Death
Fandom: The X-Files/Highlander
Category/Rated: NC17
Year/Length: ~6840 words
Pairing: Krycek/Methos
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money made.
Warning: SQUICKFIC. There is more than the average violence in this story. Have Valium and a bucket handy.
Author's Notes: This is a PWP, purposeless and disgusting. We feel better now. Perhaps we got it all out! Perhaps we just need therapy really badly. Methos was known as Death when he rode with the Four Horsemen.
Beta: thanks to Emily and Frankie. They held their noses and did their best.
Death stalked the street.
Death, full of potency, brimming with barely leashed energy that threatened to burst his mortal disguise and lay waste to himself, to those in his blast zone.
Executioner, annihilator. He'd been that, and worse.
This day he'd taken a head, and a life force that threatened even now to burst him. The quickening seethed within Methos as though still living. He was too old for this, there was no victory, the game had been played out ages past; his only sour satisfaction came from the thought that when at last his own life fell forfeit, the resulting quickening would probably split the taker at the seams.
Soul devourer. Cannibal. The presence within him surged. Five thousand centuries worth of lives assimilated, and he was worth what? Guilt, and pain, and pleasure roiled within him. He was alive, and they werent. If he started to count the cost now, he would be doomed.
As ever, after combat, his skin felt too tight. He needed He didnt want to think of the things that he needed. Only another immortal could understand; even so they were best done alone.
As the desolate street watched, Death's footsteps ticked like the clock that measures men's lives. The leaden sky crushed the rooftops, heavy with rain, and he turned his face to the sky hoping it would be released, fall in a downpour that would dance on the road, swirl in the gutters, drench his body 'til he was aching and shivering with cold.
Suddenly a tall figure darted from the grey shadows ahead of him, then huddled into an angle of a building, turning his collar against the wet. Cory? Surely not. He hadn't seen the immortal for decades, but if it was him, he might have his release soon. He walked on, then stopped, watching the man's reflection in a window. Drizzle misted him, slimed him, a slight discomfort to add to the agony of assimilation he was enduring.
But this was odd. Strange how somehow hed failed to perceive Corys quickening. How could that be? Cory was so full of life that he shimmered through the senses long before one came face to face with him, and yet here he was
Cautious, he peered at where Cory, dressed in his leather jacket and faded blue jeans, had been leaning against the wall. Strange. Hed been there just a second ago. Rough hands on him made him gasp as he was slammed into the dirty brick of a wall, then he was being manhandled brusquely into the alley hed been watching, knife pricking the skin of his throat.
Cory, he thought. How wonderful. Just when I needed someone
"You've been watching me."
The edge of the knife pressed a little harder under his jaw and he arched against it, hearing it scratching over the stubble just under his ear. His slight smile broadened by a couple of millimetres as he pushed against the shoulder behind him and the grip round his chest tightened.
"What did you expect, my friend?" His out-flung hands underlined his surprise. "When I saw you before I even felt you I almost died of shock. How did you do it? Most useful, I'm truly impressed; you have my admiration and my envy."
"Does this feel like I'm your friend?"
The arm around his chest slid back and hooked in his, spinning him round and throwing him against slimy brick. Instantly the knifepoint was beneath his chin, tilting his head back. A slow drop of blood tickled his neck as he mouthed a lazy kiss at the angry face before him and rolled his hips to feel the pressure at his throat echoed as his tight jeans squeezed his filling groin.
There was a growl, and the crease between the other's brows deepened as he snarled, "Why have you been watching me? Who set you onto me? I'm not playing a game here, 'friend'". The knifepoint followed the red trail down to the hollow at the base of his neck, and stopped.
"It feels like a game, boy. What are you going to do with that pretty little knife? Shove it into me? A little pain won't put me off getting my answer, and you know damn well why I'm interested. I think with this important secret to hide you won't want me telling the others, will you? You don't want to make me angry."
The other leaned into him, panting in rage, to lift his jaw with the edge of the blade.
"Oh no... That would be so stupid." The mocking mouth twitched. "Blood all over my clothes would really piss me off.
