Love's Secret Sauce:
A Paean to Pleasures Oral and Otherwise
 by Taz

Ares had always suspected that Discord had a tender side, a part that she kept hidden from herself as much as from the other gods. But there had always been something in the soft swell of her breasts and in the fragile arc of her neck. One couldn't notice how the creamy skin, that swelled against the black leather straps of her bustier, belied the image of the hard dominatrix she tried to project. He thought about that insight as he watched his lover eat and about what had brought the two of them to this spot in the golden hills of Thrace, lying side by side, all but naked beneath ancient olive trees. Eating, making love, it was all one the god decided.

He tongued the flesh of a firm thigh and nibbled at the sensitive spot behind Discord's knee. He caught his lover's eye and curled his lips back, showing sharp teeth and bit into the tendons at the joint where his tongue had been. His reward was a gasp and a low moan that thrilled him deep inside and he wanted to reach out and take what he had waited so long for, but he held off. Anticipation is the spice of life.

It pleased him to be gentle now that their personal war was over and show his lover that there was a peaceful side to the God of War. He had brought sweet grapes and a crisp cold wine to honor the occasion. He had already poured some of the wine over Discord in a teasing demonstration of his powers and rubbed her skin with delicate oil scented with rosemary. He had licked it from his fingers as he pulled them from the secret recesses of her body.  His lover had laughed, as though not believing his impudence and he had said said, ‘there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you."

He moved to the spot where loin and thigh joined and bit deep. Her juices ran down his chin and into his beard. Her smell would be on him all night as a heady bouquet about their lovemaking. He was already unbelievably hard but he wanted to take it slowly, savoring every gesture, making it a banquet of the senses. Under a blue sky, on the green grass, Discord was spread for pleasure on pale linen that was scattered with red rose petals and waxy green olive leaves. He bit into her flesh again and smiled.

If he were being honest (although there had never been honestly between and no reason to expect any) what had finally driven him to it, was the way he had seen her tilt her head. The avid expression and the lusty, greedy gleam in her black eyes as she looked in the scrying pool watching his half-brother. He could tell she wanted Hercules. Was he jealous? No. He dismissed the thought as beneath him, but he was possessive, and to have her look at his brother like that was intolerable. She should have known she couldn't behave that way in front of him.

And then she had brazenly suggested that he propose a truce with his semi-divine half brother—to celebrate the solstice perhaps—invite him to a banquet or just over for coffee.  Well, Hercules was just naïve enough to fall for a ploy like that, but not the God of War. What kind of a fool did she think he was? She couldn't deny him his own, so he had challenged her.

Discord had seen her fate in his eyes and fought the knowledge like a goddess. He respected that and carried the wounds of that fight on his body yet, stab wounds on his hands and long bloody scratches on his arms, it pleased him to keep and show off as proof of her passionate nature. But no matter how she had fought, he was Ares and in the end he had mastered her. This day was his reward. He had promised himself he'd be gentle, but it was going to be hard to keep that promise—he had been waiting too long.

"You're really amazing, you know." He closed his eyes, listening to rare praise in the honey rich tones of his lover's voice. "I had no idea you could cook—much less make coc-au-vin. And this place it's perfect. The air is so completely still." The buzz of a wandering bee made a liar of the voice and they both laughed.

With his eyes still closed, he reached high on his lover's body and found a bounty. His greasy fingers slid easily over a swelling breast and. found the already hard nipple. He rolled it between his fingers, squeezing hard, and heard the urgent need in the low guttural moan that provoked. He marveled at how sensitive the flesh between his fingers was how it grew harder in response to each twist and pinch. There was nothing "semi"-divine about it—his half-brother had the best pecs on Olympus. "To Tartarus with it," he growled and tossing the bone aside, took his love in his arms and rolled over on top of him.

Hercules pretended to fight him but it was only play and the demigod was laughing as Ares caught his hands and pinned them over his head. He grinned down into his brother's smiling face as he bent to assay his new territory. He marked it with little nips and bites along the jaw and cheek and soothed them with his tongue, provoking breathless gasps. He found an ear and searched its maze with his tongue, thrilled by the slight bitter taste of wax. He sucked carefully on the soft lobe until his brother's moans pierced his gut like darts. He wanted to savor every part of his brother's body and hear every noise that Hercules would make while he did it.

