Ares sighed. It had been one of those days, Hell, it had been one of those months. He sat brooding, upon his throne; one leather clad, muscled leg thrown casually over one armrest, whilst a finger idly twisted a lock of silken black hair.
Hercules and the golden flirt, could they not give him a moments peace? One stupid, bloody war would do, but everywhere he could stir one up, they’d be Hercules and Iolaus...lovely blonde, tanned and fuckable Iolaus. This thought made Ares even more angry, angry that he could even think about the irritating, but ...hot lover of his brother. He shifted as he felt a pulse in his groin.
"Bored....correction fucking bored," he said to himself. "What to do....who to do...," he stopped as mid sentence as the throne room filled with blue.
"Yo, Unc what’s going down?" Strife asked bounding up the steps.
Ares raised one heavy brow, the briefest of smirks tugging at his full, rosen lips. He swung his leg over the armrest, turned to face Strife full on and leaning forward, said darkly, "You."
"Huh?" Strife asked looking confused.
Ares looked to the ceiling. "Strife were you born dumb, or did it take years of practice?"
Strife frowned as he ran over the last words of there conversation. His mind was still thinking of parting Cupids sweet ass and....he stopped, looked at Ares as grinned. "You..you want me? Like really..now?"
"Whoah! Want you -- doubtful. I want you to suck me off. Or is that something you find hard to grasp?"
"Unlikely," the glint in his eye, all the merit Strife needed for the title, ‘God of Mischief’.
"Good, so get you fuckin’ ass over here." he commanded.
Strife needing no further invitation, went at once to the base of the throne, Ares with a thought rid himself of the tight, leather pants that were making his erection, painfully uncomfortable. From its confines sprang forth the God of Wars, beautiful cock. Strife took a breath as he felt himself twitch into life, but he could attend to himself later. Now
he would serve.
Strife placed his hands on Ares’ inner thighs and slowly pushed them apart, Ares offered no resistance. He just watched; Strife’s face, so full of adoration, so young, the lessons he could teach him. The painful teachings that would shape him, mould him into a feared God, a God to obsess over. Oh , he could spend an eternity creating new ways to encourage the powers of rage and war, and looking at Strife now an eternity it would probably take.
Ares half lost in fantasy, slouched back as Strife’s deliciously wet tongue began to trace a line up his inner thigh. In a heartbeat, the searcher had found it’s entrance, and darted at the tightness which barred the way. Ares, his heavy lashed eyes half closed, spread his legs further, an invitation, an urge to go deeper. Strife ever eager to obey Ares’ demands, pushed deep and upwards seeking the spot which...
Ares groaned. "Stop and I will kill you," he breathed.
Strife acceded happily, knowing that this was his uncles way of telling him, he was doing well. In long, hard strokes he licked, pressing harder upwards with each caress as the taught opening contracted around him, until Ares was so hard, so fucking hard he needed release.
With one hand he yanked Strife’s head back, Strife looked at him questioningly before it clouded with fear. "Did I displease...," he stammered.
"Shut up." Ares grabbed his nephew squarely around his throat. The tighter he squeezed, the more fear pushed open Strife’s eyes wide. Ares liked that look, nothing was quite so sweet or innocent. "Now, what do you want?" he asked.
Strife looked confused. Ares using the palm of his hand drove into Strife’s nose, shattering the bone. A flood of warm, wet blood, streamed down past Strife’s open lips, dripping crimson streams onto Ares hand.
Strife knew better than to heal himself, left his injury and suffered the pain gladly; he had had worse, a lot worse. "I want to..." He spoke through bubbles of blood.
"Yes?" Ares inclined his head so that his ear was close to Strife’s lips.
"I want to suck your cock. I want.. I want to please you," Strife begged, choking the final word. The worse part was, that he meant it. He wanted more than anything to please the great God of War, please him so that maybe some day, Ares may want him in the way he had so often dreamt, in the dark hours. The hours wear his masque, his stupid facade of a life slipped, revealing his misguided emotions. Who was he, what
was his purpose... who even cared? He was a God of nothing.
The pain, the abuse all helped. It made him feel, made his existence more solid, and to serve in any way, even if on his knees, bleeding, humiliated was a blessing from the Fates themselves. The grip around his throat released. Stumbling forward, his head began to spin. Thick drops of blood splattered down onto Ares’ exposed flesh. He let a small cry escape his trembling lips as he felt Ares’ hand on the nape of his neck, but the touch was gentle. His fingers pushing up in circles into the soft, black curls of his hair.
"Please me Strife, that is all I ask, it doesn’t always have to hurt." Ares voice was unervingly soft, like the calm before a storm.
Strife could have melted right there, the briefest show of affection from Ares, so rare, so exquisite was his touch. Pushing back his revelry, he leaned down and moistened the head of Ares’ cock. Almost instantly a single pearl of fluid eased it’s way from within, melting on his tongue, making his mouth water. Hungry for more, he danced across
the purpled surface, teeth biting, urging just one more drop of his dark ambrosial taste.