"What do you know about secrets?" whispered the man he thought was Cory. "If you know anything, it would be good to kill you now." The blade traced a line under his jawbone, so gently that Methos had to concentrate on its presence.
Why is it that I'm sprouting a horn at the touch of metal on my neck, thought Methos. It's not as if this blade could actually take my head unless I lay still and let him saw it off. "Killing is such a waste of opportunity, don't you think?" he asked, guilelessly, his body coiled ready to spring free at the slightest waver from his assailant.
Alex Krycek's feet slipped a little on the wet ground; he braced himself against the other man, looking for some reaction on the thin, politely amused face. He was cool, so cool that Alex wondered if the guy was on something, on coke... or some other shit that made him feel king of the world.
"I like killing," replied Alex. "The world is full of fools. You look just like a victim, friend. Give me a reason to think you're not. Why are you watching me?" He pushed his left arm against the other's throat, banging the dark head against the wall behind. "Answer, shithead. My patience is getting very low."
"What makes you think I'm watching you?" was the mild inquiry. The knifepoint had moved, and now was prickling a delicious line just below his left ear. As Methos felt the warm flow of blood trickle down his neck, he had to suppress a moan. "But, just for the sake of argument, supposing I was watching you... How do you do it? How do you suppress your quickening that way?"
"Quickening?" said Alex, puzzled. "What the fuck are you talking about? You were watching me; who sent you? Answer, and I'll kill you quickly. Lay on the crap, and you get the full treatment... long, slow and delicious... with a dinky little cocktail umbrella right through your eyeball." He leaned on the man's throat and shifted the knife to his groin, laying a line up the crease between the thigh and the torso. "I'll start with your balls... "
"Oh, do!" Methos could feel the pressure within and without. Without, the hand that held the knife had pushed his bulky, fisherman's knit sweater aside to lay sharp steel against his bursting fly. Within, the arousal was complete, his own cock a blade that would cut if it could. "I didn't get any sense of presence from you. I still don't. You're old enough. How do you do it, Cory? I need to know."
Alex's eyes narrowed. "You're a fucking nutcase... a lunatic, aren't you?" He studied the slim, high-cheekboned face; there was no fright... no hint of a secret. "What do you want? Looking for rough trade, is that it? Want a fuck, huh? My name isn't Cory, but if that's who you want, how much is it worth for me to be him?"
Alex relaxed; this was no rival, sent to kill him. Just some desperate little suburban house-husband with a hard-on the size of the Empire State. "You want to know how I do it? Like this... " He carefully hitched his knife in a tug of denim and ripped.
"Like that. Just like that."
The sound of metal on denim was a mere whisper, and then the feel of cool, damp air that insinuated itself between sweater and boxers made the goosebumps stand out on his thighs as he shivered. "Go on then, cut. You know you want to." Methos held his breath, ecstasy in waiting.
Alex put his mouth to the pert ear and licked it softly. "I don't like to cut skin, I like to see it."
He tucked his blade downwards in his palm as he pushed the other's jeans down to hang round his hips. The skin revealed was smooth, wax-white, tense over whipcord muscle. Alex couldn't resist, despite his words. He pricked the pure skin and watched a drop of scarlet form, heavy, holding its weight against gravity's pull. He raised his eyes to the other man's and slowly, a lean smile stretched his lips. "You bleed well. So pretty... fuck, I could do that all day. All day, until you beg me to stop, and then all night, until you promise me the world. Is that what you want?" He licked his own lips, and then stroked his tongue lightly over those of his captive. "Is that what you want, friend?"
"What I want... Methos licked suddenly dry lips. "What I want is to bleed for you, here, now, more." He closed his eyes for a second, body tense as he felt the healing flicker across his thigh.
Alex blinked, a green rim highlighting the sudden black of his eyes, belying his own, dearly held beliefs. He did this for money, for his country, for justice; but where was it now, with his groin so full that he was near swooning? He didn't, couldn't enjoy this for no reason, for nothing but his own pleasure. But he couldn't deny the heavy throb of his heart. The knife handle grew thick in his hand; awkward - like his own cock on his very first date, huge, needy, but lost.
