“But he’s perfect,” Iphicles protested, that pretty pout on his mouth. Ares pulled his lover against him and kissed those lips, wishing he could divert Iphicles from this quest. When he pulled back, Iphicles was smiling, his sharp teeth white against flushed lips.
Ares sighed. It was no use.
The god sat back, his amber-brown eyes liquid in the dim light of the tavern. Dark hair fell in soft curls around his face, framing the sharp cheekbones. He loosened the lace at his neck and stroked the impeccably manicured goatee while he contemplated Iphicles, totally rapt with his prey. Shifting in his seat, Ares adjusted his thick erection, hating to admit he, too, found the young man desirable.
He considered the youth seated across the room. Young, blond with long curls and clear blue eyes, he *did* look hauntingly like Iolaus as a young man. Ares marveled -- even after all these years, Iphicles still mourned the loss of those mortals he first knew and loved. Ares tried to amuse Iphicles with trips to exotic locales, mixing him with mortals from every occupation. Nothing but the thought of another of his kind seemed to lift his spirits.
The boy could be Iolaus’ double. “Stefan” had flirted outrageously with Iphicles earlier when they first arrived. Now, he kept glancing over at Iphicles, obviously attracted to the paleness of Iphicles’ skin and the contrast of dark eyes and chestnut waves. But there was more to it. The way Iphicles moved, smiled, and tilted his head was irresistible, even to Ares.
“Come on,” Iphicles purred, stroking the god’s tensed thigh. “Just think how delicious it will be with the three of us together. Don’t you ever miss anyone from before? I do.”
From before. Iphicles was always talking about "before". Before Ares made him a vampire, the time when he was merely a mortal, a king, the god's lover. Then Ares’ folly when he made Iphicles immortal while temporarily a vampire. Once his godly blood reasserted itself, he regretted it. It was perhaps the only way to make Iphicles immortal, but at times, the cost seemed too high. Iphicles rarely smiled any more. He was smiling tonight.
Iphicles sat in silence for a moment as he watched the youth with hungry eyes.
“He’s so much like Iolaus,” Iphicles whispered, leaning against the god, his voice soft.
“All right, go ahead,” Ares relented. Ares had known this day would come, knew that one day Iphicles would need another to salve the incredible loneliness even Ares’ presence couldn’t overcome. “I don’t have to like it.”
“But you will.”
Iphicles rose and with a predatory smile on his lips and crossed the room, his feet barely touching the floorboards.
The sweetness of Stefan’s breath betrayed his intoxication. Ares breathed it in and watched the two writhing on the seat across from him. Anise and red wine, jasmine and the salty musk of desire hung in the cold air of the coach as they raced through the darkened Prague streets. Ares turned and stared out the small window, catching brief glimpses of Prague’s ornate architecture, the ancient church spires and lamp-lit street corners.
He turned back, captured against his will by the sound of the youth’s moans. Stefan panted, oblivious to everything but the coolness of Iphicles’ lips on his nipple, the demanding hand on his groin. It was better this way. No need for him struggle on this night. Only sweet surrender as Stefan succumbed to the deathly pleasure of Iphicles touch.
As the coach made its way outside the city limits, Ares watched the two lean together, their limbs entwined, their aroused breath coming in short gasps visible in the chill night air. Stefan’s lust for Iphicles overtook any self-consciousness he might have felt about the third man’s presence. With the darkly beautiful Iphicles kissing him, he all but stopped looking at Ares, lost to the sensations Iphicles incited as his mouth roved hungrily from the taut nipple to the exposed flesh of the youth’s neck and shoulder.
“Not yet!” Ares cautioned. Iphicles raised his head, his bloodshot eyes betraying more than lack of sleep. Sharp canines shone as he hissed in disappointment, but Ares smiled and shook his head gently.
“Later,” he continued, mouthing the words carefully. “If you’re going to do this, I want to take part.”
Iphicles moved his mouth away from the exposed neck with reluctance, pulling open the white silk shirt and kissing Stefan’s belly. The youth moaned, breathless, and thrust his hips forward on the coach’s padded seat. Ares' eyes traced the outline of the thick bulge in the tight silk trousers.
The twin lamps outside the coach flickered, their light shining in the coach’s interior and capturing the gold in Iphicles’ curls as his head moved lower over the youth’s torso. Iphicles tore at Stefan’s trousers, ripping the thin material, impatient to taste his cock. His hands moved with obvious hunger, stopping to fondle a narrow hip, a tensed thigh, then slipping under a buttock to lift the hips, move the cock into position. The coach clattered down the cobblestone streets, the noise almost deafening, but once they reached the city limits and the cobblestone turned to dirt, Stefan’s soft moans grew more audible and intense.
He thrashed as Iphicles sucked his cock, pale hair disheveled, long curls slipping out of his ponytail. His blue eyes stared at nothing, oblivious to everything, his mind focused on the warm mouth and tongue on the head of his cock. Wet sucking sounds mixed with the noise from the road while Ares stroked his cock as his own arousal grew.
“Not yet,” Ares said, touching Iphicles’ shoulder. “We’ll be there soon. I want him ready later, just as you do it.”
Iphicles pouted again but complied with reluctance, moving back up to the seat and stroking Stefan’s flushed cheek. He smiled at the god, his triumph all but assured.
The coach stopped before a grand, ancestral home and the coachmen helped them out into the darkness of the wide courtyard that circled the villa. Fresh snow sparkled in the full-moon night and the wind was cold. Carried on it was the howl of wolves in the distance, their mournful chorus a requiem fading to a low moan. As Ares led the way, Iphicles wrapped Stefan in his own fur wrap to cover the youth’s exposed cock and disheveled cravat. He all but carried the young man up the stairs and into the mansion; the young man’s giggle a crystal echo off thick marble walls.
