Mere Playthings I
The four gods looked around.
"Not particularly majestic, considering his position," said Cupid.
"To say the least," sniggered Strife. "He's Corinthian, not Spartan."
Dionysus lifted his dimpled chin. "The present King of Corinth wasn't born with a silver spoon up his ass. He appreciates the simpler life. What of it?"
"Nothing," Cupid replied, holding up his hands as if to placate the god known in certain circles as 'The Maudlin One.' "Nothing at all. Just that he's humble. Hey, it might make your own effort just a little bit easier."
"Oh, I would've liked seeing you compelled to forfeit," said Ares regretfully, in his silkiest tone.
Strife grinned. "Dionysus as our love slave for a whole month--that would be something."
"Here comes Iphicles," announced Cupid, who was nearest to the door.
"Now, I'm not to be disturbed unless something truly dire happens. Something the magnitude of, say, Corinth being attacked by Sparta, or perhaps a horde of Bacchae descending upon the castle," said the king as he walked in, a guard at his side.
"No Bacchae in Corinth since that Xena chick was last around here," Dionysus muttered gloomily.
The guard quickly scanned the room for possible hidden assassins. Satisfied, he stepped back, saluted his king, and left.
All four gods stopped breathing as the king was illuminated by light of the dozens of candles placed on nearly every bare surface in the chamber.
The God of War, in particular, seemed struck by the mortal's physical beauty.
Iphicles was tall, broad-shouldered, well-muscled; he possessed the frame of a man who spent a good portion of his time in physical combat. Despite this, his movements were light, quick, and graceful. As impressive as his body was, it was his face that caught the attention of the onlookers.
His eyes were a deep, melting brown, and could turn from beseeching to forbidding in, literally, the blink of an eye. His lips, full and sensual, demanded to be tasted. Glossy, coppery curls spilled down to his shoulders, inviting a lover's touch.
Dangerously appealing and eminently fuckable, was the King of Corinth.
Strife had provided Iphicles' name for the raffle-of-sorts which had started the game. Now he giggled. "Told you guys he's delicious to look at."
"We shall see if he lives up to what his appearance promises," said Ares. "Go on, Dionysus."
The God of Wine wrinkled his finely sculpted nose. "I don't know if the I'm-a-god-so-let-me-up-your-butt approach will work with a guy like him."
"It will." Cupid crossed his arms. "Trust me."
"Hey, I'm the God of Love. I know about these things."
"Um." Dionysus looked doubtful.
Ares laughed. "Your mama's the Goddess of Love. You're just the errand boy."
"You wanna piece of me?" Cupid made a fist, and took a menacing step forward.
Ares licked his lips. "Very much."
"Before you guys start humping, Cupid, do you really think this Iphicles will like me?"
Ares swung a punch. Cupid, after ducking, threw a flying side kick and missed, crashing gracelessly into the wall. "Yes. He's a king--" He grunted as an elbow struck his bare solar plexus. "He's used to being with people impressed by his power. You'll be-- ugh!-- different." He backhanded his opponent and grinned maliciously when immortal blood tricked out of the side of Ares' mouth.
Strife backed out of range of the two wrathful gods. "I know his type. He secretly likes domination." He winked.
Iphicles was absolutely oblivious to the divine battle that was taking place in his bedroom. He eased himself onto the bed, which was his only sybaritic indulgence, apparently. The bed was colossal. Blatantly made for use in some grand fuck-fest.
Dionysus, the Party Animal of the Olympians, was never shy. Never, dammit. He refused to acknowledge any feelings of doubt. He was perfectly capable of making this man want him.
It was a particularly hot and heavy night, just the kind that caused most mortals to have difficulty getting to sleep. It certainly seemed to affect Iphicles. He gazed, unseeing, up at his canopy.
Dionysus approached him silently, then placed a hand on his forehead in order to read his thoughts. Iphicles felt nothing; to him the weight would be less than that of a shadow.
Sex. That was the first thing, the only thing that Dionysus could get from the mortal's mind. Hot, sweaty, pulsating, furious sex. The man was trying to suppress them, but erotic images continued to play before his mind's eye.
//Why didn't he have a partner, then?// he wondered. Not a hard task for such a man as the king. Dionysus probed deeper.
Iphicles had had sex many times, with many partners. All of them women. Now he wanted a man, yet knew nothing about seducing one.
He bit hard into his lip to keep from laughing. He was going to pervert the King of Corinth. The chance of a lifetime.
Behind him, the sounds of grunting and buffeting were still going on. Now, though, he knew the cause was entirely different. Ares was being held down by Strife and Cupid while the latter fucked him. His threats, concerning dismemberment followed by doses of hind's blood, were already only half-hearted. Within seconds, the war god was incapable of uttering a coherent string of words.
"Would you guys keep it down there?" Dionysus said, not bothering to look at them.
Strife, who was feeding the nearly complacent God of War his cock, muttered a strangled "Sorry!" before throwing his head back and shrieking. Cupid could only continue his piercing thrusts and flap his wings a couple of times.
Muttering about the idiocy of sober folk, Dionysus turned back to watch Iphicles. The king removed his loose cotton robe and reached for his cock.
