with arousal, drawing a harsh gasp from Ares. Encouraged, he leaned in and took first one of the hard nubs and then the other into his mouth, suckling the salt-sweet skin. Under his hands the muscular chest began to rise and fall sharply, so Methos intensified his ministrations. His tongue roughly lapped at the pebbled flesh, coaxing it into firm peaks just ripe for his teeth to sink into.

At the sharp bites Ares' hands came up to frame Methos face, but there was no gentleness in the gesture. Panting hard he pulled him away from his chest, trying to regain his composure. "Enough!" he gasped. "Did I ask you to do anything beyond removing my clothes?"

"No," admitted Methos, "but I thought..."

"I didn't bring you here to think," Ares warned him, scowling. It was time to put this arrogant son-of-who-knew-what-abomination back in his place. "I brought you here to please me and to obey me - completely. So, if you wouldn't mind..." Once again he pushed Methos away from him.

Veiling the mutinous look in his eyes behind thick lashes, Methos sank down to finish removing the tight leather trousers. Whether Ares wished it to or not, his cock was already showing renewed signs of interest as Methos bent to lift first one foot and then the other, pulling off his boots and then easing his feet free of the trouser legs. That task complete, Methos slowly stood up. Not caring if it was viewed as insolence, he measured the naked form of the God with an assessing hazel gaze. There was no doubting the fact that Ares was truly impressive - clearly bigger than Methos himself in every respect and stronger too - all in all, perfect.

"So, do you like what you see?" Ares asked. There was nothing of false modesty in his tone and he seemed ready to indulge his partner once more.

"Without reservation - master," Methos agreed contentedly.

"Then show me." Ares' gaze pinned him.

"Master?" Methos regarded him cautiously. Hadn't he already paid homage to that fine cock?

"Pleasure yourself for me," Ares elaborated with a smug grin. "Show me just how much it turns you on to look at me."

Ah, so that was what was required of him. Methos gave a slight nod, understanding. Well, worship could take many forms... He knew how to put on a pleasing show for his audience of one, but first he needed to clarify the ground rules of this little exhibition. "As you wish, but may I come?"

"We'll see... Show me how much you want it. Now, lie on the bed, I want to see you - all of you." Ares smiled wolfishly as Methos moved to obey.

He turned and crawled onto the sumptuous bed. The soft mattress dipped under his weight as he moved up it on hands and knees, gifting Ares with a perfect view of his rear. Reaching the head of the bed, Methos turned over and sprawled back on the pillows. He wriggled sensually, making himself comfortable. Then he drew his knees up, spreading his thighs so that Ares would miss none of his display.

And it seemed Ares did not intend to miss anything. He stood squarely at the foot of the bed, his arms folded across his broad chest and his eyes were trained on the wanton creature spread out so enticingly before him.

Then Methos began to touch himself. He started with his chest, wetting his fingertips and using them to lazily tease his nipples to hardness. Moistening his fingers again, Methos trailed them slowly over his belly to his navel. There he paused, dipping into it, fucking the shallow indentation with one wet fingertip.

His cock was still rock hard, red and weeping from the slit despite the lack of attention. Finally, needing to touch it, he skimmed his hand over the head, gathering up the moisture. His foreskin was already pulled back and he stroked lightly around the edge of it, teasing the smooth hardness underneath.

The touch brought a pleasure which was only a hair's breadth away from agony. Methos was so close to coming it was getting more and more painful to hold back, the pressure to release building in his groin. He let out some of the tension through his voice - a symphony of sensual moans and gasps escaping him.

Methos was well aware that Ares couldn't take his eyes off him. It was always an added incentive when one's audience was so attentive. He reached down and played with the dark curls at the base of his cock, pulling and twirling them around his fingers. He cupped a hand around his balls, all but offering them to Ares for his pleasure. He could feel how heavy and swollen they were and, ruthlessly, he squeezed them - hard. He grimaced at the sharp burst of pain, trying to use it as a shield between himself and his climax.

And still Ares didn't say that he could come. Even though he had to know how close Methos was to the edge.

