By Valentin

Disclaimer: The auther does not own the characters from Hercules: the Legendary Journeys. Those characters belong to MCA/Universal and were used without permission. No copyright infringement intended and no money was made.

"Here," Aphrodite hissed, pulling her reluctant son through the roof of the building. She pointed through the orange glow of the forge's fire to the powerful, compact figure of the man who laboured there. As they watched, he plunged the blade he was shaping into a barrel of water and stripped off his leather apron. The hard contours of his chest gleamed through their glaze of grime and sweat, and Aphrodite sighed unconsciously.

"Forget it, Mom!" Cupid said furiously. "Do you have any idea what Uncle Herc would do to me if he found out I shot his best friend?"

"I told you, he'll never know," Aphrodite repeated impatiently, eyes never leaving the smith as he drank deeply from a dipper of water and poured the remainder over his head. She dragged her eyes from the water's path, focusing on her son with an effort.

"Look, what's-her-name is president of my fan club, and I owe her one. It's a temporary spell, just a one-night-only birthday present type thing, and he's going to think he dreamed it, so what's the biggie?"

"Sounds more like a one-night-only wish fulfilment type thing to me," her son observed sagely. "C'mon, Mom, it's me. This isn't about what's-her-name. If you want the little babe, why not just go for it? Like he's going to turn down the Goddess of Love! Whoa! Is that a *blush*? Has he already --"

"As if!" Aphrodite interrupted indignantly. "He calls me his buddy," she confessed rather proudly. "How many guys think of me *that* way? I don't want to wreck a good thing, that's all. But *look* at him, Cupe!"

Cupid followed the path of her gaze, and his own heated quickly as he examined the almost nude form. Iolaus, that was it. Muscles shifted and bunched under the glowing skin of his back as he carried buckets of steaming water from their resting place by the fire to a deep wooden tub, already half-full, that stood against the far wall.

A rivulet of sweat tricked down his throat, and the tip of Cupid's tongue emerged briefly from between his parted lips. If Cupid wasn't mistaken, that tasty little mortal was packing some serious heat under that breechclout. Clearing his throat, he faced his mother sternly.

"No way, Mom. You'd only regret it," he said virtuously, crossing his arms implacably over his chest.

His mother blew him a rude raspberry and gave Iolaus a last wistful glance. "I'll deny having said this if you ever repeat it, but you're probably right," she said sadly. She blew the oblivious mortal a kiss.

"It could have been a blast, Sweetcheeks. See you around," she told his back, and vanished in a swirl of diaphanous draperies.

Cupid examined his manicure casually, then unshouldered his bow. An arrow appeared in his hand, and he fitted it to the bow with nonchalance. Iolaus made a final trip to the bath, tested the water and pulled off his clout. Oh yeah. *Serious* heat.

He loosed the arrow, and it dissolved into gossamer flickers as it struck its target.

"Oops," Cupid said, and grinned. Iolaus faltered in the act of climbing into the tub, and rubbed his buttock where the arrow had struck. His eyes widened as he beheld the beautiful, golden-skinned, winged youth who stared hotly at him from his bath.

"Waste not, want not," the youth said, gesturing toward Iolaus' rapidly swelling cock, and smiled wolfishly. Iolaus growled and climbed into the tub, pulling the youth to his feet and reaching for his own throbbing erection.

"You're the informal type. I like that in a man," Cupid gasped, pushing eagerly into Iolaus' hand. Iolaus released him reluctantly and reached for the soap and sponge, swabbing his chest and arms hastily, then thrusting them at the winged youth and turning around.

"What did you say your name was?" he inquired over his shoulder as the sponge made its way across his back and down his thighs. He felt teeth close gently on his back, and shuddered as a hot tongue caressed him.

"Delicious," Cupid pronounced, and Iolaus turned to retrieve the soap.

"Your turn," he purred, and with an anticipatory gleam, Cupid obligingly arranged himself invitingly over the rim of the bath tub.

Iolaus woke early the next morning, suffused with an unaccountable sense of well-being. Gods, what a dream! If only he had that much endurance when he was awake. He smiled, cock stirring. Who would have thought so many inventive uses could be found for a feather. He pushed the covers back, unmindful of the long, gold-tipped plume that drifted to the floor between bed and wall.

THE END