The man's bleeding had stopped already and he felt inadequate; he had to prove himself. Without warning he jabbed the blade into the thigh before him hoping for a scream. Like summer fire lighting the sky, sparks danced across the man's flesh and he sighed voluptuously. The wound, gaping like a baby's mouth as Alex withdrew the knife, closed.
A gasp issued from Methos' lips as he lolled his head back against the rough wall, and his tongue tip protruded, pink and glistening as the face flowed through the gamut of expressions, settling finally on bliss. Methos took in the wild expression on Alex's face, and a laugh issued shortly from his lips. "It's all right. Do it." He leant forward then and captured Alex's mouth even as it grimaced in astonishment.
Alex put his hand on the man's chest and levered him off, open-mouthed, startled. He looked down at the unblemished skin and back up at his victim. Some fucking victim, he thought, if I can't hurt him. In disbelief, his hand, steady as a rock he noticed, pressed the knife tip at the man's thigh and slowly drew it upwards. Blood gushed out; human, iron-scented, just as it should. He waited in exquisite trepidation.
God, yes. The pale face was upturned as though to receive a benediction, and he spread his thighs a little wider in unmistakable imitation. Fingers snaked down to dabble in the blood, and the thin man raised them to his lips, tongue extended to taste his own fluid with an expression that was hunger, and more. The knife you could use it; let me love the steel. His dick bobbed as though to punctuate his words.
He let the knife linger at the end of the long deep cut and watched the flesh knit behind it, the light spinning new skin up to his blade. A tingle... nettles - burning - cold - Alex couldn't tell, passed up the weapon to his hand and he snatched it back, snatched himself back, jumped out of reach, teeth clenched, expecting an attack. The strange figure remained, lazily smiling his welcome. It was temptation incarnate.
Alex swallowed. The muscles in his throat spasmed and suddenly a rush of heat swept from his heels to his head. He put the knife between his teeth and reached shy fingers to sweep over the white skin he had sliced open, to look for a crease, a mark. There was nothing but smooth, silky warmth. Squatting down, he sat on his heels and studied the area. Nothing.
The knife was in his hand again and his lips were feeling that skin now. Alex didn't know how it had happened, time had slipped, jumped.
Come on! The English voice was almost as husky as his own; the clipped vowels expressing urgency the way that American speech did not. Raising the knife, Alex laid the point of it at the tip of the swelling, uncut penis, and slid it downwards, making a deep slit in the proud flesh, from which blood blossomed as though it were flowers. He pressed his mouth to the wound, and listened as the man let out a long drawn out sigh.
Unbidden, Alex's left hand rolled over his fly to squeeze between his own clenched thighs as the strange sparks danced over his caressing lips. It was tart, a champagne sparkle, glittering down his spine to case his own dick in a net of pinpricks. He gasped, jerked, and let the knife jab into the man's groin, reaching to lick at the join where the blade disappeared into the firm muscle, to run his tongue over the warming blade and look up into the dark eyes above him.
"Who are you?" His voice was a harsh whisper, barely escaping from his red-stained lips. "What... what are you? Give me a name, at least, so I can curse you for this... perversion." He was sickened, yet imprisoned by lust.
My name is the man jerked and hissed out a breath as the knife grated on bone. Call me Adam. He gasped. Its not a perversion. Dont you know how blood is life? I need Think of me as being too full of it. Im bursting. Help me.
Alex tore out the knife and jumped to his feet, snarling. Winding a handful of Adam's sweater in his fist, he pulled him up close and said, "Perversion I can take, friend. Thinking I'm a whore is reasonable." He smirked, and clipped the man across the jaw with the butt-end of the knife handle, shaking him until his eyes focussed on his own once more. "I'm not a fucking therapist, and I only help people who make it worth my while." He traced a scratch up Adam's cheek, letting the blade's point stop just on his lower lid. "Just how far do you want me to take this, scum...? Adam...?"
He drew his hand back and thrust hard into the bright eye in front of him. There was a clenching in his groin as his dick oozed in frightful expectancy. He couldn't tear his horrified gaze from Adam's ruined face as he wrenched the knife out once more and waited.
