Vow of Silence
By Ghared

Hercules was a fool. That blond sidekick of his was one of the juiciest mortals in the world and he was barely acknowledged by his brother sometimes. Ares sighed, stroking his beard in contemplation of the problem. Iolaus was certainly a temptation; it would be ecstasy itself to bend the forbidden sweetness of that oh, so noble, but passionate heart to his will, but he was so besotted with Hercules that Ares was positively sickened. How could someone so ... *gorgeous* ... have such bad taste...

On the other hand there was that wimp of a cousin of his ... Ares had had some fun with him before and it might just be the diversion he was looking for if he went and renewed the acquaintance...

The sound of a cracking heart was all Orestes could hear as he watched Niobe walk alone in the gardens below his window. How could he even imagine having the ability to bring comfort to his beautiful and noble Queen? He had realised by now that he was the last person in the world whom she would accept that from. Yes, he looked just like Iolaus, but there the similarity between himself and his cousin ended. Niobe loved Iolaus because he was brave and loyal and full of life and happiness and everything that Orestes was sure that he could never be. He had changed since becoming King, but not to the extent that he would be able to turn Niobe's head in his direction.

"Miss me?" The soft growl just behind him made Orestes jump, and he scanned the room for its source. So fast he almost fainted, a dark, smoulderingly passionate and sexy figure was there; so close that he couldn't breathe  without brushing against him.

Ares. Orestes gasped and tried to edge away from the war god, but there was nowhere to retreat to, except out the window and, depressed as he felt, he wasn't ready to end his life just yet.

"A - Ares ... I - I'm honoured. To ... to what do I owe the ... pleasure of this ... visit?" His voice belonged to a mouse and Orestes felt suddenly disgusted with himself that he was unable to do anything to assert himself. After all, this was a god; even worse, the god of War. Not a good deity to cross in any way. In spite of that, he couldn't help but be reminded of Ares last 'visit', when he'd been younger. Memories of forbidden, even dangerous, pleasure, heightened by fear and submission, made him shudder. The god opened his mouth and his tongue did a slow circuit of his full, red lips, his eyes aflame with passionate and lustful intent. "Oh, no, Ares, please, not again ..."

He wasn't even sure whether he hated this or wanted it.

Ares pressed closer until he had Orestes pinned up against the edge of the window, his hard, pulsing erection pushing into Orestes' stomach and sending forbidden arousal all through the king's body. That had been the worst of it; the worst memory, the worst shame.  When Ares had taken him before, when Orestes was a wanton youth of eighteen, although he had struggled and protested and cried out against them, he had secretly enjoyed the overpowering attentions of the god. It seemed that now was no different.

He struggled halfheartedly, but the truth was he was already fired along the arrow of Ares' intent, wanting those large, solid hands, that strong body and sensual lips, all over him, dominating him, giving him no choice but to surrender. Back then it had been the most erotic experience of his life, and Orestes had known nothing else like it, before or since. Even if Niobe loved him the way he wanted her to, he knew that she couldn't make him feel the explosion of unbearable pleasure that Ares had given him.

The god reached out with one hand and rested it on Orestes' shoulder, bunching the material of his robe under his fingers. "Nice ... but a little overdone, even for you, Orestes;" he breathed. "I think I prefer you ... *au naturelle*..."

A whisper, no more than the space of a heartbeat, and the robe and everything else he wore, was gone. Orestes fought to keep his hands at his sides, instead of flying downwards to cover his most vulnerable parts, as they wanted to. Ares did not miss this short battle, neither did he misinterpret it's cause. He nodded, smiling slowly.

"Hmm ... I'm impressed; you've certainly ... *grown*, since I last saw you ..." and the god allowed his gaze to rest shamelessly at Orestes' groin, the heat flaring in his eyes now, as he drank in the sight of the filling penis, rising as if in challenge. "Oooh, I think you're going to do me proud this time, Orestes," and he licked his lips again in anticipation.

Hearing the confusion in the other man's mind, Ares raised his eyes to Orestes' face once more and saw tears trembling in his eyes. The sight turned the key to the locked box of Orestes' emotions, in his own mind. The King's  hopelessness and despair lead him off in a direction that he hadn't previously consciously considered. He pressed himself closer, to rub his hand almost absently along Orestes' betraying member, and in doing so, caught sight of Niobe. She was seated alone, on a stone bench, along one of the vine-filled walks.

"So; you've had no luck with her yet, huh?"

Orestes dropped his head, and then quickly had to shut his eyes, as the sight of Ares pleasuring him, nearly made him cry out, and he was determined to disappoint the god this time. There was nothing he could do to stop the god doing whatever he wanted with him, he knew that, but he wanted so badly to remain aloof from his attentions. If only he didn't already feel so lonely, so ... neglected ...

