By Rudy

Here is my answer to the Widow's challenge. Apparently, a fever makes Rudy much kinder. <eg>

A romantic little PWP, and I know it's horribly sweet, but it's not my fault.

Disclaimer: Hell no, they're not mine. But, they wish they were.

NC-17 Hercules/Iolaus

Enjoy!

"Hercules. You’re going to wear a hole in the floor. Sit down, have a mug of mead with me. Staring yourself blind isn’t going to get your friend here any quicker."

Hercules sighed, and joined Deric, throwing himself dejectedly on the cushions by the fire, nearly bowling the centaur over in the process.

He was silent for a long stretch, morosely downing his mead, and accepting a refill with the merest nod toward a grateful smile at his host. Deric exchanged a speaking glance with his beautiful wife.

"So, Hercules. This friend of yours ..."

"Iolaus," Hercules’ voice caressed the name, and Lyla quickly smothered a smile in her goblet.

"Iolaus. You say you travel together a lot?"

"For years. He’s my ... he’s my best friend."

"I’ve only seen you with that plump little salesman. I don’t remember his name, but ‘Iolaus’ isn’t ringing a bell. Is that the guy?" Deric twinkled a smile at Lyla, then turned innocent, blue eyes on Hercules’ offended visage.

"Salmoneus? He’s not my ... I mean, he’s a friend of mine, yes, and we have done some traveling together. I don’t know why our paths have never crossed while Iolaus was with me, but no, we’re not waiting for the plump little salesman," Hercules managed to keep most of the indignation out of his voice, but enough edged his words to cause Deric’s tail to swish, happily.

"Hercules. I’ll be going to market in the village early tomorrow morning; if you’d like, I can ask about Iolaus. What does he look like?" Lyla was all gentle concern, and Deric was forced to turn a snort into a manufactured sneeze. He almost felt sorry for the hapless demigod ... but, Hercules had been driving both of them crazy for almost a week now, waiting for his "friend". Friend. Hah! Hercules had become increasingly edgy, barely eating, smiling only when he was talking about Iolaus ... Iolaus this, Iolaus that ... Zeus! The demigod obviously had it bad, and he wasn’t going to get out of Lyla’s house until he admitted it. Deric sipped his mead and enjoyed the show.

Hercules was describing Iolaus to Lyla. His handsome face was ... it was goofy. Totally goofy. The guy was hopeless...

"He’s about this tall," Hercules measured at his shoulder.

"You mean, when you’re standing? Or when you’re lying down, like now?" Deric interjected.

Hercules slanted a glare up at the grinning centaur, and continued.

"And, his hair is blonde. About Deric’s color, actually ..." Hercules got a distant, measuring look in his eyes, as he stared at Deric’s flowing locks. Lyla giggled softly as her husband shifted, his hooves beating a nervous rhythm on the wooden floor.

"Uh, Hercules?" Deric interrupted the demigod’s thoughts, as his face had become abstracted in the extreme, and a soft smile was curving his lips, "You know, I think I did meet him, at your mother’s wedding. Stocky little guy, blonde hair, blue eyes. Fights like a dervish. Yeah, he was with this brunette ... what was her name? Are they married, or what?"

"Dirce. No, they’re not married," Hercules’ face darkened, and Deric’s heart softened. This was way too easy. The poor guy was in agony.

"Whatever. He’s a great guy; tells a mean story. He even tried to drink me under the table at the feast," it was Deric’s turn for a wistful smile; it wasn’t often that the centaur met a mortal as open and accepting as Hercules’ ... friend. Iolaus had been totally unconcerned with the fact that Deric wasn’t mortal; he’d been far more interested in Deric’s drinking capacity.

"He was really sorry about that, the next morning. So was I, come to think of it," Hercules laughed, then a worried line appeared between his eyebrows, "He should have been here two days ago, Deric. If he doesn’t get here by the high sun tomorrow, I’m going ..."

A knock sounded at the door, and Lyla opened it, then pulled it wide, with a welcoming smile. The firelight gleamed in the golden glory of the newcomer’s hair, and Hercules felt the world tilt.

He was at the door, filling his aching arms with his laughing lover, inhaling the clean, sandalwood fragrance of his skin. How could such a soul-deep peace feel so riotous? Gods, he was whole, again.

There were introductions, he was sure of it, and conversation. Reminiscences. Must have been. He saw the silken movement of Iolaus’ throat as he swallowed a draught of mead, heard his mad giggle, so they must still be with their hosts. Yet, he felt as though a mist drifted before his eyes; Iolaus was the only clear image he could see.

Somehow, Deric was leading them to Hercules’ room, lighting the fire and leaving with a saucy swish and a sly smile.

And Hercules was holding Iolaus, and Iolaus’ hands were removing the demigod’s clothing with uniquely graceful dispatch. The need was beyond bearing, now that the moment of fulfillment was at hand. He pushed Iolaus onto the bed, dragging his pants to his knees and grasping his smooth buttocks in both hands, pulling him close and thrusting against his groin, devouring his mouth, sucking on his sweet, maddening tongue.