Ares pulled down , softly but firmly, raising his hips to ease his, thick, veined cock between Strife’s, wet, bloodied lips, stretching them wide.
"...So deep..." he whispered as his fingers ran through the raven tresses of his servant.
Strife used long, swirling strokes, searching out each pulsing vein, making the enormous cock twitch as tiny shock waves flooded Ares’ senses. Holding the base of the shaft he drove down hungrily, his teeth catching the skin with each swallow.
"Faster..." Ares’ voice almost inaudible.
Strife gratefully obeyed, his mouth covering every inch of skin, stretching over the head -- so hard, so big. His own erection pressing now against his clothing.
"Faster...." Ares said louder. He was close now, his head rolled backwards, eyes half open, his hot breath rasping and course. His other hand took held of Strife’s head as he began to push upwards to meet Strife’s eager mouth.
Strife felt the fingers entangle themselves in his hair, he knew what would come next. Ares pulled hard at the curls between his fingers and forced his entirety inside. Strife gagged, but he did not struggle, he knew better. Ares raised himself off the throne, held up by his hold on Strife, he fucked his nephews mouth hard and brutally, indifferent to
his muffled cries.
He looked down to watch his himself slip in and out of his swollen, bruised lips. His own cock becoming smeared with the blood from his still bleeding nose. It was almost too much, he could have came then, flooded his throat with his seed. But that would be weak, so in one last show of cruelty, he pulled out, just as his cock exploded, spraying
Strife’s face with his hot, creamy fluid. With his own hand he worked the last convulsing moments of his orgasm.
A moment passed, a heartbeat, a second, a minute maybe. Suffering masks time.
Strife’s face was lifted by one callused finger. Ares not once breaking his stare lowered his head and kissed him. He ran his tongue over the swollen lips, savouring the taste of his seed mixed with Strife’s sweet blood. He pulled away. "Be gone by the time I get back," he said coldly. With that spoken he dematerialised.
Strife raised a hand to his blood, cum stained lips. Only then did he cry.
Strife arrived late. Zeus had summoned the Gods together to lecture them about something that undoubtedly would affect him -- his power being too weak and underdeveloped to cause or solve any real problems. This was a usual tactic, by slipping in near the end, he didn't have to feel so inferior, so ineffectual, and of course Zeus always bored him senseless.
"Like I’d be missed anyhow,” he said to himself.
“Got that right, my little God of nothing.,” whispered a female voice in his ear.
Strife jumped. “Dis’, don't do that!” He turned to face the ever scantily clad Goddess Discord.
“Oh, did I scare little Strifey?” she asked coyly, placing her arms behind her back.
“No, but your hair does.” Strife was far from in the mood for her catty remarks.
Her small feral features flashed with anger, then something caught her eye. “Hey, nice markings,” she said, her hand reaching for the blue/black bruising which had spread across Strife’s face.
Stife jerked his head away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Looks like you really got someone pissed,” Discord continued, she leaned closer. “It’s okay, Ares told me all about it. You shouldn’t take it so hard, he is a hard God to please.”
“Shut up!” Strife snapped, he could feel his face flushing with colour.
“I know, your upset. You failed so miserably he had to come to me for some... professional attention.” Her voice dripped venom.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he stammered. <How could Ares have told her?>
“Face it Strife, you don’t even compare to a hand job, although granted... you are less effort,” she said each word laced with spite.
“That is not true!”
“No? Tell me then ‘lover boy’, has Ares ever made love to you?”
Strife’s face said it all. No.
“No, of course he hasn’t. You’re a laughing stock babe, nothing more.”
“Excuse me.” A winged figure stepped in between the two.
“Cupe, fuck off outta my face,” Discord spat.
“Don’t wanna.” Cupid crossed his arms over his bronzed chest. “You are so beautiful when you snarl like that....it kinda reminds me of that dog Ares once had. Please don’t let me interrupt, I just want to watch, ‘cos you so do it for me.” Cupid had perfected sarcasm to an art.
“Enough, fly boy unless you want this puppy to bite,” she growled.
“Go on drool for me... you know ya wanna.” He smiled watching her growing anger.
Without a clever comeback she stamped her foot, disappearing in a fireball, leaving Cupid and Strife alone.
“What a bitch,” Cupid remarked.
“What did you hear?” Strife asked nervously, not even bothering to thank Cupid for his blessed intervention.
“Nothing.. nothing.” Cupid hoped he sounded convincing.
“Good... I gotta go.”
“Strife, are you okay? I ain’t seen you for awhile.” It wasn’t a huge secret that Cupid and Strife had an occasional ‘thing’ and Cupid was beginning to become concerned for his lover.
“Yeah, I’m fine I just got some issues,” Strife found he couldn’t face him, he knew Cupid had seen the bruising, but he was afraid he’d look further, into his eyes. He knew Cupid would read his heart and know his secret.
Cupid stepped forward. “Talk to me, maybe I can help,” he said softly.