More fluid oozed from the tip of Methos' cock. He coated a single finger in it and then spread his legs even wider apart, angling his hips. Reaching down, he found the small opening. It was so ready and eager to be filled that it let the slick finger inside with ease. Twin groans filled the air - one from Methos at the additional sensation, the other from Ares at the sight of Methos fucking himself.

Methos slid a second finger inside, curling both so that they scraped the sensitive walls of his passage with each movement of his hand. He then took his other hand away from his balls, instead curving the fingers around his swollen cock. He began a steady rocking motion, thrusting into his fist and then sinking back onto his impaling fingers.

Knowing that he couldn't take any more, Methos let go of the last shreds of his control, bucking wildly. He gave a loud cry as he came, the pain of holding back abruptly overtaken by the intense pleasure of release. Creamy fluid spilled over his fingers, splashing hotly onto his stomach. The muscles of his anus clenched around his other hand, adding their own sensations to the intensity of the orgasm. Methos' eyes closed as he surrendered to it, shuddering and trembling.

As the feelings slowly began to ebb, Methos became aware of the dip and sway of the mattress under him. He opened his eyes, still somewhat dazed, to find Ares sitting at his side. The God was watching him with a smug smile.

One blunt fingertip dipped into the cooling pool of moisture on Methos' belly, swirling it around briefly before it was withdrawn. Ares lifted the finger to his mouth and carefully sucked it clean.

"Nice..." he conceded, "but I didn't say you could come."

"I know," admitted Methos. He was still on too much of a high for a more snappy response.

Ares smiled again, then tutted disapprovingly. "Such wilful disobedience."

"Yes," Methos breathed softly, waiting to see where this was leading.

"Oh yes," Ares agreed, scooping up more of Methos' come on his fingers.

"Will you punish me, master?" Methos asked, his lashes fluttering coyly.

"Of course, we don't want to set a precedent for this kind of behaviour, do we?" said Ares sternly.

"Oh, no..."

Methos' acquiescence was perhaps a little too quick, but neither of them really minded about that. Abruptly, Ares flipped Methos onto his belly and the Immortal gasped as the air was knocked out of his lungs. Thick fingers, slick with semen, entered him, stretching his opening perfunctorily. His hips were hauled up in a rough grasp, the angle pushing his face into the pillows, threatening to smother him. Seconds later a thick, hot cock was forcing entry without further preparation. Methos put up a token resistance - purely for show - and then settled in to enjoy the ride.

Ares' hand came down hard on his buttocks, stinging the tender flesh. Methos sighed with pleasure and wriggled encouragingly. The move garnered him a flurry of hard, open-handed slaps and he moaned even more loudly.

"You're enjoying this," Ares complained accusingly, pulling back.

Methos merely shrugged philosophically - at least, as best he could given the awkward position he was in - neither admitting or denying it.

After a further moment's pause, Ares rammed back into the Immortal's body, burying his cock to the hilt. A groan escaped Methos as Ares' weight pressed him more firmly into the mattress. The God had stretched himself along the length of Methos' back and warm breath ghosted over the nape of his slender, vulnerable neck. The rich voice sounded close by his ear.

"I think you've been trying to manipulate me, my arrogant friend," Ares whispered smoothly. "But I don't like being used."

"Haven't I done everything you've asked of me?" protested Methos breathlessly.

"Oh yes, but only because it pleased you to do so," agreed Ares, his voice laced with a dark note of warning. "Now I think it's time for you to bend to my will. You may be Immortal, but I'm going to give you the fucking of your life..."

Aware of the danger he was in at that moment, still Methos couldn't hold back the breathy laugh which escaped him. "Many have promised that, but few have lived up to their boasts. After all, I've been fucked a lot of times in three millennia... So, do you think you can fare better than the rest?"

Ares' hand caressed Methos' throat with deceptive gentleness. "Oh, I'd stake your life on it..." he promised with a dark chuckle.

And then the God of War set about making good on his promise. He reared back, the movement forcing his thick cock even deeper into Methos' body. His broad hands slid down to grip the slender hips with bruising power, holding Methos still so that he could thrust into him forcefully, over and over again. Not that Ares relied purely on brute strength. There was no doubting his skill as a lover as he made Methos beg for more of what he had to offer. The head of his cock found the Immortal's prostate with unerring regularity, leaving him gasping for breath as the intense sensations flooded his body.