The hand sliding along his cock was paying more attention to it's loving task now, and had slowed the pace, but seemed to be sending a searing energy into him everywhere it touched. It built an exquisite tension in his loins and sluiced outwards, into his thighs and hips, caressing his stomach and ass with liquid heat. It was all he could do to remain standing, and Orestes, biting his lip - almost drawing blood - wondered how he could still be standing.  Of course, wedged as he was between Ares and the wall, he really didn't have much choice.

The sound of voices and footsteps approaching the room, sent a frisson of fear lancing through him.  If he were discovered now, his reputation could be in ruins.  Not that it was much to begin with. Nevertheless, he heard the 'snick' of the lock on the door and the sounds began to diminish.

"I've sent them looking for you elsewhere," the deep, deceptively soft voice told him. Hot breath on his ear sent the heady sensations invading Orestes' body, spiralling up another notch. Then the heat withdrew only to take him by sharp surprise on his chest, the stinging sensation in his right nipple telling him that Ares was using his teeth and his tongue, as raspy and mobile as a cat's, to pleasure the little nub to aching tautness. A heated moisture surrounded the incredible sensations and Orestes - fighting his reactions  - was unable to keep from producing a silent, almost breathy scream. His senses almost clouded his mind as the sensations curled like smoke from a blaze, around every nerve in his body.

He could no longer stand and would have collapsed if Ares hadn't scooped him up and carried him over to the bed. The hide of a large mountain cat - a wedding present from one of his former drinking buddies - was flung untidily to one side, and Ares reached across Orestes and casually dragged the hide closer. Then he lowered Orestes, turning him onto his stomach as he did so, onto the hide. Happy with the king's position, Ares straddled him, just below the tops of his thighs and started a slow massage. He began with his own sex, flicking the head lazily and drawing in a sharp gasp, then moved on to Orestes' muscular ass cheeks, squeezing, pushing inwards and then pulling out to the sides with the palms of his hands, tormenting his anus with the light, fleeting sensations.
When he was sure that Orestes' cock was well primed he pushed down and forwards, very slowly, over the king's tail bone, moving upwards along the sides of the vertebrae, and on up the length of his spine.

Orestes tensed along the entire length of his body as the god's manipulations pushed his penis up against the knapp of the fur, the wrong way, very slowly. The tiny sharp ends of the hairs pushed along the head of his penis, some invading the slit, and blood gushed from his lower lip as Orestes bit through the skin to keep from screaming.

Ares, feeling the reaction through the backs of the thighs, up through his balls, and into the base of his cock, flung his head back in exultation, almost yelling a roar of victory. He could keep this torture up for hours. This little mortal, though, could not. It was obvious that Orestes already knew the nature of the battle being fought now, and truth to tell, he was resisting voicing his passion admirably.

Ares wanted to hear that voice, so like Iolaus', screaming and moaning his passion, begging for release, so kneeling up, he turned him onto his back and began tracing fiery paths all over his body with his lips, tongue, teeth and hands. Hot, sensuous, kisses moved along the strong, taut neck as Orestes flung his head back, twisting and writhing as he drowned in the overpowering eroticism of Ares' foreplay. Lips and tongue suckling at his nipples, sending shafts of fire shooting down through his balls and thighs, tweaking at the base of his iron-hard cock. The broad, luscious tongue covering every inch of his sides and abdomen, spreading godly saliva, like the headiest massage oil. The strong, flexible fingers moved through the lubrication in long, sweeping swathes of possession, up and across and then down Orestes' hips to the front of the thighs. He quivered uncontrollably, caught in the grip of the erotic fever, his mind shut down except to the interpretation of the touches, and then, even to the delineation of each touch, as they became one white hot fire, consuming him.

Still he was silent, his breath entering and leaving his chest, erratically and totally out of his control. If he died right there, he no longer cared. He just knew, somehow, for some reason, he no longer knew what, that he must remain silent.

The tickling over the flesh just above his knees was almost his undoing. He felt it in his toes, curled to the point of cramping pain, in the roots of his hair ... the scream was pushing its way up from his lungs ... it was almost bullying its way up his throat ...

He locked down on it, almost choking on the pain of doing so, but he managed it somehow.

And then it all stopped.

Ares, confused at Orestes ability to successfully deny him what he wanted, flung himself from the bed in anger. No-one had ever resisted him like this before. The King was a trembling ball of mush and yet, there was still no sound. Stroking his beard and beginning to brood, Ares reluctantly reappraised his opponent. There was a smooth rustle of movement on the bed and he watched, curious in spite of himself, as Orestes turned over onto his stomach once more. It was the reaction of a teenage boy in sleep, the need to pleasure himself to release, an instinct so deep and overpowering that Ares doubted Orestes was fully aware that he was doing it.