Iolaus was saying something, breathlessly, and a tender hand captured Hercules’ aching cock, directing it between the hunter’s hard, slender thighs. Hercules grunted, and shifted, fucking Iolaus’ thighs with blind urgency, one hand treasuring Iolaus’ weeping cock. Sounds were boiling from between Iolaus’ parted lips, wild chants, hoarse cries, and then the crest was upon them. Hercules was spurting between his lover’s legs, bathing the golden skin and taut balls, his breath a pained rasp against Iolaus’ shoulder.

Before the last spasm had passed, he was taking Iolaus’ cock into his mouth, and savoring the hunter’s release. Tangy, and salty, and his. Iolaus was here. He was real. Real. The jagged edges of the fear he’d been trying to suppress began to soften, and blur.

"I love you, Iolaus. I will always love you. No matter what happens, they can never change that. They can never change what we are together. Never," Hercules spoke the words against Iolaus’ softening cock, punctuating them with hungry flicks of his tongue.

Iolaus pulled Hercules up.

"Never. Now, shut up."

And he began to make love to Hercules, again, as though Hercules’ moans and shouts were breath to him, and he needed to coax them forth, to save his own soul.

In the next room, Deric and Lyla giggled themselves silly, before getting down to the serious business of emulating their guests.

Though he very nearly kept his adored hunter in bed through breakfast, Hercules finally relented when the rumbling in his lover’s stomach threatened to drown out the sounds of Keifer’s laughter in the main room. Dressing took rather longer than strictly necessary, as Hercules kept uncovering each bit of skin that Iolaus clothed and saluting the satin surface with kisses by way of a temporary farewell.

Iolaus was beautiful, when he was hungry, Hercules decided, as he watched Iolaus teasing Keifer, and devouring his breakfast, while trading tall tales with Deric. He was also beautiful when he was full, and Hercules thought about pulling him back into the bedroom the moment the breakfast table was cleared, but their host had other ideas, challenging Iolaus to an archery contest. The little group made their way outside, and Iolaus immediately began chasing Keifer down, shouting in mock terror as Deric danced over to protect his son.

Hercules watched, his breath a hot tangle in his throat, as Iolaus laughingly vaulted up and over Deric’s broad back, deftly evading the centaur’s lunge, and running toward the stream.

A mortal, sporting with a centaur, yet, despite Deric’s equine beauty, it was Iolaus who looked unreal. Improbable. Gold, and ivory, and a flash of brilliant blue. Too much grace in his powerful limbs; too much joy in his musical laughter. A creature of legend, a vision brought about by the intoxicating smoke of an oracle’s incense.

"Must be love."

Hercules turned, startled from his heated reverie, and met Lyla’s smiling, blue eyes. He blushed, and re-directed his gaze at the romping duo, as Iolaus leapt to Deric’s back, and the centaur wheeled, galloping toward Hercules and Lyla.

Such picture they presented, flying effortlessly forward. Deric’s flowing, golden hair whipped around Iolaus’ glowing face, tangling with the mortal’s gilded mop. Tanned torsos, gleaming with sweat, one of Iolaus’ corded arms wrapped about Deric’s chest, his strong thighs clasping the centaur tightly.

Iolaus sprang to the ground, landing directly before the demigod, and drew Hercules’ head down into a fevered kiss. His slender fingers threaded into Hercules’ chestnut hair, his tongue a sweet promise in his lover’s yearning mouth.

Hercules groaned, forgetful of their interested audience, and pulled Iolaus up, up, crushing his tender lips, grinding their bodies together. He could never drink deeply enough of Iolaus’ love. Of his mouth, his skin, his hair, his eyes, soul, cock. Still, he kept trying. Draught after molten draught he swallowed, and with each taste he fell further under Iolaus’ spell. His love, seemingly limitless, yet increased daily, hourly, and his need kept pace with it.

Iolaus melted in his arms, twined around him. Perfectly ready, should Hercules so wish, to couple there, under the bright sunlight, under Deric’s approving eye, and Lyla’s laughing regard.

Hercules released him reluctantly, quite aware of the throbbing hardness spoiling the fit of his leather trousers, uncaring, at last, what his friends might say. Let them tease him. Why not, by the gods? He was a hopeless case. A wonderfully hopeless case.

He looked down into Iolaus’ loving eyes, and his godlike face lit with a smile of Olympian proportions. His cares, his fears, his burdens slipped from him, and the son of Zeus laughed. Sweet, ringing laughter, a simple expression of infinite joy.

Deric tore his eyes from the exhilarating sight, and filched the scarf that clasped his wife’s slender waist.

"Come on, Iolaus. I’ve got the blindfold. Now, let’s see if you’re the archer you claim to be."

Iolaus lifted Hercules’ broad palm to his lips for a lingering kiss, then grabbed his bow and joined Deric in choosing a proper target.

Hercules laughed again. Truth to be told, he very nearly giggled, then guffawed helplessly as Lyla’s lilting laughter mingled with his own.

"Yeah," he smiled, watching his beloved, blindfolded hunter pull his bow, and find the mark with unerring instinct, "Must be love."

THE END