There was a pause, as the very air seemed to become still, and then the man, Adam crumpled, slumping forward over Alex, the bright blood flowing down to trace rivulets that ran thickly down over the slick black leather of his jacket. He made a strangled sound as the knife came free. A look that was surprise and pain coupled with acceptance flickered and was lost. He fell to earth and lay, face down and still.
Fuck, the guy wasn't Superman, after all, was as human as Alex. Cursing himself for his stupidity, for taking his curiosity to the limit, he bent to roll the man over. Limp; a corpse... but Alex wasn't about to leave this interesting evidence in an alleyway. He heaved the body over his shoulder, dumped it on the rear seat of his car and headed for home. Patience, Alex. You need to learn patience, he told himself, thumping his fist on the wheel as he navigated the grey, wet streets.
When he heard the coughing groan from behind him, he almost swerved off the road. Fuck it! The man had been dead. It was, after all, his trade. He knew death when he saw it. Hed seen it. This whole thing was utterly without precedent. An X-File, as it were. Mulder would love it.
Where are we going? The man called Adam sat forward, leaning over the passengers seat to fix two perfectly good, very intelligent-looking hazel eyes on him. I wasnt really contemplating an abduction, you know. More a casual fuck in the alley.
"You are... dead," stated Alex, slowly and carefully. "I know you were dead. I didn't expect you to die after what I saw, but you did. Now, either I am dreaming, or someone is messing with my head, or this is real. And if it's real, I'm far from feeling casual right now. I'm feeling fucking spooked."
Adam's face was calm in the rear-view mirror, Alex twisted to look directly at him. "Boo!" said the man, smiling whimsically when Alex gasped and turned back to the road. What the hell had he got in the back of his car? Whatever it was, if it bore a grudge...
Suddenly a warm hand ran up Alex's nape to drag over his short cut hair in a caress that made him shiver. Arousal, fierce, instant, flared down Alex's back from the touch and slithered into his groin. Fear breathed on the fire in his cock. He was moaning. His knuckles were white on the wheel. He could feel that knife-handle slick in his hand, as the flesh resisted, popped like a fruit skin. In slid the steel, easy, silent. Pulling up, the flesh folding back, opening, flooded with hot crimson. Adam's tongue brushed the tender skin behind his ear as he repeated, "Where are you taking me?"
"Home," croaked Alex. His cock was leaking now. Cloth stuck and tugged as he thrust his foot to the floor. Engine screaming, the sane world fell far behind.
"Good." The word promised delirium. Paradise traced in scarlet.
The building was nondescript a square, concrete block that watched from many, soulless windows as the two of them climbed out of the car in the rain. The man called Adam stood, slouched beside the vehicle in an attitude that was confusing to Alex. He looked as though he was making up his mind to something. Alex surveyed him over the roof of the car, frowned, then turned towards the building, moving with purpose, not waiting for Adam to follow him.
He thought he was together, but his key wouldn't go into the lock. He held his breath, willing the tremor to stop. The man was at his shoulder before the door swung open. It was like having a living ghost at his back. An incubus. A creature whose nearness made him faint with desire and terror. He held the door, closing it to trap himself in the gloom. Reaching out, he touched the blood-sticky wool covering the man's chest. Solid. Warm. Real. The ribs rose and fell as Adam breathed. With a whimper, he crushed the man to him, and took his mouth in a demanding kiss.
All his world was in a hot, wet, living paradise of tongues, slippery as they moved against each other; his boundaries were in the scratch of bristle from a shave too many hours past, and the urgency of hands that gripped him, steel strong, to hold him in the kiss; Krycek felt himself slip, lose focus in the intensity generated by this man.
When they ended the kiss, Adam didn't draw back. He remained, lips against Krycek's, speaking against his lips while his breath puffed, sweet against Krycek's flesh.
"Come on. Why are you waiting?" Adam extended a pink tongue, licked at Alex's face, and laughed harshly. "Come on!" he said again.
Alex stilled. His mind wouldn't work, wouldn't tell him what came next. You killed people; they died. They didn't come back for more. Didn't make your body a playground of lust. Didn't invite you to... what? Air stuttered into his lungs as he tried to think how to answer.
