By Salem of Normandy
Folding his arms around his gorgeous golden lover, Hercules sighed contentedly at the back Iolaus' neck.
"Sated, big boy," the hunter asked.
"Of course, my love," the demi-god replied as he pressed his body more firmly to the other man's back. "By the way, what was that thing you did, right at the end?"
Iolaus quietly chuckled. "Just an old hunter's trick, buddy."
"Ha, ha, Iolaus," Herc replied through a big grin. "If you won't answer seriously, then it's time to sleep. We've got a long way to walk if we're going to make it to the festival in time, and I *know* you don't want to miss *that*."
"Good point." Iolaus craned his neck around to kiss best friend. "Goodnight, lover."
"Sweet dreams, my heart."
Neither man noticed the cold breeze that whispered through the tree limbs as they drifted to sleep. In his incorporeal form, Ares watched his detested half brother and that annoying tag-along bathe in their loving afterglow. If the God of War had had a stomach at that moment, he would have vomited on them.
The air stirred again in a disgusted sigh. He'd done just about everything to separate those two (he had even let Xena fuck the little one!), but there they were, completely absorbed with one another. He mentally sneered at his failure. . . just one of many where his father's favorite son was concerned. A moaning gale rushed through the tiny clearing as his rage and fury took hold of him. When he saw the men below him huddle even closer against the wind, an idea occurred to him and the wind stopped dead.
Two strong dark hands appeared over the sleeping lovers and each took a handful of hair. With a blue flash, hands and lovers disappeared.
Fully materialized in his temple, Ares settled into his throne and surveyed the tableau before him with a critical eye. Bonds of solid air (visible only to the War God and breakable solely by his touch) held an unclothed Hercules at the wrists and ankles in a spread-eagle position half a span off the floor. The demi-god faced the throne and Ares had considered leaving him perpendicular to the floor, but decided to tilt him back about 45 degrees so that he could get the full effect of what lay before him.
Between Hercules and the throne, a naked Iolaus was likewise suspended, but horizontally (with added air-bonds for his chest and hips) at groin height, facing the floor. His arms were stretched almost close enough to touch Herc's thighs so that Iolaus would be able to look straight up at Hercules' face and Herc straight down to his. They would see every
emotion that passed over their partner's face.
With a little godly power, Ares had been able to keep them while he positioned them asleep their heads still hung to their chests and they snored fitfully), which was necessary to use the air-bonds. One can't put solid air around something that's moving about.
A small smirk emerged on the god's lips. Perfect, absolutely perfect. The timing, however, had to be calculated exactly so that his final participant arrived precisely on time. Despite any reputation to the contrary, patience was one of his many virtues.
When he felt that his last "guest" was on the way, Ares removed the light haze of sleepiness from around his half brother and the short hunter, then shot a light green bolt up their respective spinal chords which caused their bodies to dump loads of adrenaline into their veins. Both cried out at the rude awakening and writhed as far as their constraints would let them, bruising tender flesh.
Herc came back to himself first. "Ares," he said with all the familiar contempt.
"Good of you to recognize me, brother." Ares' smile never touched his mocking eyes.
"*Half* brother!" That always got him.
"Herc, I can't move," Iolaus managed to say while straining against the bonds. "And . . . you can't either, can you?" A sort of horrified wonder had entered his voice at discovering something his 'perfect' lover couldn't do.
Ares let out a wry chuckle. "Quite true, little man. Even the mighty Hercules can't break free this time. Those bonds are made out of tightly packed air . . . just air, but totally unbreakable except by *my* will. A god could wink out of them quickly enough, of course--Hephaestus didn't make them--, but I don't believe you have that particular talent, do you, Hercules?"
Herc replied with a murderous gaze that was spoiled by the dry click of his throat as he swallowed nervously. "Zeus will not stand for this. I--"
"Are you going to tattle-tale on me, little brother? Run home and cry to Daddy? I thought you had grown up, Herc. Perhaps I was wrong."
"Your little mind games won't work with me, Ares. I'm not so proud that I can't realize when I need help."
