By Aramis

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.

The demigod awoke feeling uncomfortably hot and soon realized what had happened. It was a very warm night and Iolaus had thrown the covers off himself and back over Hercules. So while the latter sweltered beneath a double weight of blankets, the hunter was lying comfortably cool, sound asleep, his naked body glistening as the moonlight danced upon it.

For a moment, Hercules was tempted to dump all the bedding on top of that luminous form, but he swiftly suppressed the impulse as it would have deprived him of the glorious sight. He didn't often get the opportunity to simply admire that beauty because Iolaus was rarely still. The hunter was like quicksilver, always on the go, with far more energy than any mortal should have. Here was a chance for Hercules to feast his eyes without the usual interruptions of "C'mon, Herc, I'm bored. Can't we etc."

He looked first at the tousled mane of golden curls. Curls the color of ripe corn, as shiny and soft as silk, that normally bounced with an energy that reflected that of their owner as he darted from one pursuit to another. Curls that added to the deceptive look of purity and innocence as they framed the sleeping face. How Hercules loved to bury his own face in that fragrant, crowning glory as Iolaus snuggled trustingly against him. He never felt so fiercely protective as he did when stroking that soft tumbled mop.

His gaze wandered down the broad forehead to the crescent-shaped scar. He remembered Alcmene dressing that injury that had happened when they were children. Iolaus had been wincing and biting his lip, determined not to disgrace himself with tears.

Below the mark, were the golden eyebrows that matched the hair and below those were one of the hunter's most beguiling features, his eyes. These were shut, but Hercules knew them so well, knew their every ruse and yet regularly fell victim to their wiles. Blue as a summer's sky, they gazed on the world wide with innocent wonder, especially when their owner was endeavoring to cajole or con the demigod. They were as changeable as the sea. They danced and sparkled when their owner was amused or plotting mischief, but could turn into midnight blue pools of desire when they looked at Hercules. Yes, he knew those eyes so well. He'd seen them drowned with tears, shining with love, glowing with passion, twinkling with laughter, glinting with anger and even both so blackened after a fight that he'd laughing compared the hunter to a raccoon. They tore Hercules heart apart when they were unhappy, filled him with love when they smiled at him and, on occasion, made him want to shake their owner when they revealed mischief in the making. Those eyes would always betray him to his lover who knew their tricks so well and yet could not resist them.

Long lashes fringed those eyes. These could lower demurely when their owner was feeling guilty about some misdemeanor or plotting something and anxious to hide the fact. They could flutter flirtatiously at Hercules when the hunter particularly wanted his own way or desired to tease.

Laughter lines crinkled from the corners of the eyes. Lines that reflected their owner's love of life and wicked sense of humor.

The hunter's nose was straight and well formed. How it had remained so after so many blows in so many fights the demigod couldn't begin to imagine.

His cheeks were lean and enticingly dimpled. The demigod always marveled that they retained the downy softness of childhood in spite of the hunter's outdoor life. The hair that grew there was flaxen and sparse. Hercules envied the fact that the hunter didn't find it a necessity to shave every day. Like the eyes, those cheeks could easily betray their owner to Hercules' practiced eye, as rosy blushes proclaimed the owner's culpability or wicked intentions. The demigod had seen them pale and wan when Iolaus was ill or injured. He'd seen them streaked with blood and tears. He'd seen them glowing with vitality. The demigod carefully placed a feather-light kiss on one before resuming his inventory.

Hercules then looked across to an ear. These were well shaped and the left twinkled with a single gold earring. Hercules had given it to Iolaus, tentatively, wondering how it would be received, early in their sexual relationship. To his joy, the hunter has seized the gift with pleasure and had immediately demanded that the demigod pierce his ear for him, a procedure that the latter found very hard to do. He'd always hated sewing up the hunter's injuries, always suffering his friend's well-concealed pain, and the heated needle had called these to mind. Indeed, it was only the exasperated hunter's threat to do the job himself that had forced him to complete the task. Hercules knew those ears well. The lobes were very sensitive to touch as were the hollows behind them. Attention to those areas could make the hunter writhe with desire for other areas to receive equal consideration.

Hercules' eyes strayed back to the hunter's lips, the most delectable, the most luscious, lips in the world, thin and well shaped. He'd seen them bruised and swollen from punches and he's done the same to them with his kisses. These lips curled up easily with amusement, creating a lopsided, but incredibly beautiful, blazing smile. At that point, they would often part to allow the wickedest giggle in the world to escape. That giggle was one of the most distinctive things about his friend. No-one who knew him well would ever hear that ripple of joy and mistake it for anyone else's laugh.