He reached behind himself and wrapped his hand round the knife hilt. He pulled it slowly from its sheath. He didn't know if he could start this again. He didn't know if he could cut. He knew this was the reply Adam wanted, though. It was wicked. Wrong. To mutilate, to damage; to have no consequence; to glory in it.
Laying his hand on the other's shoulder, he turned him and pushed him through a door at the rear of the hallway into the room beyond. The floor was gritty concrete, the contents heaped in anonymous piles of boxes and bags. Lifting the man's sweater he ran his knuckles down his bare spine, then placed the blade point between his shoulder blades and carved a track from neck to the swell of the neat buttocks.
The skin parted seamlessly, the slight layer of fatty tissue giving way to the parting strands of muscle, and beneath that, the bone Adam gasped, reaching in an uncoordinated series of jerks to yank off his sweater and expose his lean, muscular body to the kiss of the knife. As Alex lowered his head to lap at the wound, the blue lightning flickered, and the flesh beneath his tongue seamed, knitted, and smoothed over.
"Useful," Alex gritted, stripping his own coat and throwing it across the room. "What I wouldn't have given for a talent like this, at times." He stood behind Adam again and pulled the man to his chest. Adam's heart throbbed strongly under his hand as he brought the knife round to scrape over his belly, teasing the ripped jeans off with the point and tugging them down once more over his slim hips. Adam was hard, his penis jutting out from his groin, shockingly plump and ruddy against his spare, white flesh. Alex bit hard into the muscle at Adam's nape as he lifted it on the flat of his blade, hearing with a jolt of pleasure Adam's shortened breath. "Do you want me to improvise, fucker, or is there some... ritual to this... hobby of yours?"
Adam drew a deep lungful of air and pressed himself into Alex's embrace. "Anything you want, friend. You're doing just fine. Let yourself go - completely."
Carte blanche! Krycek wasnt sure if that was a good thing or not. Gritting his teeth, he plied the knife, cupping his hand to gather the resulting flow of rich red blood in his hand and bringing the hand around to rub between the mans buttocks, using the liquid to lubricate his way in past his anal sphincter. A satisfying gasp made him laugh shortly, and withdrawing fingers, he thrust his cock home to fill the tight passage. It felt amazingly good.
"You want this too, Adam? Or is this just the price you're willing to pay for me to continue?" He punctuated his words with shallow jabs, pricking a constellation of red stars over Adam's torso, thrusting into the tight anus as each wound bloomed and died in a twinkle of blue sparks.
"Oh, I want that too." The man chuckled, and he drew his words out with honeyed relish. "I want it so much, so very much."
Alex felt a sticky sweet pulsing around his dick as he stabbed himself into the depths of this weird fetch, this incubus that seemed to be driving him from level to level of depravity. It was wonderful. A thought occurred to him, and he placed the point of the knife against the palm of his own hand, stabbing the center until the blood flowed, and then raising it up to the other man's mouth.
"Turn for turn", he breathed as Adam sucked at the offering.
"Can I heal with your power, huh? Or is it all for you?"
Adam pulled away, stretching to press his bloodied lips to Krycek's. "If only, eh? Think of the fun we'd have. Sorry, chum. I'm really sorry..."
"Doesn't work like that?" Alex's words were grit, rubbing on his throat, sending him on a wild fantasy. If he were this man; if man he was...
He stuck the knife in Adam's biceps, and left it bobbing gently to grip him hard round the hips, and drive himself mercilessly into the other's gut. "Don't you feel pain? Is it changed? How does it feel, Adam? Tell me." It was fine, bliss. And to hear him talk, know this wasn't a fevered dream...
Methos reached over to tug the knife from his flesh. "I feel pain, friend. It's what you make of it." He opened his mouth and dragged the edge over his own tongue and lip.
Strained. Tight. Blood in a narrow ribbon dripping off his chin. A nightmare face. A demon from a Noh play. Alex shut his eyes tightly, and kissed it. So sweet. So rich.
Prickling spasms of healing flesh running over his mouth jibed with the tingle of imminent orgasm that pricked his balls and shivered along his cock. Alex shoved himself hard into the resisting passage of his companion and allowed himself to fall screaming into the morass of pleasure, tart and acrid with blood. His body pumped itself into the hidden folds of the man called Adam, as his tongue stroked over Adams healing tissue.
