By Rudy

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 is my 5P challenge story.

I’ve listed the five story elements which I was given, verbatim.

The Elements:

1 prop: a whip, but it cannot be used sexually or in anything B&D. Just a whip, no pretext involved.
2 position: Iolaus's going down on Hercules but Iolaus looks up into Herc's eyes when he is blowing him!
3. place: Summery day going into twilight next to a small babbling brook.
4. piece of clothing. Hercules' terrific leather braided pants. To die for!
5. deity: Cupid, preferably with wings clipped (he can do that, right, maybe at least for me?)

The Result:

Iolaus ran wanton hands along the woven leather of Hercules' pants, grinning as he encountered the hardness lurking at Hercules' groin.

"These pants of yours are to die for, Herc," he purred, tossing wayward golden curls out of his eyes with an impatient jerk of his head, "But, I like what's in them even more ..."

His nimble fingers worked the trousers open ever so slowly, as he leaned down and teased Hercules' nipples with quick flicks of his tongue, gradually working his way down the demigod's massive torso. His head reached Hercules' groin just as his hands freed his lover's rigid cock, and he chuckled wickedly. Flattening his tongue at the base of Hercules' aching shaft, he slathered it along the underside to the crown, repeating the process a few times before taking the ripe head into his mouth.

Hercules watched the golden head bobbing between his shaking thighs, torn between his desire to shoot his seed into the hunter's mouth, to watch Iolaus' throat as he swallowed the salty offering, and his opposing desire to prolong the pleasure until it maddened him. To maintain control until he could bear the sweet torment no longer, and spread Iolaus' legs wide, thrusting into him, making both of them scream with ecstasy. Or, he mused hotly, would he turn onto his stomach, sending a wordless challenge to Iolaus over one shoulder?

Oh, yes. That’s exactly what he’d do. He’d feel the slick, heated weight of Iolaus’ cock, buried in him, beating with tantalizingly shallow thrusts, until the hunter gave him what he yearned for, and drove in to the hilt.

Iolaus' eyes gleamed up at him, dancing happily, and Hercules knew that his face betrayed his thoughts. Keeping their gazes locked, Iolaus teased his tongue along the crown of the demigod's cock, and he shuddered happily.

An invisible figure hovered above the absorbed lovers, watching keenly. Ah, his quarry brought to earth, at last. Literally brought to earth. A demigod with the strength of ten men, yet he lay helpless beneath his tender, mortal lover.

Cupid relished the tableau for a while. Lovely pair. The sweet mortal, black leather clinging to his ass, highlighting the ivory splendor of his back, his hair a sunburst between the demigod’s long legs. His lover provided an intoxicating contrast, skin and hair glowing in the pink light of the sunset, a breathtakingly perfect sculpture, dipped in sweet, brown honey. Hercules was beautiful beyond words, as he watched Iolaus. Their eyes were locked, endless blue.

Squaring his shoulders, Cupid landed lightly, and raised his bow.

Abruptly, the loving laughter faded from Iolaus' eyes, and was replaced by an expression of pained confusion. He released Hercules' aching cock and backed away, looking down at the demigod's half naked body with obvious dismay. Glancing around, he grabbed his vest and sword, running from the glade as Hercules struggled to his elbows.

Hercules' watched his lover's retreating form, then stiffened at the sound of lilting laughter.

Cupid appeared before him, bow still upraised, a mocking smile narrowing his green eyes.

"So, Uncle Hercules. How's it hanging? A bit lower than a moment ago, I see."

"Cupid," Hercules ground out, fastening his pants and rising to tower over his winged nephew, "What have you done to Iolaus?"

"Oh, just a whim. I shot him with a neutralizing arrow; since he fell in love with you without any help from me, it was simple enough to erase. He's probably wondering what the fuck he was doing with your cock down his throat. Don't worry about him, though; I wouldn't let such a delicious piece of ass be lonely for long."

"Why?" Hercules' voice was ice.

"Why? Cast your thoughts back, Uncle. Remember Mom's birthday party? Remember breaking your own self-righteous rule and getting toxon stinco drunk? Remember? Hmm, maybe not. Well, let me refresh your memory. You flirted outrageously with Mom, pinched Hephaestus' ass, then sat on me and clipped my wings. You thought it was hilarious, you fucker. They've only just grown out! Haven't you noticed the dearth of weddings, the past month or so? I've been stuck on Olympus, kicking my fucking heels!" Cupid spit his words at Hercules, "Getting a clue, yet, Uncle? Tit for tat. How's it taste?"

He took flight as Hercules lunged at him, and watched for a moment as Hercules slumped to the ground, dropping his head between his hands. It wouldn't be long before his grieving uncle roused himself and started chasing his beloved mortal down; Cupid resolved to work quickly.

He spotted Iolaus immediately, heading down the road at full tilt as though harpies were nipping at his heels. Poor bastard. Cupid grinned. Poor, gorgeous bastard. Iolaus stopped abruptly, and Cupid hovered overhead, watching as the mortal bent to pick something up from the side of the road, staring down at it in puzzlement.

Cupid strained his eyes down the road in both directions. Whatever lucky traveler came into view next was going to find his or her lap full of lusty, golden flesh. He was so intent on his search, that he nearly missed the flash, as another of his relatives appeared, standing with folded arms, glowering forbiddingly at Iolaus.

The winged youth chortled happily. Perfect. This would totally fry Hercules' sanctimonious ass. And, he'd finally get on another uncles' good books. Once said uncle had gotten over the initial shock, that is. He settled in to watch for a spell, delaying the sweet moment of complete revenge.

"Ah, Hercules' pretty catamite. So, you're the thief who liberated my whip. Why? And, more importantly, how?" Ares growled, his lush lips twisting in a cruel leer.

