by Thamiris
by Thamiris

Ares blinked.  A breath ago he was in his father's throne room, surrounded by a bunch of pissed Olympians, and now he was...Where the fuck was this?  Pulling the hood low over his face, he glanced around and saw a wide street in a fair-sized town, lined with neat rows of shops, each with a low, overhanging roof and brightly-colored signs beneath.  Housewives walking briskly, carrying straw baskets stuffed with fruit and fish.  Noisy dogs darting between the laden wagons dragged by horses along the dusty road.  A trio of musicians on the corner singing a rousing tune about Ares' exploits.

"...Ares, he stood proud and strong..."

Reaching up, the god pulled back the hood obscuring his face. May as well let the mortals see their hero was among ‘em, even if Zeus'd temporarily taken his powers.  Put your family in a glass ball and they never forgive you...

"More beautiful than a lass..."

What?!? ‘Handsome' had a more manly ring to it.

"He loved his mortals hard and long..."


"And fucked ‘em up the--"

Ares yanked his hood back up.  Shit.  The other world.  Part of his punishment, he supposed: stuck where people'd mistake him for that limp-wristed flower-boy.  Ares, god of Love--what a colossally unfunny cosmic joke.  Why in Tartarus did mortals need a god of love in the first place??  You saw someone, you fucked ‘em, you moved on.  It didn't take Aristotle to figure it out, ya know?  It was like sex: you took it out, you shoved it in, you came.  No big mystery.  He shook his head in disgust.

So, where to now? The dust kicked up by the horses' hooves had settled in his throat, and a tankard of ale'd go down nice.  Only one problem.  Ares reached under the black cloak, hoping for a money belt.  Nothing.  Figures.  His father probably hoped he'd die here. Starve to death maybe.  Could you starve from thirst? Felt like it.  He ran a tongue over dry lips.  And could the fucking sun get any brighter?

Then, from the corner of one squinting eye, Ares saw a silver glint on the street.  Could it be....?  Yes!  His excitement embarrassed him, and he walked with deliberately slow steps toward the coin--until he noticed one of the housewives scuttling toward it.  Then, in a most ungodlike fashion, Ares dove, barely missing some drying horseshit, and rose triumphantly, coin in hand.  "Sorry, sister," he said with a grin.

The stout matron glared at him, but Ares didn't care.  He'd spotted a tavern, and was already hurrying away, eager for wet relief.

Once past the heavy oak doors, the god blinked in the sudden gloom, almost tripping over a stool.  Mortality--what could be worse?  When his eyes adjusted, he strode to the bar and barked his order.  Soon, armed with a flagon of thick brown beer, Ares found a table against the back wall, directly under a mural of...Athena, apparently. He'd never realized just what nice tits his sister had.  Of course, she didn't usually wear a leather bikini, either.  With a shrug, he sat down, eager to quench his painful thirst.

He'd taken one long, deeply-satisfying gulp when the doors crashed open, and the woman from the street ran in, followed by a small army of identical thickset men.  Shit.  He shoulda guessed there'd be trouble when the barkeep handed back all that change.  Money--who could figure it out?

"There he is!"

She pointed a stubby finger, and Ares jumped quickly to his feet, seeking his sword's pommel...Only it wasn't there.  His father'd dressed him up like an ordinary citizen, and Joe Public didn't carry a sword with a four-foot, double-edged blade and flanged hilt.  Just fucking great.  Thanks, Dad.  You couldn't find an easier way to kill me?

With a loud cry, like the chorus at a particularly bad production of Antigone, the men charged. Ares, leaping over the table, struck a few blows, breaking one man's nose, and for a moment thought he might win.  Then one meaty fist hit his chin, another his cheek, his chest, his stomach...

Unused to the pain of split skin, torn muscle and ripped blood vessels, he soon fell to the straw- covered floor, cursing his family.  Then, over the pounding of his overworked heart, he dimly heard a rumbling purr, saw a flash of white through his red-smeared vision.  After that...Nothing but a warm heat.  Who knew death'd feel so good.


Something warm and wet touched his cheek, and Ares smiled.  Nice puppy...What was his name?  Graegus? But...Hold on.  Graegus'd been gnawing on bones in Tartarus for centuries...