Was this something he craved? Something he had dreamed? He shuddered even as he slumped, spent, against his companion's warm, firm back. He couldn't believe this was so. Adam hadn't answered him in words, but he seemed human. A man, as himself.
Methos twisted to take his companion in his arms, to pet him, to hold him. Often he had thought that humanity wasn't meant to go on, to harden into cynical selfishness, to endure though the body lived. Was he human? He didn't know, but he knew how this man must feel in the face of his remoteness. Like this, all bravado gone, everyone was a child. Briefly, the compulsion that coursed through him eased as he caressed the other's languid mouth with his own, eased him down, centered him.
It didn't last. He was full of life; another's life. Stolen life bought by blood and violent death. It had to be appeased, calmed. Absorbed into himself, into Methos. Pure lust suffused his veins again, squeezed through his turgid flesh, sought appeasement and satisfaction.
It drove all pity from him. He pressed the knife into Alex's hand and sighed. "Now, sweet whore... thief... be merciless. Maim me. Desecrate me. Show me you can kill."
The other looked at him fuzzily, completion shining from behind eyes drowned in pleasure, and shook his head, smiling a little. For some reason the mans obvious languor and contentment made the rage leap in Methos breast, and he hissed with it, a safety valve permitting sufficient anger to escape so that he wouldn't burst from the sheer enormity of it.
He snarled, backhanded the young man whose old soul he had determined, and then, when he looked at Methos with confusion, slapped him again, a set of red weals marking the fair skin with its dark stain of incipient beard.
"Hurt me, you bastard", he growled, and watched with a sour delight as the green eyes flared. He saw the muscle in the strong neck telegraph intent, and flung his arms wide as Krycek thrust the knife home into his chest, up, under his sternum, to pierce his heart. Better, he murmured, and crumpled.
Methos pulled the suffering to him; cherished it. What wonder, what universe of pain, what bliss and torment was death? Every time, it wrung the ultimate sensations from his suffering body.
But the grip of a quickening took him far beyond agony. It spiralled such torture into a rapture, white noise of joy, tipped him into a blistering pit of ecstasy. Dying, he silently blessed his executioner, his spirit falling at his feet in gratitude.
Alex's knees folded like wet tissue; before he realised it he was at Adam's side, palms rubbing over the hard stomach, massaging the lax tissue, feeling no breath, no beat, no spark of life. The knife handle stuck obscenely straight, a stake, pinning the now frail body to the ground. "This is a joke," croaked Krycek. "A fucking nightmare." He squatted, seized the grip in both hands, and tugged. The steel left the body reluctantly. Alex looked vaguely sickened, but taut with anticipation.
Splinters of sensation transmuted themselves into a need to breathe, and Methos chest heaved, gasped in air, found it good, and did it again. He seemed to be lying on the ground, hard and unforgiving, and the quickening he'd taken buzzed in his ears. His cock was rigid, and he felt almost under control. The pretty slut hed chosen to do him seemed a little shaken, and he reached to pull him down, his mouth fastening to the pulse point at his throat.
"Come on, little whore, tell me your name. You're doing just fine."
"Fuck you!" Alex snarled, and Methos nodded, smiled.
"Yes. Yes, Id like that."
"My name... I'm Alex."
"So, Alex, fuck me." And the smile spread as Alex gasped.
Alex rocked back on his heels. He looked to be pulling his dignity round him like a security blanket. Methos waited, lungs full; air tight in his chest. This man was pretty. Oh, such a beauty; such lovely eyes, and a mouth that hid nothing from an ancient like himself. He was hot too; lust seeped from him like bitter, rotting juice. He was bad - so bad. But did he have courage to match? Did he have the panache to take the situation and fly?
"You know you can hurt me... you like that, don't you Alex? Hurt me over and over. Kill me again and again. Make no mistake, I suffer as much as anyone. You like to make them suffer, don't you?"
Alex grunted, frowned. He was disturbed.
"What? Need justification, Alex? Need to reconcile your cruelty?" Methos sat up, and grinned right in Alex's face. "Get over it, boy. Your life's just too short. If you like it, know it. Now, hurt me again."
