Resistance is Futile
by Stageira
The man was standing at the window, his hands gripping the rail as he was trying to hold on for life. Although he was not crying, the tears were not coming, he was just looking at the way rain and winds were punishing the nature.

"Is that what you need, punishment for your absence?" The low deep voice came from the shadows of the room, sending chills running down his spine.

"NO!!" His voice was filled with anguish. "That's not the answer, I want..." He turned to look at the shadow. "I want something that you can not give me."

The shadow came closer, his hands reaching for his face. "Maybe, but I can give you something now."

He slowly touched his cheeks, running his fingers lightly over his lips. "Come with me, give me your hands", his voice nothing but a low growl.

He led the fair haired man to the bed and stood next to him quickly undressing him, throwing the clothes to the end of the bed.

He slowly lowered him on the bed, his face close. "What you need right now is something I can give you. Let me." A small sigh and a soft whisper to his ear "Yes."

He sought out that mouth lovingly, didn't want to do anything but cherish him. That mouth, that face, slowly kissing his cheeks, his brow, the eyelids of those beautiful eyes.

The dark haired man continued to taste him, his face, down his throat, slowly licking that neck, his hands slowing caressing the other man's torso.

His tongue sought out the tempting small rosy nipple, bringing it to hardness. He continued to lick his way down the strong body making the man beneath him writhe with pleasure.

Hands where griping his, "Please, do not leave me."

The dark haired man slowly looked up to that face, taking in the image of the swollen lips and flushed cheeks.  He returned to his task at hand lovingly stroking the other's man cock, teasing the tip, his other hand reaching to tease the heavy sac underneath that smooth cock. He continued his caresses, increasing his hold and making his strokes more urgent.

The heavy, deep moans coming from the man underneath him made him hard but he was determined not to let his lust come in the way of this. He increased his pumping sensing the other man's desperate need for release.

The fair haired man had his eyes closed, trying to fight the urgent need to grab the other man's short locks of dark hair, trying to avoid the need to give in to the intense pleasure. A pleasure that was too much for him, his hands griping the sheets and trying not to make a sound.

A sound. That was all. A low deep sound coming from his throat as his semen was pumped out of him.


He felt a warm breath along his navel and tried to focus on that feeling in an attempt to pull himself out of the comatose state that the orgasm had left him. He slowly rose his head to see the source of that hot breath and was greeted by the most unexpected and fucking hot image in his life.

The strong man kneeling next to him was totally absorbed in lapping, with small flicks of that liquid pink tongue the remains of his orgasm from his body.

He continued to watch him for several minutes waiting for the other man to finish, watching him almost hungrily sweep his body clean.

The dark haired man lifted his head to glance up at him, his eyes questioning.

The fair haired man slowly moved, touching his face, bringing it close to his own. "I accept what you can give me, whenever you can give it to me."

His words were sealed with a kiss, a light touch on his lips and then a more demanding pressure. He opened himself to the kiss, feeling his own taste on those lips and tongue.  He didn't want anything else, just to keep kissing the man next to him.

"I can give you what your heart desires." The low voice of the darker man sent chills down his spine. "What my heart desires, but not what my heart needs." The sorrow was evident in his voice.

"Let me show you."



"You think that he likes you? That he is staying with you because he loves you?" The voice was cold and hard, the words making him flinch. He didn't want to hear this, he didn't want to believe it.

"He doesn't love me."

The other man just went on, "Do you think that you are the only important thing in his life?" He stopped. "What did you say?"

"I said that he does not love me. He couldn't care less, he's just using me." Calm, controlled.

Ares looked at him, he could not believe this man. Was he just admitting to him that his lover, the man he most desired was not interested in him?

"But, I thought..."

"That's right Ares you thought. Don't, it's simple."

Iphicles turned away from the God of War and went to the table to pour another cup of wine. Ares was trying to hurt him, but it wouldn't work this time. Because this time he was not in love with some poor thing that just came his way and loved him back. This time he didn't hold any rights on his lover, he was an independent creature.

"Then I guess that it doesn't interest you if I choose to sleep with him?" Last trick, if this didn't work, he might actually have to sleep with the King's lover.

"Why should it? He's a free man, whom he chooses to sleep with is his own affair."

Gods why it hurt so much? He knew that he could not own his lover, that he probably had others at the same time. Why the thought of him and the God of War together was so disturbing? Because the God of War may succeed, because he was afraid that he would not see his lover again? If it was just another mortal he knew that he would always come back, but now he wasn't so sure.