The god's eyes flew open.  Didn't make sense...When had he shaved? Big mistake, too: with the smooth cheeks and soulful eyes, he looked too innocent for a war god.  Too vulnerable. Too...pretty.  "Gotta grow it back," he mumbled, then yawned, settling back on the cloud-soft pillows...Sleep...


The next time the cloth touched his cheek, Ares realized he was being bathed.  His eyes, though, each heavier than Sisyphus' boulder, wouldn't open, and he relaxed, feeling oddly comforted by the soft strokes over his face.  Maybe it was Graegus after all... "Nice puppy," he said softly, before the dreams took him.


The third time, Ares tried to sit up because someone was touching his face.  "I'm the god of war," he thundered...Or tried to.  It sounded more like a scratchy whimper, which only pissed him off.  He reached up to push off the hand, but its owner stepped back into the shadowy corner of the room.

His throat hurt.  His whole body hurt.  Where in Tartarus was he?  It looked in the faint light like a high-class whorehouse: pink silk sheets, with the same fabric draped over the walls; delicate, black-lacquered furniture; and vases brimming with pink and white flowers.  Fucking seemed to be outta the question right now, but maybe later.  First:  "I need a drink."

"Beside you," a strangely-familiar-but-not voice whispered huskily.

Ares peered suspiciously into the shadows, but only got an impression of light.  With a shrug, which tugged the healing muscles in his shoulders, the god reached beside him and found a glass of wine.  The liquid soothed his parched mouth, moistened his dry lips, as it blazed a pleasantly hot trail to his stomach.  "Show yourself," he commanded.  Much better.  Not quite booming, but getting there.

The lurker remained hidden.

Ares slid down, curling up under the sheet, sleepy again.  Something in the wine..."Fine.  Soon, though..."


In the dream, hands touched him again.  They began at his face, lingering on his lips,  but didn't stop there, instead roving with a gentle but insistent touch over his naked body.  His cock twitched when fingers traced and retraced a vein in his throat, then thickened when his nipples were stroked to hardness.  Usually he didn't allow his lovers this liberty, but this felt so good...

As a warm mouth closed over one nipple, sucking lightly, Ares moaned.  The mouth vanished.  "No," he thought.  "More."  The lips returned, and this time he noticed silky hair trailing over his skin as the tongue worked in soft circles.

He kept expecting the mouth to move lower, but it stayed in place until Ares' body gave a little shudder, and he came.  Even then the tongue never stopped; a warm hand, though, smoothed the semen onto his stomach.

More wine. More dreams. More come.


Another dream: the mouth again at his nipples, sucking ‘til they stung, before kissing an infernally slow path down his body.  His hips were licked and nibbled, then his legs were spread, and the lips teased the sensitive skin along his inner thighs.  Ares' back arched when they found his balls, and first one, then the other, was sucked into that warm mouth.  He gasped, waking fully, then sat up just as his cock was deliciously engulfed.

Ares stared in shock as his own face stared back.  "What the fuck...?" he said, and tried to pull away, but it was too late: he could only sit there, helpless, while he came in his twin's mouth.

Afterward, his body weakened by loss, he drifted off.


It happened again, and again, and again.  He'd drink the wine, sleep, and wake up to that mouth tasting him, sucking him to orgasm.  It disappeared, though, if he made any sudden moves, so Ares learned to lie still.  The warm heaviness in his limbs and the pleasure made it easy, especially since the mouth never left: his cock, nipples or  balls were constantly against his lover's practiced tongue.  ‘Awake' soon translated to ‘coming,' and Ares began to hate sleep, living for that loving mouth.

As his body healed, the wine became less potent, and each countless orgasm more real.  More intense.  But Ares pretended nothing'd changed, scared that if he moved or spoke, the other god would leave.  And he needed it--him?--now.  For pleasure, comfort, warmth...Everything depended on the omnipresent mouth of his beautiful twin.

Only Ares began to hope that maybe it wouldn't just be a tongue.  That maybe the big cock pressing against his hip while the other god sucked his nipples would slide into his ass.

But it never happened.

His counterpart seemed content to lick him everywhere, growing so attuned to Ares' response that he could make the war god come almost at once, or torturously long hours later.  Ares even began to fantasize about sucking that other cock while his lover did the same to him.  The pattern, however, never varied: the god always teased with his tongue.  Even if Ares'd already come, the other god always ended with a blowjob.  And each time now, his need grew.