He covered his brother's mouth, sweet with the grapes and wine, with his own. They wrestled tongue to tongue until Hercules submitted and let him in to explore every hot, wet vaulted arch. He sucked his brothers lips until they where swollen and red, then kissed his way around them delighted by every tiny groan. He pulled back and looked at his brother's face; the demigod's lips were slightly parted, his cheeks were flushed.

He braced his hips against his brother's and pushed his erection against the bulge in his brother's pants. "Feel me?" The demigod's reply was an inarticulate groan of assent as he tried to push back. "Good, because there is no place in you that I'm not going to go." You're mine, he thought, and it's time you knew it.

He saw only surrender and fervent need in his brother's face so he was surprised by the wave of desire that surged through him. The force of it distracted him and he lost his grip on his brother's hands. Before he could reassert control, Hercules had managed to sit up. But instead of knocking him down and taking the superior position, the demigod wrapped hungry arms around his waist and was nuzzling into the dark hair that covered his chest as though he were starving. Unable to help himself, Ares cupped his brother's head in his hands like a chalice, and guided the searching mouth to a nipple. His brother latched onto it and began to suck, He arched his back at the sensation and a current started to flow between them.

Mesmerized, he looked down at his brother's head and began to stroke it. Tawny strands of hair slipped like milkweed floss through his fingers. He was caught in the tides of energy that flowed back and forth between them. A soft wind had come up and the olive tree was raining its fruit and leaves down on their picnic. He watched his brother nurse; rubbing his thumb over an arched brow, around the soft coves of an eye and across the slightly rough cheek. He broke the suction of his brother's mouth with his thumb, as he had seen the mothers of infant children do and Hercules' eyes opened. The pupils were so dilated they looked almost black, but they closed again as Ares resettled him at the other breast. And it seems that I'm yours and now I know it too.

Afraid the unaccustomed tenderness could be taken for weakness, he didn't say anything of that aloud, just watched his brother's pleasure until he felt the sharp edges of teeth worrying him. Then he put his hands on both sides of Hercules' head and pulled him off. "I'm the god of war, not your dessert, little brother," he said, knocking him flat.

He picked up a ripe greasy olive and popped it into his brother's mouth. Hercules chewed up the fruit and spit the pit at him, scoring a direct hit on his cheek and laughing at him. Then it wasn't tenderness that overwhelmed him, that kind of disrespect had to be punished. He climbed off, stood up and began to deliberately unlace his breeches. At his feet his brother was doing the same thing. But, assisted by verticality and gravity, Ares was naked before his brother was sitting up to skin his pants off. He stroked his erection and watched the demigod struggle with the sweat damp leathers before he gave in and knelt down to help.

Compassion is always a mistake the enemy can take advantage of. Kneeling brought his penis to the demigod's eye level and just a little above mouth level. Hercules pounced on him and tried to swallow it while Ares was handicapped struggling with the stubborn leathers.

Surprise is a good tactic but the feint is the most precisely calculated move in a battle and the god of war has to be a tactical genius. He let it appear that he had fallen under the onslaught, even going so far as to allow Hercules to suck on him. He closed his eyes as the demigod wrapped his tongue around the head of his cock and held the back of brother's head with one hand permitting him to explore it. When Hercules' tongue probed its way down the slit to the most sensitive spot, he moaned very convincingly but he never lost sight of his objective. As the leathers had came off, exposing his brother's perfect butt, he simply leaned back. Off balance the demigod landed across his knees.

 "You're not going to spank me!" His brother yipped and tried to turn over. Ares laughed. If Hercules thought he could sue for mercy he had the wrong god. Besides, that muscular golden butt was too perfect. Ares held him down and began to wail on him leaving bright red handprints on both cheeks of the demigod's butt. After the first five or six blows Hercules stopped struggling and his yelps became low-pitched gasps. His back arched and he thrust his butt in the air to meet each blow. Ares stopped at that point and rubbed his hand over it feeling the fire in the flesh. He could feel the prick, hot and swollen, against his thighs.