"I didn't steal your whip, Ares. It was lying at the side of the road," Iolaus looked back down at the whip as he spoke, absently fingering the soft, fur lashes, and the thick, smooth handle, "Maybe you need to be more careful with your toys."

Ares took in the hunter's flushed face, and disarranged clothing, and his gaze sharpened.

"What's up with you, anyway? You look a bit ... flustered."

"Why should you care?" Iolaus' flush deepened, as he remembered what he'd done. Gods, Hercules would probably never speak to him again. How had it happened? How had he ended up on his knees between Hercules' legs, trying to swallow him whole, cock first?

"Actually, I don't. I was just making conversation," Ares smiled slowly, as a soft, summer breeze lifted Iolaus' golden hair. Such a tasty little mortal. The sweat gleamed on his smooth flesh, and his deep eyes shone dark blue in the warm twilight. Ares shook himself impatiently, returning to the matter at hand, "The whip, if you don't mind."

Iolaus regarded Ares' outstretched hand for a moment, then reeled. His eyes widened as he studied the dark, powerfully built god standing before him.

"Ares. You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Why haven't I noticed it before? Okay; that's a lie. I have noticed. How not? Your hair. Your eyes. Your mouth. I want to taste your mouth. Your body ..." Iolaus' voice trailed off, as his gaze traveled the god's form, "Oh, yeah. I want to taste that, too. All of it."

"What?" Ares was floored. The lust in the mortal's eyes was real, but ...

Cupid took aim once again, and the God of War lurched drunkenly as the bolt found its mark.

Ares caught a glimpse of Cupid from the corner of his eye, and a dim sense of understanding dawned, along with the dark flare of sudden anger. These feelings were secondary, though, perhaps tertiary. Everything was hazy, except for the blade of need that struck at him from the mortal's eyes.

Iolaus’ beauty was like a battle. Bright, and blazing with deadly force. Hair gleaming with the exact shade of sunlight which was best designed to blind Ares’ eyes, body molded with painful precision to cause his balls to tighten with lust. A voice as heady as the clash of swords, reverberating through Ares’ spine. The lips that framed the liquid sounds were tender, and supple, and the god knew that they would melt against his like brandied fruit.

Why speculate, though? Why not investigate, instead?

He strode toward Iolaus, and placed his hands on the mortal's hips, pulling him close and bending to his mouth. As kisses go, it deafened him, seared him, flayed the skin from his bones, his tattered nerves twisting in the heat of it. As kisses go, it was a close to death as an immortal could come, and he stepped back from it wearing his soul over his leather tunic, seeing his own heart beating redly in Iolaus' hands.

"So. I'm in love with my brother's pet mortal. How ironic," His voice echoed hollowly in his ears.

"I'm no one's pet, Ares. Don't forget that. And, don't ever forget that I may love you more than I love my own life, but you're still my enemy."

"Of course I wouldn't forget that. That's almost the best part," Ares' dark eyes gleamed, and feral laughter coiled in him, bursting free in a hoarse bark. His eyes widened as he watched Iolaus toying with the handle of the whip, one hand wrapping it, stroking slowly along its smooth, ebony length. He saw the speculative gleam in Iolaus' eyes, and his heart skipped, "Uh, Iolaus. Don't go there. That is a very special whip; a cruel gift from the Furies. It may look like fun, but it can't be used sexually. Not as a toy, not as a flail - not at all. It's just a whip. Bitches."

A slow smile lit Iolaus' eyes, and he edged the tip of the handle with a pink tongue, fondling the whip's lashes. Ares’ breath caught.

"Pity," he said, as Ares' hand strayed to his own cock, rubbing it absently, "Shall I tell you what I would do with it, if I could? First, I'd get rid of that tunic of yours, and your boots. Then, I'd unfasten your pants, and use the whip handle to push them down, past your hipbones, over your hips, letting them fall. Can you feel the leather slipping along your skin? Feel the slick handle running along your hips, across your buttocks, brushing its way along the cleft of your ass? Can you?"

Ares swayed, listening to the mortal's words, watching as the handle slipped, slapped, and pumped through the slim, hard fist.

"I'd use it to pull you closer to me as I knelt, and I'd allow the soft fur to caress your nipples before I snapped it across your cock, the fur mouthing rather than biting. Such a torment. The image of pain, but the sensation one of tantalizing softness. You'd get on your knees for me, wouldn't you? Elbows and knees, begging for more. Wouldn't you?"

Ares gasped, as Iolaus swayed a step closer, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue.

"I think you would. I think you'd love the furry flick of the flail against your abdomen, your scrotum, licking your ass, dancing between your legs to lap at your cock. I'd lay myself down between your spread legs, and take your cock into my mouth, slipping the whip handle into your ass even as I swallowed the whole hot, hard length of you. I'm guessing that you'd shoot so hard that there'd be blood in your seed. Tell me I'm wrong."

Iolaus tossed the whip over his shoulder, and glided into Ares' trembling embrace.

"Too bad it's a 'special' whip, isn't it?" He growled into Ares' mouth, gently savaging the god's full, lower lip between strong, white teeth.

With a muffled roar, Ares tore into his kiss, into his clothing, and into his body, barely hesitating long enough to drag both of them away from the main road before throwing Iolaus down beside a softly speaking brook, and storming the golden citadel of his delectable body. Ares didn't know where he ended, where Iolaus began, and it didn't matter. He was drowning, and he loved it.

Cupid laughed throatily as Iolaus' shouts of delight danced with Ares' urgent gasps, the sounds ringing along the road. Led by the sounds, Hercules peered at the heartbreaking sight through a curtain of willow fronds, then turned slowly away. The winged god took flight, circling once over Hercules' bemused, shattered figure, before heading for Mt. Olympus.

THE END