The fair skinned man was cleaning his sword, a small hum coming from his lips, his posture relaxed and very calm.  It was a nice time indeed. Everything was well, he was safe, he was someone and he  had a person in his life that made him feel alive.

//Although he doesn't know it or believe it.// He would have to think about why was his lover so reluctant to believe that he cared for him? That he wasn't sleeping with others, that he only stayed in Corinth for him?

"I see that you enjoy yourself with the arts of War." The deep voice almost made him jump, but he didn't even raise his head to look at the man standing in front of him, he knew this game, he had played it before. And he wasn't interested.

"Cleaning my sword is merely an art of War. It's the work of a servant." The soft baritone voice was just loud enough for Ares to hear.

Ares was looking at the other man, trying to figure out what exactly was his game. He had crossed paths with this mortal... no, Immortal before. Back then he was a sight to behold, a human being devoted to the God of War, but now. Now he was a mild mannered scholar, a thoughtful strategist when needed, but nothing more than that.

It wasn't his charms that the God of War desired although he wasn't so bad looking. No that would be the understatement of the decade.

He was so different, that pale skin of his, so rare and so right on him. While others might have looked squishy, his skin was shining like polished ivory, the black short curls of his hair in total contrast with it. And yet it wasn't quite his skin or his long vulnerable, extremely vulnerable neck. Maybe it was his eyes. Was there something special about them? I mean he's just another man with green eyes, yeah right, green when he wanted them to be. Gold when he was smiling, green when he was filled with passion and steel grey when he was angry. Was all that something special?

"Methos, you're telling me, that the oldest one of your race rejoices in doing the work of a servant?"

"You always misinterpret things, Ares. You're too fast in making conclusions. What can I do for you?"  Methos rose slowly and his eyes met those of the God of War. //What is it that you could possibly want, this time.//

"You seem to enjoy yourself here. Peace and quiet, a pleasant lover..."

//So this is what it's all about. Iphicles. Are you jealous Ares? Or just don't want to see people finally find something to give them joy in their life?//

"I think that you are wasted, you could do so much more than this whining mortal of yours. You could have anyone you wanted. As many as you wanted." //Including me.//

Methos just looked at him. "Why are you interested? What's in it for you? Another of your little perfect plans, I'm sure." Was it wise to mock the God of War? He couldn't care less. All he cared about at the moment...

"In fact I thought that you might wanted want to know about your... so called lover. Well, I think he is still *your* lover."

Methos' head snapped at that implication. "What do you mean?" He wouldn't, no he couldn't....

"Oh, just that you don't seem to have exclusivity in his bed. At least the last time I checked you weren't exactly there during his orgasm and he certainly wasn't alone."

He ignored him, he had to, wanted to. Had to see for himself.

Ares watched Methos storming inside the palace not answering his questions, at least not verbally, his actions though...


"Back so soon? What is it now?" Iphicles sounded irritated. He wasn't in the mood for more of Ares' mocking. He had enough, he wanted to mourn, to grieve for his lost lover.

"Just thought of checking on you. See how are you doing..."

"Why Ares? What do you care how am I doing, what I feel? If I'm holding up all right?" Iphicles was yelling, his face centimeters away from Ares. "What interest do you have in my happiness, if I ever manage to find it? What do you want from me?"

He was grabbing Ares' vest and shaking him, like some weak mortal.

Soft and swift. Powerful, yet sweet. Ares was kissing him. Ares!!!

Iphicles suddenly withdrew. No this was not happening, he was not going to start something with Ares, not while Methos was here. Not while he still had a chance of convincing him to stay. Not until Methos....

Ares drew him back. It was not a hesitant first kiss, or the gentle kiss of friends...or even a lover's kiss. It was brutal and savage as Ares forced his mouth open, free hand catching the hair at the back of Iphicles' head. Iphicles caught his shoulders, trying to steady himself, letting Ares carry most of his weight.

Ares was the stronger one in any confrontation of force against force, even without his goodhood. Ares' thigh nudged between his legs as the god leaned in, pressing Iphicles' groin as he forced his arms back behind him, trapping both his wrists in one hand.

The mouth pulled from his, teeth biting the soft flesh, dark eyes glittering with expectation, passion and lust. Under different circumstances, Iphicles might have met that gaze with equal force rather than the aversion that was now in his eyes. But the god didn't just want him, just his body. He wanted to humiliate him, to make him regret ever having anything to do with Methos. His only goal was to tear the lovers apart and rejoice with his actions.