“No, it’s no big deal really... I’m fine okay.” Strife felt hot and sick, he just wanted to be left alone with his problems. If anyone knew... he didn’t want to think of the consequences.
“Strife, how fucking old do you think I am?” Cupid’s raised voice made him Strife flinch. Noticing agitation in his friend he lowered his voice. “You can’t hide your feelings from me, you should now that.”
Strife wanted desperately talk to somebody. But how could he explain... ‘Hey I love my uncle who uses me for light relief, oh and as a punch bag. He humiliates me, hurts me, abuses me and I love him, desperately with all my fuckin heart.’ Yeah go on understand that. He raised his head and was about to say something dismissive when, from the shadows stepped Ares, one huge hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Strife didn’t need to look to know that Ares midnight eyes were burning into him.
”Know what Strife?” he asked expectantly.
Strife nearly died. How long had he been there? What had he heard.
“We were discussing the finer points of mischief,” Cupid replied, knowing full well Strife couldn’t have spoken then, even if he’d wanted to. Ares, it had to be him, God was Strife still hung up on that drug?
Ares looked unconvinced. “Leave us,” he ordered, dismissing Cupid with a wave of his hand.
Cupid looked at Strife who urged him with his eyes to go. Unhappy about it, but obeying his friend he sighed and nodded. “Okay... I’ll catch you later.”
After he had left Ares turned to face Strife. “What did you tell him?” he demanded.
“I told him nothing Ares, I swear.”
Ares grabbed Strife’s jaw. “Why have you not healed yourself?” he asked.
Strife began to tremble now. Fear was something he never had any control over, Ares had taken that from him at a young age. “Because.. you didn’t give me permission,” he said pathetically.
“Do you really think I want anyone knowing I even let you get even that close to me?” he shouted. “Or is that your intention? To announce it to all, to make me look stupid.”
“No!” Strife cried a tear fell down his face.
Ares mask of anger gave way. Strife wasn’t sure was it concern...no Ares looked at him with pity, like you’d give an injured animal, right before you’d bludgeon its skull to end its suffering. He released his grip and with both hands cupped Strife’s tear stained face.
“I do this all for can’t you see?” Ares said so quietly it was almost a whisper. He leant closer until he could feel Strife’s breath upon his face, quick and gasping. Ares paused to savour the sensation, drawing pleasure from it as a torturer would his victim’s screams. His cock hardened instantly.
The kiss was so unexpected, so gentle, Strife had no time to react. Lost was the ability to breathe, to think, to act. His heart beat so loud it transcended all other sound. The first thing he acknowledged, was feeling heat, intense, burning heat. Those soft, full lips hot against this own, radiating warmth upwards and outwards, filling his body. He felt as if he was falling and flying all at once, and his eyes closed, partly in pleasure, partly to avoid spilling tears.
Ares powerful fingers delicately slipped into the waves of dark curls, pulling, urging Strife closer. So gentle the touch, so uncharacteristic of the War God, Strife could not help the stifled cry that escaped his throat.
He was shaking now, but not from fear. It was a state he could not possible understand. Euphoria, bliss, how could he describe his dream made reality? When the strong tongue pushed its way past his lips, his heart sang. Forgotten were the cruel words, the beatings.... the humiliation. This one precious moment made everything, everything worth it.
Afraid at first he tentatively moved his arms around the waist of his uncle, not so much fearful of inducing the ire with which Ares so often treated affection, but of ending this moment. But when no fist greeted him, no words delivered to strip him of his heart, his courage grew.
He could feel it now, pressed hard against him, the huge erect cock he wanted to touch, to suck, to feel it tearing into his tight ass. It was all he could do to stop himself ripping off Ares’ pants and dropping to his knees right then. But how could he break the kiss? He couldn’t if his life depended upon it. Ares tongue ran deep, drawing delicious circles, a so consuming, so intense. Gone was the brutality, the bruising lust, but the fire still burned, and something... something else -- desire?
Strife dared not hope, he had it wrong, he must have; any minute now he would end up on the floor in his own blood, staring up at his God, mad and seething. Not knowing what he’d done wrong, not knowing what to do to make it right except take his punishment gladly, deservedly for displeasing. But still no pain came. The only words that filled his head were ‘At last, at last, at long last.’
Ares broke the kiss, Strife instinctively cowered. But there was no anger in Ares eyes, just...hunger. The unbroken gaze hypnotic, carnal, wanting. “Come to me... tonight.” The command breathed past his wet, swollen lips.
“Tonight?” Strife couldn’t help but question.
“Be there,” Ares said raising one finger and pointing Strife squarely in the chest. "You’re almost ready.”
“Ready?” He was sure his cursed tongue would be the end of him.
To his surprise, the God of War broke into a huge grin, then a laugh. “After sunset...” he called as the flash of lightening engulfed him. The laughter lingered long after he had gone. Leaving a very dazed and confused Strife.
“Sunset,” he said quietly. His face still tingled from the kiss, but the pain from his previous injury had gone. Ares had healed him, rewarded rather than punish. Strife allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “Sunset,” he said again.