"Do you want me to stop?" he whispered. Say no, little brother, ‘cause I don't think I can. You are just too beautiful with your ass in the air begging for it.

His brother lifted his head, shook his mane of hair back and stropped his face against Ares shoulder, "No. More." Ares was content to oblige. He punished him a little bit longer, then stopped to pet him again. This time he trailed into the crack of his brother's ass to the puckered opening of his body circling it with his fingertip. The demigod pushed against it, legs wide and Ares was strongly tempted to throw him down and take him like that, from the rear. But he wanted to watch his brother's face as he took him for the first time, so he only played, making deep promises with the one finger until his brother was sobbing against his shoulder as though heartbroken. Then he used the hand that he had been holding the demigod down with to comfort him. He knew it was unfair to make him wait any longer, so he tumbled him over onto the red and green stained linen and found the bottle of sweet oil. His brother watched him solemnly. They both pretended not to notice the tear streaks.

He poured oil on his palm releasing the faint scent of almonds as it warmed. Curious, he knelt between his brother's legs and took hold of both of their pricks measuring them against each other. They were both substantial and if Hercules' was satiny pink and a tad longer, his was satisfyingly thicker especially at the dusky red tip, his brother had nothing to feel badly about. His hand rode easily up and down both shafts as he slicked them with the oil, the demigod's eyes closed and he tried to push up into the hand for more friction; it really was cruel to make him wait.

Ares let go of their pricks and briefly cupped the soft sack, rolling the balls like olives in a velvet pocket. He probed the crack of his brother's ass and felt the gentle spring of muscle under his oily fingers. Hercules' lips were parted, his head tossing back and forth. He lifted his brother's knees and spread him, positioned his prick at the entrance and pushed inside. Hercules' back arched as his muscles fought and gave way before the invasion and his voice was raised from someplace deep inside as he cried for it and the god took him.

Ares remembered the promise he'd made to himself, that he would be gentle. He went slowly, claiming the body inch by inch, as a plow breaks virgin land. It was torture; drops of sweat fell on his brother's chest and belly and his own eyes were stinging with salt. He warred with the need to thrust and managed to hold back until Hercules was pushing urgently against him. Then he rammed into that hot, sweet ass, with slow powerful strokes. Pulling out almost to the head, then beating it in to the hilt, feeling the supple flesh over every inch of his prick until he was in so deep he was sure the tip of it must have been touching his brother's heart.

Looking at Hercules' face he was trapped again by the look of smoky ecstasy that made the demigod's eyes black as the sea at night. He leaned over and kissed him, surprised by the need for so fragile a gesture. The demigod's lips were pliant and clung to his when he broke for air and their cheeks scraped against each together. Ares could feel subtle contractions around his prick and the muscles at the root of his own began to clench. The sheath around him began to throb and a pool of hot liquid spread between them, thrilling his belly. If sensation had cut a channel through him before, orgasm was an inexorable tide that swept all barriers before it. He grabbed hold of the demigod's hips with bruising force and pounded mindlessly into his body with short, fast strokes, burying his head in the soaking hollows of his throat. Then he was pouring himself into his brother's body in hot wet streams.

When he came back to himself he was closed in his brother's arms, with his head on his shoulder. Hercules was stroking his face and with gentle fingers. When they brushed his lips he opened them and they stopped and traced his mouth. He bit one; it tasted like the ocean.

He stretched and sat up satisfied with himself and the day. He leaned over and kissed Hercules and began to brush his brother's tousled hair into some kind of order. Hercules caught his hand and stroked the back of his against his cheek. "I didn't think there was any hope you'd forgive me after what Iolaus did to Discord," Hercules said.

"Discord?" He had forgotten her. "Oh yeah, Discord—" he reached over and picked up her other tender thigh, shaking off a few drops of sauce, "do you want another piece?"

The End