Nevertheless, Ares was far stronger than the lovers Methos was accustomed to. And, being a God, it seemed that he was infinitely tireless. He continued to ram into Methos long after he had expected it to be over. Even with his Immortal healing Methos' tender skin was being rubbed raw, his opening painfully stretched by the continual pounding from the thick shaft. And yet it still excited him - to feel so powerless, truly overmastered; it was a rare joy. The pain and pleasure washed over him in equal measure, leaving him breathless with arousal. Even without touching himself, Methos knew he was hard again, his cock and balls aching with pent up lust.

When Ares finally slammed into him one last time and came - filling Methos with what seemed an unfeasibly large amount of scalding semen - the Immortal also spilled again, without a single finger ever being laid on his cock. Methos' body shook with the intensity of his second climax and he was still coming when Ares collapsed bonelessly on top of him, the heavy weight crushing him deep into the thick mattress. Breathing didn't seem to be an option, but he already felt too light-headed to care. A bone-deep satiation left Methos more than content as the darkness of unconsciousness claimed him.


At some point Ares must have shifted enough in his slumber to allow Methos to draw breath once more. He came back to himself with a startled gasp, looking around in an attempt to reorient himself. When he tried to move he registered the fact that he was pinned by a warm, heavy weight draped over his back. With that realisation came memory and Methos glanced over his shoulder to see the sleeping figure. He smiled wryly. Who would have thought that even Gods fell asleep after good sex, just like ordinary men... and the sex had been good, better than that even.

Hearing the slow, even breaths that spoke of a deep sleep, Methos began to conceive a wicked idea. After all, turnabout was fair play, and he'd just assuredly had the fucking of his life as promised... Perhaps he could return the favour. To fuck a God... oh yes, that would certainly be something to boast about to his brothers.

Carefully, Methos managed to ease himself out from underneath Ares. He stretched gracefully, working some of the kinks out of his over-stressed muscles. He dropped one hand to his cock, stroking lightly to encourage it to full hardness - not that it required much effort on his part. The sight of Ares sprawled so invitingly on his stomach, muscular ass in the air, was aphrodisiac enough.

Not stopping to consider the possible consequences of his actions, Methos quickly straddled Ares' hips. He spat into his palm, using the saliva as lubricant on his erect cock. His hands parted the well-muscled buttocks and with one swift thrust Methos pushed into Ares' body. The ring of muscle opened to him with surprising ease and he sank deep into the sheathing warmth. Somehow he hadn't expected the God of War to give the impression he was well accustomed to spreading his legs for a lover. Methos wondered who'd had the pleasure before him, but he didn't have the leisure to ponder on it for long.

At the precipitous invasion Ares woke with an angry roar. He tried to throw Methos off, but the Immortal clamped his strong thighs around the thrashing body, riding the God as surely as he would have done any hot-blooded stallion. Death hadn't ridden as one of the Four Horsemen for centuries without learning a trick or two about staying in the saddle! In the end, Ares' wild bucking merely served to drive Methos' cock deeper inside him - to their mutual pleasure. After that, Methos settled in to fuck them both to completion. It didn't take him very long.

When it was over, Methos finally allowed Ares to dislodge him, rolling onto his back at the God's side. A smile of smug satisfaction curved the narrow lips as he looked up into the scowling face that loomed over him.

"How dare you!" Ares growled, his eyes glittering dangerously.

"If you didn't want me to take advantage, you shouldn't have fallen asleep with your arse in the air like that," replied Methos with a careless shrug. "Besides, I'm hardly the first to have fucked you, so the whole outraged virgin act just doesn't work. And you loved it; admit it!"

"I did not!" Ares flung back at him angrily.

Raising one eyebrow sceptically, Methos reached a hand down to Ares' groin. When he brought it back into view between them the fingers were indisputably sticky. "No?" he challenged dryly.

Ares' eyes narrowed in annoyance. "A purely instinctive physical reaction," he insisted dismissively.