Ares continued to force the unwilling body of the king towards the bed, not paying any attention to Iphicles' reluctance. He couldn't care less if Iphicles was begging, in fact he liked his victims a little bit unwilling, fighting back. Looking at Iphicles he wondered why was he so different from his lover. Methos would have submitted to his ministrations, just sit back and let him take everything. The king though had other plans.

Iphicles found his feet trapped against the end of the bed and realized he couldn't go back any further. Not that he had any chance with the God.

Being thrown on his back was something that Iphicles expected, whatsurprised him was that Ares' hands quickly turning him onto his stomach and the God of War climbing on the bed behind him.

The sudden feel of Ares naked flesh registered in his mind a second before the God made his own clothes disappear. He was shoved face down to the mattress, his hips being lifted, his knees forced to support his body. He could almost feel nothing, hear nothing. He was not aware of what was Ares doing and frankly Iphicles didn't care a bit. This was something that left him uninfluenced, it would soon be over.  The loss of his lover and now this was something he did not want to face. He knew that Methos was forever lost to him the first time Ares touched him. A little more violence from the God or rape didn't really matter. He'd just have to wait until this thing was over.

Ares was surprised by the submissive form underneath him, but didn't give it much consideration, he was just taking what he wanted. With that thought in mind he plunged his cock deeply into the unwilling body. Iphicles gasp at the intrusion, the pain making him gasp, moving his hips against Ares.

"Stop that Iphicles, you don't want me to hurt you, do you? It will be better in a minute."

Iphicles reacted against the harsh words, how Ares could say that. He was forced and more than that....

"Do not worry about the pain my King, let blood be your lubrication..."

Ares' harsh words were the first Methos heard upon entering the King's chamber.

"What do you think you doing?"  The Older Man's voice was harsh and deadly, something Iphicles had never heard from him before, but Ares knew it very well.

"Ares! Release him now." Methos was outraged. What was Ares thinking? That he would let him hurt his lover? He drew his sword and approached Ares, "Step away now."

Ares was trying not to let his smile show, this was so right. Without even as much as a blink Methos' sword was thrown to the other side of the room.

"Nothing that you wouldn't have done, a little while ago. I told you that your lover wasn't alone the last time I saw him. See, I was right, he isn't alone." Ares was gloating at him, trying to make him react, but Methos would not give him the pleasure.

Glancing his eyes towards Methos, Ares tried to find something that would keep the Old Immortal into place. His present status, being buried deep in Iphicles' body, didn't give him much choice. With a sudden move of his hand a dagger was flying towards Methos, stopping in the air inches before he reached the Immortal's neck.

"No... no don't hurt him." Iphicles voice was almost pleading.

Ares looked at him, even though he was on his knees, his cock still buried inside him the King was worried for his lover.

"Hurt him? No, no, I won't hurt him. Not if the price is high enough." He gave one last look towards Methos and turned his attentions towards Iphicles again.

Yes, that price would be high enough. They weren't ready to accept an outsider sleeping with the other, they wanted it to be just the two of them. Yes, certainly this was his opportunity.

Methos tried to move, wanting to reach Iphicles, he didn't want the King to go through this, it wasn't necessary, he could be out of his life very quickly, saving him trouble and hurt.

"No, no, my Immortal beauty. You are not going anywhere. Actually you are just going to sit here and enjoy it, because you know that I can split your neck in a second," his voice suddenly became very low, "or I can always split his."

The God of War looked so menacing and so cold. His words harsh as were his movements on the King's body. Like he wasn't able to withdraw from the King's tight prison.

Methos let out a little sigh and a few words seemed to escape his mouth. Words he did not intend ever to speak, to another person on this earth, for as long as he would carry his existence. At least until he could find a man that was equal to the King, a man that would understand his words and his commitment.  Someone that a dark evil power would not take away, would not manipulate as Ares was  going to Iphicles, because he knew that after this, neither one of them will be willing to go back.

He watched Ares arching Iphicles head and pull him into a savage kiss. The god looked so detached from his surroundings now. Time to move.

//Mo soillse. Mo gradh.// Goodbye. Forgive me.

The last words were spoken as he walked out the door, that same door he had passed a few months before offering consolation to the grief stricken man. A door that was now closed forever thanks to the wonderful ministrations of the God of War.

Methos turned around for a last look, but stopped. He didn't want to see this. It was time to leave as he was always doing.


The End

The words at the end are Scottish Celtic:
Mo soillse = My light
Mo gradh = My love