By Queenie

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.

For Moira - thanks for the inspiration, honey!

Both Demigod and Warrior had attributed it to the somewhat suspect stew in the tavern they had stayed in the day before.

Twenty four hours later, Iolaus was doubled over with agony, a trail of fire blazing its way through his belly and abdomen, spreading hot tendrils of agony into every nerve, every muscle.

Hercules had caught him as he swayed and staggered on the rocky path which led to the hunter's forge. He wrapped his arms around the sick man as they both went to the ground under the blond's momentum. A moment later, a hot torrent of green bile spewed forth from Iolaus's bluing lips and he groaned as the heaving continued, long after his stomach had emptied.

The demigod held tight, bracing the warrior with one powerful arm around his trembling shoulders; his right hand stroking rhythmically up and down Iolaus' back.

They had barely made it back to the forge before Iolaus collapsed completely. The world had started spinning alarmingly and the nausea, which had never completely receded, despite the vomiting, had returned with a vengeance. He heaved drily, convulsing in Hercules' arms, feeling the familiar, powerful arms surround him. Stubbornly, he resisted Morpheus' siren call, but, as he leaned into the comforting presence of his best friend, his small corner of the universe gyrated completely out of control and he slid slowly into insensibility.

Hercules had been alarmed when his friend had shown the first signs of serious sickness. His alarm had metamorphosed into near panic during the worst of the attack. Now, supporting the dead weight of his unconscious friend in his strong arms, he felt the chill of real terror claw her icy fingers around his heart.

He had lifted the warrior, cradling him tenderly against his chest, and stepped through the door, making his way toward the bed in the corner. Placing his precious burden upon it, he had proceeded to divest him of his clothing - throwing the soiled garments into a corner, to deal with later - and had covered him with one of the warm blankets which Iolaus kept by the bed for winter.

Once he had been sure that the warrior at least looked comfortable, the demigod had set some water to boil, and found some clean cloths. This work helped to center him, to calm his overwrought nerves, but each quick glance toward the bed renewed his sense of fear. Iolaus had not moved a muscle since his collapse. He looked, to all intents and purposes - dead. 'No, he's not dead,' Hercules told himself, sternly. 'He's just sick. We can deal with this. I'll look after him, take care of him. Nothing's going to happen to him. He's going to be all right.' He kept up this mantra whilst he waited for the water, and crossed the room a few times to lay a shaking hand on the blond's chest, reassured only slightly by the racing heartbeat he found there.

Once he had everything he needed, he had bathed the sweat, grime and sickness from the hunter, and, manoeuvring the smaller man up against his shoulder, forced some cool water down him, stroking the corded throat to persuade the liquid down.

For the next four days, he kept vigil at Iolaus' bedside, only moving to reheat the water, fetch fresh water from the well, make a rudimentary stew from the dry ingredients and herbs which Iolaus kept in the back room, and fed liquids and herbal concoctions to the sick hunter.

Iolaus himself knew nothing of these particular days. He was lost in a spinning vortex of dreams and distant memories, plagued by nightmares and horrific visions of the deaths of loved ones. It was all he could do to survive the onslaught; he would not have been able to contend with the pain rushing through his system. Nor, in his weakened state, would he have been able to endure the memories of all the occasions when his body, rebelling against the parasite which was attacking it, attempted forcibly to eject everything it could in an attempt to be rid of it.

Hercules continued his ministrations to his friend, cleaning up everything Iolaus' body rejected, laving a soft, warm cloth over the frequently spasming form, and crooning to him, unintelligibly, constantly, pleading with him to get well.

On the fifth day after the sickness had begun, Iolaus regained some semblance of awareness. Hercules was sitting on the low chair by his bed, one small hand clutched in his larger one, his head laying upon their joined digits, long chestnut hair covering his face.

The blond hunter blinked groggily. He remained quiescent for a moment as he catalogued his afflictions. His head hurt - actually, it felt like a few hundred men with little hammers were inside of it, banging away on his temple for all they were worth. His stomach ached with the effect of the constant sickness - not that he remembered anything about this - it too felt like there were an army inside it, stretching it taut, past its breaking point, pulling the skin so tight that he felt like screaming. His mouth tasted like a tavern floor and there was an all-pervading smell assaulting his nostrils - something he didn't particularly wish to identify for fear his queasy belly would rebel and lose whatever remained inside.

"H ... Herc?" Even his throat felt like someone had taken sandpaper to it, rubbing it over the nerve endings until they were red and raw. "H ...Herc ..."

The demigod came instantly awake. He lifted his head blearily and blinked several times, then blinked again, almost unable to believe what his eyes were actually telling him. "I ... Iolaus?"

The warrior nodded, having given up on trying to use his voice. It was far too painful a process to utilise for the present.

"How - how do you feel?" demanded Hercules, rubbing his fists over eyes fogged with sleep and gritty with too little of that particular commodity. "Do you feel better? You look better," he observed, as his vision cleared and he drank in the sight of his friend - awake and aware, and finally with some colour back in the too-pronounced cheekbones.

"Feel ... what??? Herc - what happ ...?"

"You've been ill, Iolaus," Hercules told him, gently, laying his right hand comfortingly on one bare shoulder. "Don't you remember?"

Iolaus merely stared at him as if he had just told him that a Hydra had come to live next door.

"It doesn't matter," the demigod said, with a smile. Relief was flooding through him, banishing the utter terror of the last few days, and the sun was shining brightly in his world again now that Iolaus was awake - even if it would take a few more days to get him completely well. "You rest, my friend. I'm going to get you something to drink. Would you like some stew?"