The honeyed lips concealed the sweetest mouth that Hercules had ever tasted, with strong white teeth that somehow survived numerous fights as well as the hunter's tendency to eat anything that looked vaguely edible. Even the demigod knew the feel of those nibbling teeth and his skin often showed the marks of their loving attention.

Then there was that incredibly talented tongue that was so skilled in exploration and could drive Hercules wild. Unfortunately, it could also drive him wild in another sense, for that same tongue was also unruly and undisciplined. It could never resist giving cheek, even when its comments put the rest of the body in grave jeopardy. Hercules hated to think how often that tongue had landed its owner in difficulty and, often, the demigod as well. It was also very chatty, especially if it knew the demigod particularly wanted peace and quiet. At times, Hercules had been forced to kiss it into silence and even, when the case grew particularly desperate, to place one large hand gently but firmly over the owner's mouth until a nod was elicited signifying a willingness to desist.

Iolaus' chin was strong and firm. It well reflected its owner's stubbornness or, more charitably, his determination, his refusal to ever back down from an argument or a fight.

Yes, the hunter's face was beautiful, strong and vulnerable, all in one enchanting package and thus an honest reflection of the soul within.

Next the demigod's eyes moved to the hunter's neck. It was strongly muscled, yet also designed for love. Although not visible at present, the nape was one of Iolaus' particularly sensitive areas and, as such, came in for more than its fair share of attention from Hercules' loving lips. How Hercules enjoyed kissing and biting his way around to it, while the hunter flung his head back, moaning in pleasure, the sinews of his throat deliciously taut.

The word 'taut' recalled to mind a much less pleasurable incident. He remembered the horror of seeing Iolaus pulling desperately at the rope an Amazon had cast, as it cut into his neck threatening to choke him. Iolaus had fallen later in that same fight and Hercules shuddered to think how he could have lost his beloved friend had his father not agreed to turn back time.

He pushed the fearful thought aside and turned back to his contemplation of Iolaus' neck. He leaned over to kiss it gently, smiling to himself as he thought of how he had threatened to wring that neck on more than one occasion when its owner was being particularly obstreperous.

Which way now he wondered, down the arm or the chest. Iolaus made the decision for him. As he hesitated, the hunter stirred and flung his arms above his head as a sleeping child might. Hercules smiled at the sight. How often he had pinned those arms in that position while teasing and tickling his laughing, writhing lover. The hunter's hands were small and it was easy for the demigod to imprison both in one of his large hands and to hold them there regardless of the owner's struggles. He was tempted to seize them now, to trap them above that bright head, while running his fingers down the straining upper arms. However, he knew to do that would be to interrupt the delightful survey he was making.

The shapely hands were calloused and bore tiny burn scars from working in the forge. The nails were cut short, for they were practical hands that could make knives and swords and other useful things. However, they were also artistic, able to turn these everyday items into objects of beauty with intricate designs.

Gazing at those hands, Hercules could not help but recall the strange experience that he and Iolaus had had when a haunting dream compelled the hunter to travel north on the Winter's Solstice. The hunter's palms had become as red as blood and this sign had enabled them to identify others who had also been drawn into the strange quest. That the hunter had been mysteriously chosen to take part in this was an indication of his special spiritual qualities, however neither he nor the demigod fully understood the implications of what they had witnessed.

Hercules shook his head. Those perplexing thoughts were distracting him from the task at hand. He needed to get back to more down to earth considerations if he was to finish his inventory before Iolaus awoke. What more ordinary uses did those hands have?

They were not only creative, they were also, and all too frequently the demigod considered, employed as weapons. How they remained so shapely after throwing so many punches, Hercules could not begin to imagine. Their owner simply loved to fight. He could never resist a challenge, could never ignore an insult and was not above provoking a skirmish himself just for the hell of it. The demigod hated to think how many scraps he'd been pulled into by his feisty friend. He had tried remonstrating with him. He'd tried shaking some sense into him. But nothing ever worked. Iolaus always argued that the other guys had started it and so what if he'd actually thrown the first punch? They'd asked for it. Anyway, when you're little you need to seize the opportunity and take advantage of the element of surprise. Groups of big men never expected a sudden punishing attack from someone small. It was simply amazing, the demigod mused, how the wily hunter could chose to emphasize his smallness when it helped him to win an argument with the demigod and yet would often become involved in a fight in the first place because some outsider had dared to make a derisive comment about his stature.