Dionysus sighed. No, this wouldn't do. He had to have him quivering with lust. A spent king was no good to him. He planted a thought in Iphicles' brain: "Drink."
The king let go of his shaft and got to his feet. Dionysus stifled another laugh as Strife and Cupid climaxed simultaneously from inside Ares. "Guys! You're distracting me."
Ares whimpered, his cock still rigid. His arms were free now, but Cupid's weight hindered him from reaching for it and stroking it until his completion. He squirmed, wiggled his hips, and pressed his groin against Cupid.
Strife rolled onto his back and shut his eyes, oblivious to everything. He had never been permitted a blow job from his own dear "Unc" and the experience was as earth-shattering as he had known it would be.
Cupid burst into helpless laughter as he felt Ares' struggles, and pulled out of his body. Shifting his position, he promptly took the erection into his mouth.
Meanwhile, Iphicles stepped over to where a small decanter of wine and a crystal goblet had been set for this very purpose. He poured himself just a little-- Dionysus wagged a finger-- changed his mind, filled the glass, and took a draught of the rich red wine. He shut his eyes and focused on the warmth of it as it traveled down his throat, into his belly.
Dionysus jumped onto the bed and tried out a couple of provocative poses before settling flat on his back with his arms placed behind his head, to display the musculature of his arms to their best advantage.
Iphicles finished the first glass and poured himself a second. As his lips touched the rim, Dionysus cleared his throat.
The man whirled around. The crimson liquid sloshed out of the glass and spattered across the front of his naked chest, but he took no notice of that. "Who are you?"
//Nice. His immediate reaction was anger at being disturbed, rather than fear for his life.// thought Dionysus.
The god only smiled, knowing he was a magnificent sight to behold. Soft, fair curls tumbled over his forehead, contrasting delightfully with his honey-colored skin and flashing violet eyes. His body was certainly befitting an Olympian, and his cock, even at only half-mast as it was now, was large enough to make looking away from it a near impossibility.
He sniffed the air, and nodded. "From Maestros the Larger's grapevines. You've a great vintage. I was particularly pleased with Maestros that year." He sighed happily. "A pleasing man in general."
Iphicles' expression was clearly one of bewilderment. He put down his glass. "Leave, or I shall throw you out the window myself."
Ares said weakly, "Ha! Feisty." He was sprawled on the floor, utterly drained.
"Shh!" Cupid and Strife hissed, not wanting to miss a second of the seduction.
"No, I don't think you'll do that to me," said Dionysus. "You don't want to."
Iphicles unconsciously assumed a fighting stance, squaring his shoulders, bending his knees, balling his fists. "What makes you so sure?"
Instead of replying verbally, Dionysus focused his gaze levelly on Iphicles' cock, which was by no means pointing straight at the floor. In fact, it was getting much closer to parallel.
"You still haven't answered my first question," said Iphicles, clearly checking the impulse to physically remove the annoyance from his room. "Who are you?"
"I'm inside you right now," declared the God of Wine, sitting up. "At least, in a very abstract sort of way."
Whatever else, Iphicles didn't seem quite as angry as he had previously. Maybe, just a little, fascinated by this cryptic stranger. "What do you want from me?"
Iphicles looked around. "Is there-- did you bring someone else with you?"
"No." Dionysus made a mental note to stick it to his cousin when he got the chance. "Why would you think so?"
"Are you here to kill me?"
"To beg some favor of the king?"
He had to grin at that one. "Not precisely." He wasn't planning on doing any begging.
"Just throw him on the bed and fuck him," suggested Ares.
"No, no, he's got to be willing, remember?" Cupid shrugged. "Although I don't think he really would resist you if you tried rape. He wants you already."
Iphicles frowned. "Are you certain you didn't bring someone else with you?"
"With me?" Dionysus laughed. "How very funny. You entertain me--" He was suddenly standing just inches before Iphicles. "And I'd like to return the favor."
Iphicles swallowed, as an entirely new possibility dawned on him. He kept still as Dionysus dropped to his knees. "This isn't real." He shut his eyes. "You're just a figment of my. . . ."
Dionysus leaned forward and lapped up the small amount of wine dripping down his torso. Iphicles groaned, and his fingers twitched at his sides, but he didn't allow his body to betray him any more than that.
Dionysus looked up. "You were saying?"
"You feel me, don't you?"
"An incubus, maybe. Nothing more than that."
"I'm insulted." He stood up.
They weren't precisely the same height. Dionysus was a couple of inches taller. He lowered his mouth just a little, and captured Iphicles' mouth.
The king pulled away, as if seared by fire. His face flooded with color, and he already struggled to breathe normally. "Tell me who you are."
"Don't," said Cupid. "Let him think you're something inside his head."
Iphicles, thinking the one-word query was directed at him, calmly repeated what he had said.
"He thinks fucking another man is wrong. He's got something like a conscience. It'll be easier on him if you play along, if you pretend you're something he conjured up, just for tonight. What does it matter to you, anyway?"
Ares grumbled, "Who gives a crap? Hurry up and shove yourself into him."
"I'm here. Who I am, what I am, does not matter." He kissed Iphicles again, lightly. "I'm only here to give you what you want."