That wouldn't be hard for him; Methos could see the fury in the taut face, the clenched jaw of the pretty whore. He grinned snidely, his smile suddenly curling into a grimace of pain as Alex went down on him, sucked in his aching erection and then bit down hard. That surprised a grunt of pain from him, but as Alex let his jaw relax again and began to suck, he felt his orgasm approaching as if it were a rocket.
He spread his legs wide, and groaned as he felt his balls tighten.
"That all you can do?" he taunted.
The mouth withdrew with excruciating slowness. Alex shifted, stood, put his hands on his trousers, and began to strip, watching Methos' face all the while. As each garment peeled from his body he waited, then dropped it.
"No matter how twisted, waiting's always a bitch," he smirked.
Methos smiled in appreciation. The floor was damp, rough. He ground his tender skin against it. Like this, every twitch of his nerve endings was a joy to be savoured. The whore knew how to display himself, that was for sure. He sold it, sold his body, his promise, demanded an empty purse. If Methos had been mortal, he knew he would have paid and paid.
His eyes traveled along the sinewy length of the body that was being displayed for him. Alex was a beauty through and through; long legs, deep chest and arrogance worn like a cloak to cover him. Methos licked his lips, tasting dried blood and relishing the flavor on his tongue as if it were wine.
Pain has a taste all of its own, he said as Alex crouched down again to take his cock back into his mouth and suck it deep, the knife pricking into his balls, tracing bloody lines along his thighs, circling his anus as he groaned his pleasure.
"I can take it... given enough... distraction, I can enjoy it." Alex lifted his leg and straddled Methos's thighs, grinding his buttocks against the red-slicked genitals. Methos looked up at the other man. He looked calmer now. Like a man who could hurt. A man who had the balls to believe Methos wanted this. Adaptable.
His cock slid between Alex's cheeks, every motion slimed in his own blood. Alex smiled sweetly down at him. He could see Alex was holding the knife easily now. Relaxed. Playful. He licked his lips. The point descended to rest just at the middle of his chest.
With broad sweeps, Alex began to trace curlicues in wounds over his body, talking as if to himself.
"I thought, what if I were like you? How useful, how powerful... And it is. But for this? Part of the pain is to know the danger, Adam, to know that the scars, the hurt will remain. The afterglow, the healing...
"What use is this to you?" He stopped. "Tell me." Raising his arm high over his head, he plunged the knife down into Methos's gut, twisted, and yanked it out. Leaning down, he peered into the rictus of suffering he had painted on the face below him. "Tell me, " he hissed.
Use? Methos let out a gasping laugh. Gods, the pain waswas It was everything. He was nothing before it as it burst within his belly, spreading its spores to every part of him as he felt the blackness piling down on him. He twisted, dragging as much agony from the movement as he could before it was stolen away from him by death. "I don't use it, child. It uses me."
He gave a gasp, and bright blood flooded from his mouth to stain his chest as Alex pushed his hands into the wound to tear it apart with trembling, eager hands even as the healing began.
Fascinated Alex stopped and stared, seeing the torn entrails writhe with arcane life, search out their place and become whole once more. The blood, which had been pumping out as the man's life ebbed, ceased to flow.
He pulled back just as the edges of the wound sucked at his hands, lapped around his own flesh, looking blindly to reform into smooth, unscarred skin.
For a couple of minutes there was silence. Alex blinked, then rested his palm on Adam's chest gently, waited, and there suddenly, under his hand the beat restarted... steady, powerful.
Methos struggled to draw breath. Three times was a charm. He was starting to come down at last from the sensation that his skin was four sizes too small. The lightning still played inside his skull, but at least now it was a melody he knew rather than a cacophony too loud to distinguish a single thread. He groaned.
"I'm going to be okay. Just Help me get off. I need..." He put his hand down to hold his throbbing cock, wondering if the kid hed been using would permit him relief or not.
Alex had startling eyes, he noticed at last. They were fixed on him with ferocious intensity. Alex was obviously considering his next move. He passed his knife from hand to hand, mouth set in a tight line. Methos grimaced at the blood streaking the other's torso. The man should look like a barbarian, a butcher, yet his face had an innocent purity that didn't belong with his savage violence.