The blond shook his head, a little too vehemently as it turned out - the room started spinning violently out of control. Panting, he lay for a few moments, trying to get his small part of the universe back within normal parameters. "No .." he replied, in a dry, rasping voice. "Want you."

Hercules' smile widened. "You're not well enough yet, Iolaus," he said, running a hand tenderly through the soft golden locks, leaning over the smaller man so that their faces were mere inches apart. "Let's get you better first, then we'll celebrate our homecoming."

"No ... can't you ... just hold me - please?"

It was a plea from the heart - of a warrior who would never have begged it of anyone else, and would never normally have begged it of Hercules had he not been in so fragile a state.

Hercules could not help but accede to this request. Climbing carefully onto the bed, he manoeuvred himself into as comfortable a position as he could, and took the blond hunter into his arms, cradling him against his chest and hugging him as tightly as he dared.

Iolaus sighed and nestled deeper into the warm body next to his, trying to ignore the pain in his belly; trying to ignore the blistering headache which wouldn't quit; trying to ignore everything but the feel of being held tightly in the strong, powerful arms of the person he loved most in the world.

He slid into sleep with the ease of sliding into a pool of cool, clear crystal water, and dreamed ...

…He was lying on a grassy knoll beneath a tree. The sky was the colour of a peacock´s feather, the sun a highball of bright orange flame.

He was alone.

Hercules was off on some solo adventure somewhere and he had walked up to this cool, peaceful green meadow to meditate.

Meditating seemed to be out of the question, however, for all he could think of; what was uppermost in his mind was … Hercules.

He missed his friend and lover when they were apart.

He knew Hercules felt the same.

But they had a tacit understanding that they were each entitled to be off on their own from time to time. And, for the most part, when they were away from each other, despite the ache of sudden loneliness which burned beneath the surface, they managed to enjoy themselves - or plunge into some perilous adventure which kept their minds off each other.

Iolaus sighed and wondered when his lover would be back.

He pictured their reunion. Ah, the passion, the joy, the sweet intoxication of their lovemaking, which remove once again the bitter sting of solitude.

He could almost picture that moment now …

Without volition, his right hand found its way beneath his jerkin, sliding over one brown, upraised nipple, tweaking it back and forth between nimble, practised fingers. He raised that hand to his lips and his pink tongue peeked out to moisten it, before he slipped it back to play with the sensitising, upraised protuberance.

He imagined that it was Hercules´ hand …

His left arm snaked down toward his leather pants, wandering over one slim leg to rest on the already straining codpiece. With an ease borne of long practice, he unfastened the bulging material and slid his hand deep inside to cup his balls, allowing it to re-emerge with his stiffening penis grasped lightly in his fist.

His breathing quickened as he ran his fingertip over the already leaking head, investigating more deeply the slit from where the pre-cum was exuding.

A soft gasp escaped his lips and he ran his tongue around them, moistening them in a mirror image of what his finger was doing to his engorged shaft.

He closed his eyes and pretended that this was Hercules´ finger.

Hercules, playing with his nipple, squeezing, probing, rolling around between finger and thumb.

Hercules, running one hand up and down his bulging cock, sliding a finger along the slit in the purpling, bulbous head, moistening the entire length with the seepage.

His eyes were closed and thus he missed the sudden appearance of a pair of baleful green and blue iridescent eyes in the sky; did not see the dark shadow looming in the distance. He was intent on his task, concentrating on what his lover was doing to him ..

Or would have been had he been there.

The pace of the hand sliding up and down the slick shaft was increasing in tempo now. He allowed one finger to search out the tight sac beneath and squeeze. His breath was one long wheezing gasp. Oh gods. Oh gods … The tightness in his balls heralded the arrival of his orgasm and he climaxed with a shout, a jet of pure white streaming out of his cock and covering his tight abdomen; running down his side to pool on the ground beneath him, covering it with his pearly essence.

The shadow drew closer.

It was death.

Death was coming for him.

No!

It could not have him yet.

Not before he had welcomed back his friend, his lover, his life.

What would Hercules think, finding him here - like this?

Gods, he would miss that big lug.

No!

"No!"

Hercules awoke with a start as Iolaus shot up out of his protective embrace and sat straight up in the bed.

"Iolaus?"

A few anxious moments passed. Finally Iolaus blinked and turned to him.

"H..Herc? You´re … you´re here."

He sounded surprised. No, amended Hercules to himself, Iolaus sounded astonished and - there was another emotion present. One he had never thought to identify with his best and dearest friend and lover. Fear .

"Iolaus, are you okay?"

Hercules rose up in the bed and slung a comforting arm around the blond´s shoulders. The golden hunter was shaking.

"Iolaus?"

His lover turned to him with a watery grin, reached out one hand and gently touched the demigod´s unshaven face. "You´re really here," he marvelled.

"Yes," replied Hercules, totally confused. That must have been one hell of a dream he surmised that Iolaus had been having. "Come on, Iolaus. Lie down. That´s it. Just hold on to me and it´ll be all right. You were just dreaming. It´s all right."

Iolaus´ smile widened. So Herc had guessed that he´d had a dream? He would never know what it had been about, though.

As he snuggled further into the warm circle of the demigod´s embrace, inhaling the musky scent which rose from the broad chest which pillowed his throbbing head, he relaxed, and decided that what Hercules didn´t know wouldn´t hurt him.

‘Hera watching me pleasure myself and death coming to get me,´ he thought, laughing to himself at the very idea. "Yeah - right."

Outside the forge, in the sapphire sky, a pair of malevolent blue/green eyes snapped open, the malicious glare seeming to penetrate the very roof of the forge...

THE END

E-mail the author at necrophilia66@hotmail.com