Slippery When Wet
The water cascaded in hot rivulets down Ares' naked body. As it came from a waterfall fed by a mountain stream the water should, in fact, have been ice-cold but as far as Ares was concerned there was no point to being a god if you couldn't use your powers to create a few creature comforts now and then. He lifted his face to the warm spray and ran his hands through his glossy jet-black curls, luxuriating in the feel of the heated water trickling against his skin.
Ares blinked rapidly and shook his head. Surely that was ...? No, impossible. His nephew was dead, killed by the psycho blonde goddess, Callisto.
"Hey! Cool! This a private shower or can anyone join in?"
Ares turned and yelped. Gods didn't yelp; it was way too undignified. They roared, they thundered, they cajoled even. But what Ares saw was just too shocking for him to produce any approved variant of standard god vocals.
A figure was grinning over at him from where it lounged just beyond the spray from the waterfall. Gangly limbs encased in black shiny leather, pale white face, hair like pitch and eyes as wicked as sin. Strife.
"But ... but ... you're *dead*!" Ares squawked.
"I am?" Strife raised his eyebrows to best comic effect and rubbed his crotch with amusement. "I gotta say it, Unc, but I feel real lively for a dead man, if ya know what I mean."
"Callisto ... goddess ... dagger .... hind's blood .... Dahak ...." Ares' vocal talents had deserted him altogether now and he was left babbling incoherently.
"You been at those funny mushrooms again, Unc?" Strife came over all mock-solicitude. "'Cause I only understood about one word in three of all that."
"Aaagh....." Ares closed his eyes and banged his head hard against the nearest stone. Then he stopped heating the water and gave himself the equivalent of a cold shower in the desperate hope that it would help. "It's a dream," he mumbled into the icy flow. "All a bad dream .... no Strife .... dream ... that's all ... "
He opened his eyes. Strife was still there, large as life and twice as wicked.
"Yeah," Strife agreed. "All that crap about me being dead, that was a *way* bad dream all right." He ran his eyes lasciviously up and down Ares' naked figure. "Oooh, my eyes are liking what I'm seeing here. Can I come play, pretty please, uncle Ares? I wanna scrub your back ... and your ass .... and your ... "
Ares' cock suddenly and vigorously reminded the war god of one good reason why he kept Strife around and, after that welcome nudge to his memory, Ares found all his doubts and dark imaginings swept away. Strife *must* be right: it had all just been a bad dream.
"Come over here, you little weasel," he growled in his most dangerous and seductive tones, command of his godly vocals operating at full strength once more.
"Ooh, I love it when you pay me compliments!" Strife shed his own clothes with one quick wave of his hand and joined Ares, kneeling in front of the older god under the cool torrent of water. Then Ares tossed back his mane of wet black hair and writhed with delight as the familiar mouth applied itself to his cock with winning enthusiasm.
"And ... I know .... you're pleased ... to see me ... really ...." Strife mumbled a few moments later, in between mouthfuls of slippery hard cock. His tongue teased and his lips stroked the thick firm flesh in a distracting quicksilver series of movements. "I can always tell .... I know you like ... your little jokes ... but .... you ... really ... shouldn't - "
"Strife!" Ares hissed in frustration. He was so fired up now that it was a wonder the water spilling over him hadn't turned to clouds of steam as it touched his heated body. Impatiently, he locked his fingers in his nephew's hair and thrust his hips forward with customary imperiousness. "Just shut up and suck my damn cock!"
Strife was only too happy to oblige.