Alex's eyes closed briefly at the sound of Methos' voice, then he laid the knife at his side and leaned over to put his lips to Methos' once more in a slow, tender kiss.
"What do you want?" Alex's murmured. "Do you want to take me... or do you need the pain when you come?"
Was it true that everyone had one true soulmate in his life? If that were so, then Methos believed that he had found his at last. He laid his hands to either side of Alexs face, kissed the pretty, satin lips once more, and breathed, thank you against them, tongue flicking into the young mans mouth to taste his own blood.
"Hurt me. I'm nearly there now. I can be human again if you help me." He didnt really believe that, but he wished it could be true. He could almost remember a time, long gone, when he hadnt been steeped in the blood of innocents, and all his lives had been peaceful.
Alex nodded, drifted his fingers over Methos' slim torso and drew them up the hot satin flesh of his shaft. He gripped the penis head gently, caressing it through the foreskin with his thumb. Methos gasped. It was another sort of pain; electric; slow torment. Alex was watching his face carefully. Methos tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace.
He couldn't wait, couldn't be patient. His hand shot out to grip Alex's other wrist, pulled it up and shook it so that drips of blood flew from the knife Alex still held. "Later, child, you can make love to me. I'd like that. For now, just use this. Finish it."
Alex's brows drew together, and then he shrugged. With a slow smirk he got to his feet. "Get up," he ordered.
Rising up to stand before this perfect, green-eyed instrument of pain, Methos staggered a little and his tormentor led him back to lean against the wall. The smooth surface seemed to burn his skin as he sagged against it, legs parted as Krycek dropped to his knees between them, leant forward and took him deep into his throat.
Sucking heat and pleasure that sparkled through him, and none of it enough. He screamed his plea as he felt his balls begin to tighten, found himself reiterating hoarsely as he felt the first rich gathering of sensation at the base of his spine, and groaned hopelessly when the scalding surge of his emission began to pulse through his cock. Not enough. Nowhere near enough, and then
Sharp as honesty, the knife, his lover, stabbed in, up into his aching anus to rip his bowels to shreds, and he came at last.
Shrieking, lungs straining with effort, he clamped Alex's sweat soaked head and pumped gout after gout of thick cream into Alex's mouth. With the climax came a relief so sweet, so utter that it was as if his body had become ethereal, a weightless mist; his will could no longer connect with his physical being. Slipping, sliding, leaving a viscous swathe of crimson on the dull, blotched wall, he sank to the ground, the knife still buried to the hilt in his ruined gut.
Alex rose and stepped back. Methos' head dropped to his chest. He was calm. His mind was emptied. Clarity, like the pure air on a mountaintop, sparkling translucency of a drop of dew. Each thought was perfect, defined, true. For a few brief moments the quickening gifted him with paradise, not torment.
Stooping to draw out the blade, Alex studied it for a moment, attempting to identify just how pleasure had travelled from the wicked point, failing to believe it although he had seen it. On the floor, Methos was stirring, a smile of genuine relief in his eyes. As he stood, Alex put out a hand to steady the man, and received a shaky, thank you.
Come on," said Alex, nodding towards the door. "You need to clean up, and I could do with a stiff drink after what you've just put me through. I think I may just go into shock, and believe me, friend, it takes a whole lot to rattle Alex Krycek."
Methos leaned against him, putting an arm around his shoulder. "Am I your friend, now, Alex? Your opinion of me seems to have risen in the last hour." There was humour in his voice, merriment, and a little cynicism. What manner of man was this Alex Krycek that he could kill, over and over, and find sexual pleasure during the act? Methos' wariness was returning, but he had to know more.
Alex grinned. "I'm your friend by proxy, at least. You thought I was someone else. Cory?" He gave a snort of laughter at the surprise on Adam's face. "Forgotten? Tell me more, and I'll even let you shower before throwing you out."
Methos shrugged. He didn't trust Alex an iota. But he knew what he wanted, and it was standing here before him, nonchalantly tossing a knife in the air to shower them both with droplets of his blood. As he took in the perfect arrogance of the man, he knew that he needed nothing more than this.
End
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