When it came to a fight those hands did not only punch. They were also adept in special eastern fighting techniques that few westerners knew. These skills removed many of the advantages of size from an opponent and had even allowed their grinning owner to throw a disbelieving demigod across his own barn. Of course, since then, Hercules had learnt many of the moves from his friend, and they were certainly useful.

The hands were skilled with knives and swords, although the demigod was apt to tease the hunter that it was useless for him to carry a sword because he always lost it within thirty seconds of a fight starting. In reality that was not true, of course, as they both knew. It was only Iolaus' superb skills with a sword that had enabled him to fight the protracted duel with the master swordsman, General Archaeus, when masquerading as his cousin King Orestes. That he'd survived that fight with no more than a cut to his left bicep and a mark across his buttocks, where the General had tauntingly struck him with the edge of his rapier, was a tribute to his swordsmanship.

The hands were also talented in other areas. Like Iolaus' tongue they were intrepid explorers, particularly of the demigod's body, and, when they found an area that interested them, they were always keenly inquisitive to see what responses they could elicit as they stroked, tickled and playfully pinched. Fortunately, they loved to follow up their investigations with frequent return visits to areas they had particularly enjoyed.

Hercules was aware that time was pressing and he had better move on. Accordingly his eyes moved from hand to forearm. He immediately felt some regret. Looking at Iolaus' right forearm, he winced as he recalled the cruel treatment it had received from Maceus, brother of Demetrius. Hercules could feel a red mist of anger rising as he pictured Maceus torturing the bound hunter, in an attempt to make him divulge Hercules' whereabouts. Finally, after having had this arm broken and with Maceus threatening the other, the hunter had pretended to give in, naming a village in the opposite direction to where Hercules actually was.

The hunter had had trouble with that arm for weeks, not least because he wouldn't give it a proper chance to heal and kept using it in fights. Hercules would have liked to have seen it immobilized, by being bound to the hunter's body, until the bones had knit, but Iolaus had felt too vulnerable like that. The most he would accept was a sling and he'd soon discarded that as too constricting. Even now, the demigod suspected it hadn't yet returned to its full strength, but he knew its owner would never admit it. At times, he was sure that the stubborn hunter was his own worst enemy.

His gaze moved along the arm, over the well-rounded biceps, back to the prominent deltoids and then across the powerful chest, with its well-defined pectoral muscles. As he watched the steady rise and fall of the smooth expanse, a shudder went through him as his eyes encountered a small, rounded scar. In his mind's eye, he could see the shaft of the poisoned arrow, shot by Serena the Golden Hind, in the mistaken belief that the hunter was one of those seeking to harm her. Horrible visions flooded back of his friend gasping and convulsing as the deadly poison invaded his system. How helpless Hercules had felt. Serena had, of course, cured the hunter when she had become aware of her error, but the hunter had never trusted her, always believing that she helped him only to ingratiate herself with Hercules.

Shaking his head to dispel these disturbing memories, Hercules feasted his eyes on a part of the hunter's anatomy that he loved, the delectable, small brown nipples surrounded by a few wisps of very blond hair. How he enjoyed sucking and nibbling at those small protrusions, while the hunter moaned and arched his back in response to the loving attentions.

But there was another object between these that now drew his eye: the amulet. Although not, of course, part of the hunter's body it was always there, glowing darkly. Hercules always had mixed feelings about that piece of greenstone, carved in the shape of a serpent. It was so much a part of his friend that in one respect he loved it and yet at times it engendered disturbing thoughts, making the demigod wish he could rip it from his friend's body. Mankind had always feared the serpent and yet healers had adopted it as their symbol.

Iolaus' serpent was no exception to this ambiguous image. He valued it as the only thing that he had that had been his father's. An outsider might think that was a positive thing, recalling fond memories, but Hercules knew better. He knew it represented a longing for a relationship and a love that Iolaus had never had, rather than a recollection of those things. General Skuros had rarely been at home and, when he had, he had always made it clear that he considered his son to be a useless crybaby, an undersized brat who would never be a warrior and therefore was not worthy of his care or consideration. When he had met Iolaus in the Underworld, after the latter's fatal encounter with the Fire Enforcer, his comment, "I'm still your commanding officer, boy" had summed the man up. Hercules always suspected that his seeming repentance, that had earned him entry to the Elysian Fields, had been caused by the boring prospect of an eternity of discussing military strategy rather than from any change of heart towards his family. What was more, Hercules feared that, in his heart, the hunter believed this too, although he desperately did not want to do so.