The coachman took over now as butler and ushered them upstairs to the god’s sleeping rooms. Ares slipped off his fur cloak and handed it to the man, who took the other men’s outerwear as well and then left them alone.
“I can’t wait,” Iphicles whispered as he and Ares watched the youth stagger around the richly furnished room, comic in his drunken state, his clothing ripped, hair a mess. He stopping to run a finger along the ancient sword and raised an eyebrow suggestively. “Who’s the General?” he slurred in Czech.
“En Française, Stefan,” Iphicles chided.
Entranced by the rich surroundings, Stefan touched the gilded treasures, admiring plush furniture. He stopped to press down on the huge canopied bed and then sat, licking his lips, a young temptress already aware of his desirability.
Ares chuckled at the display and embraced Iphicles from behind, stroking his impressive erection, pressing his own against Iphicles’ full buttocks.
“Let’s not wait any longer,” Ares said as he strode across the room to the youth and pushed him onto the high plush bed piled with sheets and pillows of burgundy silk. Stefan fell back; the cocky grin replaced by uncertainty, unsure how to respond to the sudden show of aggression. He gasped as the god undressed them all with a thought and crept back higher on the bed as Ares mounted it and lay behind him.
“Un socier!” he whispered, and looked quickly at the two men with admiration but also just a touch of fear.
“Oui, Stefan,” Iphicles smiled and sat on the youth’s other side, running his fingers through Stefan’s blond curls. “A very powerful wizard.”
Iphicles stroked Stefan’s shoulder, pushing him back against the god. After only a moment’s hesitation while Stefan looked at Ares with new eyes, the youth leaned back and opened his mouth, eager for Ares’ kiss.
“I told you he’d be perfect,” Iphicles sighed, speaking once again in Greek as Stefan responded to Ares.
Ares kissed Stefan and stroked his naked belly, then slipped his hand lower to caress the stiff cock. He lifted the youth’s thigh and teased the tight pucker, smothering Stefan’s moan with his mouth. Iphicles removed a flask of oil from the side table, poured its contents over Stefan’s ass, and into Ares’ upturned hand. Ares stroked his huge erection, the head rubbing slowly at the youth’s tight hole. Ares pushed a finger inside Stefan, and the young man gasped, his body tensing. When Ares replaced the digit with the head of his cock, Stefan sucked in his breath and then held it, his face turning red. Ares struggled to enter him completely and it took several concerted attempts before Ares was deep inside. As he struggled, Iphicles sucked hard on Stefan’s cock, and the youth cried out, pain mixed with pleasure, fear finally overtaking his lust and bringing some sense to him.
”He’s a virgin,” Ares grunted as he thrust slowly in the youth’s incredible tightness. “So much for the tease.”
“Don’t hurt me,” Stefan whispered, barely enough strength in him to protest. He lay naked between the two big men, god and vampire, his flushed skin pink against Iphicles’ paleness.
“It only hurts for a moment,” Iphicles replied, pulling off Stefan’s cock and licking his lips.
Ares thrust gently in the youth’s ass while Iphicles continued to suck Stefan’s cock, and soon, Stefan was shaking, his orgasm very near. Sensing it, Ares pulled at Iphicles’ shoulder and the vampire looked up, his saliva glistening on Stefan’s ruddy cock.
“Now,” Ares commanded, his voice dark with lust. “He’s ready.”
Iphicles rose up and lay beside Stefan, his hand grasping both their cocks, stroking firmly. He kissed the young man, sucked on his tongue, then nibbled on the flesh of his earlobe before licking the soft skin just beneath.
“Come for me, mon petit,” Iphicles whispered, his amber eyes demonic, the skin under them pale, his lips swollen, wet. He looked deep into the youth’s blue eyes. “I want to suck you dry.”
Stefan tensed, his teeth gritting, eyes rolling back as the pleasure of his climax surged through him. At that moment, Iphicles bit him, sharp teeth piercing smooth skin. Ares grunted as the youth’s ass tightened around his cock and intensified the sensation.
“Yes,” Ares groaned, thrusting harder, faster, the tightness incredible as Stefan convulsed in an orgasm of pain and pleasure that seemed endless. “Oh, yes,” he gasped, shuddering, his cock emptying his seed inside the youth’s hot flesh.
Iphicles writhed against Stefan, their cocks slipping against his come-slick hand. He stroked fast and hard as he sucked down the warm blood. When he came, Iphicles looked up at Ares, the bright red blood smeared on his parted lips, his face contorted in pleasure. Silvery white streams of his come spurted onto the youth’s groin and Iphicles leaned closer, gasping against Stefan’s neck, grinding his cock against Stefan’s and then sucking once again at the wound.
Ares lay still and listened to Iphicles sucking as the mortal moaned softly. He felt Stefan’s life ebb.
“Stop,” he whispered, barely able to speak from the haze of pleasure. “Don’t let him die. Not unless you’re sure about this.”
Iphicles brushed his lips over the youth’s neck with reverence, running a finger through the slickness between their groins and sampling it, licking both semen and blood from his lips.
“I am,” Iphicles whispered as he opened the flesh of his own chest. “Now, drink -- become my own.” He pressed Stefan’s mouth to the wound and the young man resisted at first, then complied, too weak from pleasure and loss of blood to struggle.
Iphicles pulled the god close, kissing him as Stefan drank. Ares smiled and kissed his lover back, the mortal between them forgotten for a moment as he tasted the heady mixture of blood and semen.
Yes, perhaps Stefan might prove to be the balm for Iphicles’ aching soul after all. Only time would tell.