"If you say so," said Methos with infuriating smugness.

"I should kill you..." Ares hissed. Methos simply smiled up at him, unconcerned. "Damn you!" he spat as he remembered how meaningless that threat actually was.

"So," Methos continued calmly, grateful that Ares didn't know that there were limits on his insusceptibility to death. "Have I proved myself worthy now?"

Ares gave a reluctant smile. "I admire your gall."

"I didn't think that was all you admired," said Methos slyly.

"Tread carefully," Ares warned him, "my patience does have limits - even for someone with as much potential to be useful as you."

"Of course." At once the levity was gone and Methos was all business. "What now?"

"Go back to your brothers - tell them to be ready when I call on them. Don't disappoint me, Methos. You haven't so far, but believe me, you wouldn't like me when I'm disappointed..."

Ares' voice suddenly seemed to be coming from a great distance. Methos bowed his head and, when he looked up, it was to find himself back on the windswept headland. He was still naked, his clothes lying in a heap at his feet. After a quick glance around to assure himself that he was alone, Methos dressed and swiftly made his way back to the Horsemen's camp.

Kronos met him as he rode into camp. "Greetings, Methos, where have you been? I was worried when you were gone so long."

"I missed you too, Kronos," said Methos easily as he dismounted and tethered his horse. "As it happens, I've found us a patron - one who will truly appreciate our skills."

Methos returns
Kronos frowned. "I didn't know the Horsemen had need of a patron. We've survived without one this long."

"Times are changing, brother," said Methos patiently. "Rome is becoming ever more powerful."

"We're Immortal, what have we to fear from Rome?" Kronos scoffed.

Methos shook his head. "We are four against their armies, brother. And there are Immortals amongst their number; they will know how to kill us. We can't survive by killing ignorant peasants for ever."

"Perhaps you are right..." Kronos shrugged dismissively. "So, who is this man with a fine appreciation for our talents?"

"Not just a man, Kronos," said Methos with a smile. "The Four Horsemen are now allied with the God of War."

"You claim an alliance with a God?" Kronos snorted derisively. "If I didn't know you better I'd say you'd been drinking too much... but no, that's not wine I smell on you, Methos." His pale eyes narrowed angrily. "Always the whore, brother... Gods, you smell like the slut you are!"

"And you are as gracious as ever, brother," replied Methos, his face carefully blank. "Oh, and have a care whose name you take in vain. I'm not sure how our new ally feels about blasphemy."

"Whose bed have you been warming this time?" Kronos hissed, in no mood for Methos' games.

Methos leaned in close, deliberately letting Kronos scent the sweat and semen perfuming his skin. "Have you been listening to a word I've said? I shared Ares' bed and we fucked one another senseless. After all, I had to do something to impress him..."

Kronos glared at him in disgust. "You claim to have slept with a God? Your delusions are becoming truly grand these days, Methos. Or is it simply that you have some new favourite among the slaves and you're afraid that I'll take them from you again if I learn which one it is?"

For a long moment the name of Cassandra hung unspoken in the air between them, but if Kronos had hoped to unsettle Methos with the allusion he was disappointed.

"Ares is no delusion, brother," said Methos, his voice soft and deadly. "I suggest you show him the proper respect when he arrives, or your head may rest uneasily on your shoulders."

He began to walk away from Kronos, heading for his tent, but after a moment he paused and turned back. A vicious smile twisted his lips as he slowly looked Kronos up and down.

"And one other thing, brother," he added, his words venomous as a snake's bite. "After having a taste of Ares' cock you have a lot to live up to. Actually..." Again Methos gave him a measuring look. "I'm really not sure that you're man enough for the task. He was truly magnificent. You know, if I weren't Immortal I'd be riding sore in the saddle for at least a week. I can't remember the last time I felt like that..."

Kronos' mouth opened, but no words came out. He glared at Methos furiously, but the other Immortal was supremely unimpressed. With a smug smile he simply turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Kronos to stare after him, speechless.

And, to make matters worse, seemingly from out of thin air came the sound of mocking laughter, which followed Kronos as he strode angrily back to his tent.

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