As an adult, Iolaus had continued to show the scars of his childhood. He had skimmed from one relationship to another, happy enough on the surface but avoiding real emotional commitment and fearing rejection if he offered a deeper affection. Although Hercules knew that Iolaus fully believed that the demigod loved him, he was aware how easily that belief could be shaken. It was so easy for him to accidentally hurt the sensitive hunter by an ill-considered word or action.

Thus, when he looked at that amulet, Hercules still felt a feeling akin to hatred for the man who could have treated Iolaus so badly and a determination to protect and cherish the hunter so that he would always know that he was, and deserved to be, loved.

His eyes roved to the left side of the chest, only to encounter yet another small scar that raised disturbing memories. Hercules and Iolaus had joined Xena and Gabrielle on a quest to free Prometheus and thus restore the gifts of fire and self-healing to humans. The hunter did not let on when he was wounded in the chest in an encounter with some of Hera's men, using his vest to conceal the injury. He intended to be the one to strike the fatal blow that would free the god, but take the rescuer's life, thus sacrificing himself to save either Hercules or Xena from doing so. He had betrayed himself with his pain when Gabrielle had fallen against him and Hercules had had to leave him in her care and go on believing that they would not meet again in this life. He had only clasped Iolaus' shoulder briefly as he left him. Of course, they had not been lovers then and Xena and Gabrielle had been watching, but he could never forget the hurt in Iolaus' eyes at that seemingly heartless parting. He would never do that to Iolaus again or, indeed, to himself, for his heart had been in his mouth, as he had made the seemingly endless descent of the mountain, wondering if Iolaus would be still alive or not and cursing himself inwardly for his abrupt leave-taking.

When Iolaus' injury had been first revealed, Xena had asked, "Why didn't you tell us?" and Hercules had responded, "Because he's brave of heart and hard of head." Both statements were true. Beneath that sculpted chest, beat the bravest, most loyal and loving heart that Hercules knew. There was nothing that the hunter would not dare for the demigod. He remembered the small, gallant figure stepping between him and the giant Typhon to defend Hercules' entombment of the giant's wife, Echidna, and the dreadful blow Iolaus had suffered for his temerity. Then there was the dreadful occasion when the hunter had fought Hera's water enforcer to try to keep her from Hercules. His injuries had been horrifying, but all he would say was "You know, Hercules, it's not your fault I got hurt, I-I chose to fight her." There were so many occasions when Iolaus' brave and loving heart led him to push commonsense and his personal well-being aside. Hercules had tried to remonstrate with him about the dreadful risks he took, especially since his own experience of mortality, as Ares' price for his marriage to Serena, had made him more aware of the fragility of that state, but to no avail. Iolaus had argued that he'd make a lousy ornament and strongly resisted what he saw as Hercules' over-protectiveness.

It didn't pay to think too much about that issue. It was one on which the two friends could not reach agreement and probably never would. However, Hercules knew one way to get agreement to absolutely anything. He grinned broadly at the thought as his eyes moved to Iolaus' ribcage. Even a threat to tickle that area was sufficient to send the hunter into giggles of helpless anticipation. When they'd been children, attention to those ribs had always been the most effective way for Hercules to gain retribution, after one of Iolaus' numerous pranks that, if not aimed directly at the demigod, always seemed to get him into trouble along with their perpetrator. Fortunately, the hunter was still as susceptible as ever because the demigod still found it necessary to resort to such punishment on occasion.

Then there was the stomach. Some how this remained flat as a board in spite of its owner's inordinate love of food. Iolaus always seemed to be hungry and would tackle anything that looked remotely like food. Hercules never doubted the hunter's veracity when he said he had been seriously considering "rat tartare" when he had been imprisoned and starved in Gorgus' dungeons. Fortunately, Iolaus was a skilled hunter and fisherman as he'd never have been able to afford to buy all that voracious stomach's requirements.

However, even that apparently iron-clad stomach, that could devour highly spiced stews that burnt out Hercules' insides, had rebelled when its owner was intrepid enough, or perhaps more accurately foolhardy enough, to actually try some of Falafel's dishes.

That stomach also enjoyed ale. In fact, it often enjoyed far more ale than Hercules would have considered good for it and frequently paid the penalty the next morning. However, its owner never seemed to make the connection between the two events and was always full of alternative explanations for his abrupt and short-term illness.

In the middle of the stomach was the belly button. A playful tongue inserted into this could drive the hunter wild with desire for insertions to be made elsewhere on his person. Hercules adored such pleasure spots on his lover and always tormented them whenever possible.