Sucking on his lower lip for a moment, he regarded the human, his restless twitching against the hide catching at something, some unacknowledged corner of the god's psyche and drawing him down before he could stop himself. He regarded the delicious ass cheeks for a moment longer; was unconsciously seduced by the tensing and relaxing rhythm. The effort to achieve orgasm ...

His hands on Orestes' ass, curving over the twin mounds of muscle, shocked Orestes to stillness. There was sound then. But it was no sound of passion, it was a growl of sheer frustration, and it was sharp and deep and meant more business than Ares would have thought Orestes capable of.

"Well, now," Ares murmured to himself, "it looks like you've got more in common with your cousin than I thought. Who would have thought you'd hold out for so long?"

The words were no sooner out than there came a long sigh of struggling relief from Orestes; something let go of, though only reluctantly. Ares heard the muffled words but they were so soft he couldn't understand them at first.

"What did you say?" he asked softly, his mouth mere inches from the back of Orestes' sweat slick neck. The words came out as another growl, and caused red hot slivers of lust to clucth at Ares' balls, making him jerk and twist with pleasure.

"I said, *TAKE* me ..."

Oh, this was fire, this was blood, this was the challenge of a warrior. So, Orestes really did have it in him after all. Well, this was going to be fun ...

Turning the mortal on his back once more, Ares then lost no time in pulling him up to face him, taking his hands and reaching back to fasten them around the back of his own neck. "Leave them there," he ordered, his eyes never leaving Orestes' face, which was set in fury, but softened by the demanding heat in his eyes. Then he reached down and, reaching for those lean, muscular thighs pulled his lower body towards him, parting his legs and planting them on either side of his thick waist. The rest he would make Orestes do himself.

"Pull yourself closer," he demanded, and for a long, angry moment, Orestes refused, just sitting there, leaning as far away from Ares as his linked arms would permit. Ares, reached out one hand and pinched a nipple, hard. He could see the pain in Orestes' face but it was, once again, refused voice. Ares leaned across and started biting on the other man's nipples, chewing almost until he broke the skin, drawing blood. Then, still wanting Orestes to do this of his own accord, he drew back.

Orestes looked back at Ares, almost hating him. He remembered the god's words to him concerning Niobe, but still needed the release that it seemed he was only to obtain at Ares' hands. Orestes obeyed the command finally, and linking his ankles together at Ares' waist, pulled himself slowly forward until the god's huge throbbing erection tangled heatedly with his own and he drew in almost a sob of breath at the fierce touch. He looked at Ares' member pointedly and spoke his fear, guardedly.

"Something that size will likely kill me," he said, almost matter-of-factly, not sure whether Ares meant for it to, or not, and not sure whether he cared at that moment or not. He had had male lovers before and he knew the pleasure that could be wrought by being taken as a woman is. But something so huge ...

Ares reached out and put his hand on Orestes' cock and stroked it slowly. Orestes' head went back, his neck taut and straining with the pleasure. Then disengaging from the close position for a moment, Ares bent forward and taking the head into his mouth, let his tongue play with the slit for long, torturous moments. Finally drawing back, he put just his lips to the head and blew softly into the slit. Orestes almost jerked out of his grip. Taking advantage of the overpowering sensation he had just caused in the other man, he rubbed his fingers in the fluid weeping constantly from his own cock and inserted a finger into Orestes, moving in and stretching the muscle. Two fingers then, moving deeper, slowly, knowing just where to curl in and jab ...

Orestes bucked in his hands and this time Ares got what he wanted; a howling cry of passion that was almost sadness and it clutched at some neglected place in his chest, squeezing it with a drenching passion that was akin to pain. He jabbed again, pushing deeper this time, and withdrawing quickly to replace his fingers with his cock, the rhythm smooth and effortless and he groaned deeply in the clutches of his own surrender to the tight warmth which surrounded him.

He pushed again, clutching at Orestes hips as he brushed by his prostate a second time; then slowly withdrew only to penetrate again with another strong and slow thrust, again and again, sending Orestes shuddering to a breathless, almost choking climax.  The rictus of Orestes' climax pulled the muscles around Ares' cock so solid and tight that he came immediately, his own response howled out like a lone wolf's challenge to the world.

This mortal, sweeter and stronger than Ares could have guessed, was his now; his and his alone.

But even more than that. He had gained a victory of his own over the god of War.  A battle for a certain amount of respect.  It might be a triumph that only Orestes would ever be aware of, but the fact that he had won it from the god of War, meant something to him.

Watching as Orestes drifted slowly away from the fire's immolating heat, Ares leant over his lover and murmured in his ear hotly,

"She's not good enough for you, anyway ..."

The End