Then one day his twin carefully flipped him on his stomach, and the war god felt a different rush of excitement.  Finally...

As he lay quietly, cheek resting against the pillow, the other god spilled wine down his back.  It splashed over his spine and coursed into the crack of his ass.  Ares' legs opened wider while he rubbed his cock against the silk sheet, praying his lover would fuck him.  When his counterpart straddled his thighs, his hard cock pushing against Ares' ass, the war god--only he wasn't the war god anymore--raised his hips encouragingly.

The lover ignored the silent request, lapping instead at the wine.  His questing tongue moved unbearably slowly over shoulder blades, vertebrae, flanks, finally stopping at the center of Ares' body.  When the god's hands parted him, and the tongue slid deeper than ever before, he came almost angrily.


Ares now dreamed on his stomach, while his twin kissed the base of his spine, behind his knees, the smooth pads of each foot, before tonguing that empty center.  The other god didn't even need to touch Ares' cock--the wet, teasing pressure always got him off.  He stained an infinity of sheets writhing against the mattress, desperate for more.  Then violently desperate for more.

His lover eventually gave in, penetrating him with an oiled finger.  Even as Ares tensed around it, the sheet beneath his body dampened with semen.  Unable to resist, he came every time the finger entered him, crying out.

But it wasn't enough, and he got angrier, so the god granted him two fingers.  The sensation of being stretched drove him crazy, made him shove back, even as he clawed at the headboard from the orgasm's intensity.  The two fingers slid in and out of his body, and he came so often the air smelled like the sea.

When Ares could finally tolerate those fingers without coming at once, his twin gave him three.  The first time almost killed him: he couldn't stop shaking, coming several times in succession.  He tasted salt...Tears or blood? He didn't know and didn't care.

"Fuck me," he started to mumble into the pillow.  "Fuck me."  Lifting his ass, he waited for the cock to fill him.  But his lover only reached ‘round for his hard-on, or his nipples, and kept fucking him with those three thick fingers.

"Fuck me," he said, more clearly.

More orgasms from those teasing fingers.

"Fuck me."  His voice seemed loud to his own ears, but then he'd heard only his moans and cries forever.

How could he come this much?

"Fuck me, dammit! Fuck me now!"  He was on his back again, with that innocent, vulnerable face staring down at him.  Their cocks touched, and Ares thrust up.  "Fuck me," he repeated, then couldn't stop saying it as his twin lifted his thighs and positioned his cock against him.  The head entered him, and Ares came.  Then a few more inches, and Ares came.  Then their hip bones met as the other god filled him completely, and Ares shouted, spraying semen, shuddering around the cock now moving inside him.  "Fuck me...fuck me...fuck me..."

His twin kept doing it, fucking him slowly, then quickly, then a combination of both.  The love god came so much inside Ares that not even his powers could dry the bed, and he fucked him in an ocean of semen.

It was perfect.  Unbelievable.  And it went on forever.  His counterpart fucked him from the front, then from behind, sideways...But somehow Ares wanted more.

"Fuck my mouth," he whispered between orgasms.  "Fuck my mouth."

The leaking cock tasted sweet, and he sucked it for days, the love god's semen replacing the wine.  Ares drank and drank and drank, and his twin moved, so that they could drink from each other's cocks.

There couldn't be anything better, Ares thought, swallowing convulsively.  I've been thirsty for so long, and this is what I want.  But still...Something was missing.  "Kiss me," he said at last, and the words echoed in the room, lighting the dark corners.

The god gave his cock a final suck, then climbed up his lover's body.

"Kiss me," Ares told his dark-eyed twin, wrapping his arms around the strong body.

The kiss lasted longer than time, and afterward, they slept curled against each other's semen-slick bodies.


Ares knelt at his father's feet.  "Sparta attacked Athens--I'll be overseeing the battle."

"Good," Zeus said with satisfaction.  "It's time for a cleansing--the famine in the south's created a food shortage, and a few good wars will balance things out."

His son nodded, toying with the silver coin hanging from a chain ‘round his neck.  "Yeah, balance.  That's what they need."

"That's what we all need," the old god added with a smile.

The End

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