"Hmm. I suppose that's your *human* side talking. Doesn't matter. Go ahead. Call to our beloved father. It won't do you any good and you know it."
When Herc didn't answer or start yelling right away, Iolaus grew alarmed. "Why wouldn't it do any good, Herc? Herc?"
Still glaring at Ares, Herc replied: "Because gods aren't supposed to pay attention to what happens in other gods' temples. It's forbidden, but sometimes the highest gods do it anyway, so most have wards around their temples that prevent any divine spying."
Ares grinned. "So you *do* remember some of your lessons. Can't say they'll help you much now."
"Herc?" Iolaus had been growing increasingly unsettled as he thought about what all that must mean. "Herc, we've got to get out of here. I think . . . I think he means to rape me."
The God of War threw back his head and laughed uproariously, sprawled across his throne. Iolaus looked up at Hercules in total confusion and saw that Herc's face twisted by baffled anger.
When the god finally regained control of himself, he said, "Why in the Flaming Nine Hells would I want to fuck *you*?"
Iolaus almost listed the numerous reasons, but at the last second realized how that would sound. He didn't want Ares to fuck him in any way, shape, or form, but he didn't want to be laughed at either. The whole situation was wholly confusing and Ares was in control; they needed to get out of there immediately.
Furious, Hercules bellowed, "Then why are we here?"
Ares swung his right arm out and pointed to a rather large door set into the side of the temple wall. As Hercules looked over (with Iolaus following his gaze), the door opened to reveal a tall, robed figure halted in shock at the sight before him.
The King of Corinth slipped unseen out of his palace and made his way through the midnight streets of his city in anxious anticipation. His meetings with the War God were always exhilarating, if somewhat uncomfortable, and as much as he tried to convince himself that he was only paying his due to the god, he couldn't ignore his fierce desire, his savage lust for the dark figure in black leather.
Whenever he received Ares' summons, he knew he was in for a wild ride, something new and exciting. He supposed that was another reason he looked forward to his visits to the temple: They took him away from his daily grind.
Way back in the darkest corner of his mind, he recognized one other reason for wanting Ares; a reason he was ashamed to admit even to himself: Hercules would most definitely *not* approve. As half brothers to Alcmene's favorite son, they shared a certain hatred for the demi-god and he reveled in the fact that they were defying any and all objections he may have.
Iphicles paused at the hidden entrance to the temple that led directly to Ares' bedchamber within. He knew what *he* got out of his arrangement with the God of War, but he had often wondered what *Ares* wanted. Some reasons were quite obvious. By helping the King of Corinth drive back the invasions of neighboring kingdoms, the king (and thus *all* of Corinth) belonged to the War God . . . besides which, Ares got a new boy toy in the bargain. If Iphicles had been just a little more self-assured, he might have wondered if Ares didn't stage that whole invasion himself just to get Iphicles--not the King, or the brother of Hercules, but just Iphicles himself--in the sack. But he was not, so he did not.
He did, however, wonder bitterly if his connection to Hercules was the biggest reason for Ares' interest in him. If that was so, then the wonderfully hot War God was just one more thing he had had to depend on Hercules to get for him . . . however roundabout and strange the circumstances may be.
He didn't believe that Ares God of War wouldn't have some ulterior motive for--
Iphicles shook his head to clear it and, as he stepped into the bedchamber, mentally repeated his personal mantra:
Thinking and fucking don't mix . . .
Friends don't let friends fuck thoughtfully . . .
Don't think and fuck . . .
Kings Against Contemplative Fucking . . .
Seeing that the room was empty and hearing voices from the main temple area, the heavily robed King of Corinth opened the door onto a wholly unimaginable scene.
"Give us a hand, Iphy," Iolaus yelled with renewed hope from his highly suggestive position.
"Brother," Hercules said in a decidedly relieved tone. The prospect of release had clouded their reason and they didn't think to wonder why the king would use a side entrance into the temple of a god he was supposed to despise.