On either side of the stomach, were the boyishly slender hips. Looking at these, Hercules guiltily recalled how they were sometimes bruised and marked as he gripped them too tightly when enjoying himself with other parts of the hunter's anatomy.

At that moment, the hunter moved again, rolling over onto his stomach. At first, Hercules was inclined to curse his timing, but then considered it was probably a good idea as he could well have not managed to complete his inventory if he had allowed his thoughts to dwell on the area below the stomach.

As it was, he looked at Iolaus' smooth well-muscled back. How that back enjoyed attention. Its owner all but purred at Hercules' ministrations. It loved to be scratched and rubbed and, especially, to be washed. Its owner was rarely so happy as when he located a bath big enough to take both of them. That would send the hunter into a flurry of activity or at least a flurry of persuading others to heat water, locate scented oils and soaps, and do anything that might add to the sensual pleasure to follow. Hercules had to admit that there were few things as arousing as running his hands over that satin body made slippery with soap.

He winced as he recalled a lash falling on that back when one of Menas Maxius' brutal guards decided that the hunter was not working hard enough as part of the chain-gang. If Hercules could have laid hands on that man, he would not have lived to torment another prisoner.

His eyes drifted down to fix upon the creamy globes of the hunter's buttocks, with the dark crevice between them containing the small, puckered hole that gave the demigod such delight. How he loved to cup his hands around that firm, velvety arse, as he lifted the hunter into his arms.

His sister, Aphrodite, always called the hunter "Sweet-cheeks". Originally, in his innocence, the demigod had assumed she was referring to his friend's face, but he had revised this opinion since he had become intimately acquainted with this similarly named section of the hunter's anatomy. With his new knowledge of just how interesting this part of the hunter was, he had also become conscious how often her hands dared to stray to that area, which he now jealously regarded as his prerogative, playfully patting and pinching.

Since he and Iolaus had become lovers, he'd often found his gaze focused on that entrancing rear. He'd become very aware of just how enticing tight, black leather could be, particularly as the hunter's muscles strained against it. How provocatively that backside could wriggle, with or without the leather, and how its owner loved to provoke. Hercules had laid a hand across it more than once in playful rebuke for some misdemeanor and he often suspected that the hunter had deliberately set out to encourage this reaction.

Thinking of responses, Hercules became aware that he was starting to grow hard. He knew he was going to have to move on quickly before he lost control and reached for that delectable arse. In his mind's eye, he could already see himself sheathing himself to the hilt without ceremony, simply plunging into the hunter in his need. He wondered how Iolaus would react if he suddenly awoke to find himself impaled. He would probably complain, but Iolaus seemed to enjoy doing that and it didn't necessarily mean anything. Hercules knew that occasionally he *was* too rough on the hunter in his excitement, but the latter seemed to be very forgiving of such excesses and, indeed, to go out of his way to encourage them at times. Yes, he could almost hear his lover screaming in his commingled pleasure and pain. How that had frightened the demigod when he had first heard it. He had nearly withdrawn in fear that he had hurt the blond until he realized Iolaus was also begging him not to stop and, indeed, to thrust harder.

With such images whirling through his mind and strongly influencing other parts of his body, the demigod needed all his determination not to abandon his inventory. Somehow he dragged his reluctant eyes away from his loving contemplation of those perfect buttocks, silently promising them to return later just to ensure he hadn't missed anything in his assessment of those assets.

His eyes moved to Iolaus' thighs, normally encased in that tempting, black leather, but now even more attractively displayed in their natural state. They were slender, but muscular, and could wrap themselves around the demigod's body, holding him imprisoned in a vise-like grip.

The skin of the inner thighs was particularly tender and delightfully smooth. How Hercules loved to stroke that responsive area, so near and yet so far from another area of the hunter which would then become delightfully desperate from what it perceived as comparative neglect.

This really wasn't a much safer area of the hunter than the previous one. He had an urge to spread those thighs wide, to settle himself between them and ... No! He must dismiss such thoughts and move on *quickly*.

Next were the hard calves, well-muscled from countless miles of walking as their owner hurried along, determined to keep up with the longer stride of the demigod. At times, he must have been exhausted by the pace that Hercules set, but he would never have admitted such a thing.