"Iphicles." The War God's tone demanded obedience. Iphicles moved toward the throne as he threw concerned glances at the demi-god and the golden hunter who seemed to be floating in mid-air.
Ares' hand on his arm pulled all of the king's attention to War God's darkly beautiful face. That hand drifted to Iphicles' own visage and gently stroked his cheek as he delivered his ultimatum in a quiet, seductive voice.
He gestured to the sprawled and naked Iolaus. "I want you to take him as I took you the first time."
Three sets of eyes widened and three sets of mouths prepared to protest. A simple flick of the War God's wrist thwarted any speech. "No questions, no protests. Do not speak. If you refuse, you will lose my favor and I will divide your crown and country among your enemies."
Iphicles stared at Ares with an expression distorted by anguish, mentally imploring him to take it back, to not make him choose. But the War God's face simply demanded a response. His thoughts raced in rapid battle:
How could I?
Easy. Remember that first night. Willing and not willing at the same time.
But I don't want Iolaus.
Doesn't matter. Just think about fucking Ares.
But Hercules--my *brother*--is watching!
So is Ares; he's the only one who matters.
Mother . . .
Is dead. Fuck Iolaus.
But he's Herc's lov--
All the more reason to fuck him . . . to *seduce* him. Make him want it. Rip Herc's heart out.
But I'm a nice guy . . .
Was Hercules every *really* nice? Always ordering people around, trying to make everyone exactly like him, ;ooking down at anyone who didn't live up to his standards. He deserves it. For Rena, for Corinth, for *Mother*.
The king closed his eyes, curled his lips, and nodded his consent.
"No," Herc shouted. "You can't! You won't! This is Iolaus! You can't rape him! I won't let you! I won't let him do it, Iolaus. He's my lover, Iphicles! You're my brother! Whatever you think you owe Ares doesn't matter! I'll fix it! Don't do it! Think about Mother!"
Iphicles had been slowly making his way to the keening hunter, ignoring Herc' pleas, when 'Mother' came through. His eyes flew open and he mentally threw every bad feeling he had ever had at the shouting man. He sneered at the demi-god as he reached into his robe's pocket and extracted the patchouli oil he carried for Ares. He doffed his robe to reveal his perfect, tanned body and his impressive half erect cock.
Iolaus had hung his head in defeat as soon as Herc's shouts made it clear that Iphicles intended to obey Ares.
"No! Iphicles, stop! He won't do it, Iolaus. He's your friend. DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM!"
He was unaware of the low cry emitting from his throat, but he was the only one who noticed when Ares moved himself and his throne to the right, blocking the door Iphicles had come through, presumably for a better view.
Iolaus expected to be raped with no lubrication, fast and hard and utterly humiliating. And so it came as quite a surprise when big oiled hands began massaging his back. He tensed in confusion, but the hands soothed his muscles even as he fought against them. He looked up at his lover only to find that Herc wasn't even paying any attention to him; he was busy shouting his head off at Iphicles who remained mute, probably concentrating on his ministrations. A quick glance to the right showed Ares lounging on his throne looking as if he were watching something only mildly interesting.
Great! I'm going to be raped and no one cares!
He had to suppress a hysterical giggle. But the hands felt good.
It's *not* supposed to feel *good*!
This is Rape!
I never said yes!
But he felt his body respond to those expert hands anyway. His keening turned to broken moans of pleasure and the cracked sobs of a tortured soul.
"You CAN NOT do this, Iphicles! He's your friend! I'm your brother! *Iolaus*! No! NO!! *NO*!!!" Hercules, the famed hero and favorite son of all, continued his helpless clamor and useless attempts to break the bonds.
Iphicles continued to sneer at him as Iolaus tore himself apart with refusal and desire. Ares drank in the hatred and despair. The catharsis was nearly overwhelming. He felt the echoes of his own hate and contempt and torment. It was delicious.
He freed himself of his leather and slowly began stroking his engorged cock to the rhythm of his king's hands.
Hercules couldn't believe it. "Iolaus!" He just couldn't. "No!" He was not seeing this. "Iphicles, stop!" His own brother was *raping* his best friend and lover. "You can't!" He couldn't even recognize Iphicles' face. "Don't!" Iolaus was *moaning* with *pleasure*! "NO!!" He loved it! "IOLAUS!"
Every tendon stood out as he threw every bit of strength he had into trying to break his constraints. They held. The sweat from his exertions coated his nude form including his pale, flaccid penis. "No! Please! Brother! NO! Don't! Iolaus! Stop! STOP!!!"
Iphicles' face remained contorted as his hands automatically worked out any resistance in the prone body before him. Iolaus' backside glistened with oil and his chest heaved with ragged breaths. The king took a firm grip on Iolaus' throbbing phallus and allowed the former thief to fuck his royal hand.
With each stroke he whispered his new mantra at his roaring brother: "Defy you; *Defy* you; *DEFY* you; De-*fy*; De-*Fy*; De-*FY*!" With his other hand, he prepared Iolaus for his own pulsating cock with one oiled finger . . . then two . . . and finally three scissoring fingers carefully not touching that sensitive spot inside.
Hercules' denials had grown fiercer and more frantic with each finger so that his shrieks were almost unintelligible.
He withdrew his fingers and positioned the head of his raging cock at the entrance of the hunter's ass. He paused in his rhythm to bear his teeth at Hercules in what was supposed to be a smile that was made insane by his demented eyes.
The king then plunged all the way into Iolaus' tight ass with a wordless cry that rivaled any of Herc's. Iolaus shouted as well in relief and pain and agony. Hercules howled at the ceiling. It was perfect.
The King of Corinth set a rigorous pace
(pull *THRUST* pull *THRUST* pull *THRUST*)
de-*FY* de-*FY* de-*FY*
hitting Iolaus' prostate with every other thrust.
Iphicles began to shout his mantra as Iolaus cried out his denials and Hercules shrieked on.
"De-*FY*! De-*FY*! De-*FY*! De-*FY*!"
Iolaus shook his head to the beat while trying his best to push back on Iphicles' cock despite the bonds. He felt an extra hard thrust against that *spot* and, with one last "NOOO!" Iolaus shot his seed to the floor of the temple.
His muscles spasmed and sent Iphicles over with a final cry of rage in the single most explosive orgasm of his life.
With a deafening roar that shook the temple, Ares arched his back and sent a jet stream of semen toward Hercules, who was screaming at the top of his lungs.
Iolaus blacked out immediately; Iphicles passed in and out of consciousness, muttering incoherently as he lay slumped over the golden hunter's body; Hercules continued to scream until he ran out of air and passed out.
Ares put a hand on his king's shoulder and sent him back to his room in the palace. It would take quite a while before he would be able to get Iphicles even remotely back to normal (guilt is *so* inconvenient sometimes), but there was no question of his loyalty and no more worries that he'd go back to Hercules.
Ares shifted his gaze to Iolaus. Some of the king's semen had flowed down the hunter's right leg and was dripping to the black marble floor to join the puddle of Iolaus' own cum. Ares' smile deepened. Sacrificial seed spilled unwillingly to honor the God of War. Marvelous.
He walked around the limp hunter to admire his masterpiece. Herc's tear-stained face had once again fallen to his chest, but his breathing was hoarse and sporadic. He wouldn't be able to speak normally for several weeks. Satisfaction surged through the War God; broken and bruised, Hercules had never been so beautiful.
He gingerly touched each man and transported them back to their bedroll in the forest. He would keep a closer eye on them than usual to see how they handled it. Iolaus won't want to fuck for a while, that was for sure, and Herc probably wouldn't touch him with a ten foot poll for showing his desire, however tainted it was. Ares looked forward to the recriminations.
The War God's only concern was Zeus, but he'd been on the outs with the King of the Gods for far worse. Ares decided it wasn't worth worrying over until his father confronted him.
He dematerialized in a blue flash and set out to find something interesting to do. After all, the night was young.