Like other parts of the body, those legs had not survived unscathed from their association with the demigod. He recalled the battered and bleeding hunter literally falling into his room as he sought to warn him about the presence of the Water Enforcer. She had toppled Iolaus from a ladder that he had climbed in an attempt to evade her, after a fight had shown she was not human and could not be killed with ordinary weapons. Iolaus had hobbled painfully on a crutch for days after that fall.

Finally, there were the well-turned ankles and small, shapely feet. Breanna, daughter of Septus, had asked, "Is your friend much of a dancer, Hercules?" and he remembered replying, "Well, Iolaus and I have never danced, but he's always looked pretty light on his feet." That was probably an understatement. He didn't know anyone as light-footed as Iolaus. To watch him in a fight, whirling and high-kicking, was almost like watching a choreographed sequence. He'd seen some of Iolaus' opponents virtually mesmerized by his grace and agility as he danced in towards them. He could almost hear them thinking "That pretty, little thing can't hurt me" and then they would themselves flat on their backs after a smoothly executed punch or a kick of surprising force.

When Iolaus was happy, he practically bounced with overflowing energy. If he and the demigod were going hunting or fishing, those feet fairly danced with excitement and impatience. At such times, he reminded Hercules of an energetic puppy as he darted ahead and then circled back urging Hercules to hurry. Once at the chosen hunting spot, those feet could move quickly and quietly through the thickest undergrowth, leaving no evidence of their passage. Their owner could be quite scathing about Hercules' comparative lack of prowess in that area, showing no appreciation of how much more difficult it could be for a person of Hercules' size to emulate his skills.

He smiled as he remembered one occasion when those nimble feet had let their owner down. A large peasant woman had been crushing grapes and had dragged the hunter in to the vat with her. Iolaus had managed to get completely submerged and it had taken days for the purple stain, that covered his entire body, to wear off. How Hercules had enjoyed teasing him during that period. Usually it was the demigod on the receiving end of such ribbing.

Hercules had also developed a fighting move that involved him grasping the hunter's shoulders and spinning so that Iolaus feet were used like a bludgeon to topple their attackers. Understandably, the blond did not regard this as one of Hercules' better ideas and always complained bitterly about it in spite of its effectiveness.

"Well, my love, " Hercules whispered to his sleeping lover, "that appears to be about all. I'm sure I haven't missed anything of significance." He grinned broadly as he imagined what the outraged hunter's indignant response to that tease would be. Probably something along the lines of "You've missed some things of great significance *and* on purpose! You're just jealous!"

'Of course I'm not,' Hercules thought. He was aware that the blond was exceptionally well-endowed in *that* area, but the demigod would have contended that it was only because Iolaus was comparatively small elsewhere that he appeared to be Hercules' equal, or even superior, in that one bodily aspect. It was a visual trick, nothing more, deliberately accentuated by the codpiece Iolaus chose to wear.

He supposed that he ought to check that area just so his inventory was really complete, although he considered that to be rather unnecessary. 'After all,' he thought, smiling, 'I know that particularly demanding part of Iolaus' anatomy so well. He's always calling my attention to its needs.' However, he reached out a gentle hand and carefully rolled the hunter onto his side to face him.

There was the nest of tight, golden curls, only slightly darker and coarser than those on the hunter's head. The color never ceased to fascinate the demigod. Nestled within the curls was that velvet-shafted penis, that knew areas of the demigod that no-one else had ever known, backed by the tight scrotum.

What delicious fun it was to deliberately avoid that jealously impatient piece of anatomy and to give the attention it required to other areas, while the owner squirmed and moaned with need on its behalf. At such times, the hunter could even be induced to abandon his pride and beg.

How often Hercules had milked that sweet cock dry, reveling in the feel or taste, and enjoying the ecstatic gasps of its owner. How often it had provided the lubrication to make his own penis' exploration of the hunter more pleasurable.

That reminded him. He'd promised one area a second visit and he prided himself on being a man of his word. He reached out, intending to lower the hunter onto his stomach once more, but that was one touch too many.

The hunter suddenly roused, stretched, yawned and opened his eyes. He saw Hercules looking at him. Being Iolaus, his reaction and priorities were predictable. He immediately rolled over, kissed the demigod on the cheek, and then sat up, saying, "Morning, Herc! What's for breakfast and what are we going to do today? I thought we could ..."

Hercules interrupted, grasping the hunter's waist to stop him swinging energetically out of bed, "I can answer both questions with one word."

Iolaus turned in surprise. "Really? What?"

"You!"

The demigod's lascivious grin widened further as his beautiful lover smiled happily and immediately lay down, snuggling back against him and wriggling with joyous anticipation.

THE END