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.

Iolaus drummed his fingers impatiently on the rough table. If Hercules didn’t appear by the time the sun finished making its way across the table top, he would go up to their room and drag him out. He grinned at the image of himself struggling to hoist a snoring Hercules over his shoulder.

He didn’t know why Hercules was having such a hard time waking up, anyway; he wasn’t the one who’d been plagued by dreams for the last three nights. Okay, maybe Iolaus’ shouts had woken him once or twice last night, but still.

Well, the weather had broken and the skies were clear, and he’d had enough of this inn, this village, their festival, and that crazy fortune teller to last him a lifetime.

"No, I don’t want to know what your fish of the day is," he snapped in answer to the serving girl’s soft inquiry. "Bring me something that hasn’t been near a fish! I’m sorry," he added penitently when she recoiled. "I’m not myself at the moment."

"Well, who are you and what have you done with Iolaus?" Hercules demanded grumpily, dropping to the seat opposite him.

Iolaus was about to offer an equally testy rejoinder when Hercules vanished.

He leapt to his feet, knocking over the bench he was sitting on; it melted into the ground, followed by the table and the inn’s walls. The last things to disappear were the bemused faces of the establishment’s other patrons.

They were replaced by figured silk draperies; the planks beneath his feet shimmered, then coalesced into a thick carpet. Overhead a domed ceiling began to solidify, then hesitated, as though making up its mind, before committing to full visibility. Around him, the room filled itself with tables bearing vast amounts of food and drink, a gold tub filled with fragrantly steaming water, heaps of pillows, and a mammoth bed.

"H-Hercules?" he called, and cleared his throat abruptly at the quaver in his voice. Head spinning, he tottered to the bed and poked at it warily before sinking down on it. For no apparent reason, yesterday’s encounter with the fortune teller returned to him:

"You call this a life line?" she’d asked, staring into his hand. She looked at him suspiciously and gestured peremptorily for his other hand. He’d resisted an absurd urge to hide his hands behind his back; might as well get his half-dinar’s worth. She peered closely at both palms, then turned them over and examined their backs, finally releasing them and sitting back in her chair. He looked into his palm; it looked like it always did. Didn’t it? He held it closer to the lamp; come to think of it, he didn’t remember quite that many… squiggles.

"Aha!" she’d said triumphantly at the look on his face, and snatched his hand back. "Have you been dreaming lately?"

He noticed her unidentifiable foreign accent had disappeared. "No," he’d answered too quickly, and she shot him a look of scorn before bending over his hand again.

"According to this, you’ve been killed at least three times, shot, stabbed, flogged, kidnaped, burned, raped, addicted to drugs, blinded, lost your memory, your wife and your two children. One child," she amended. "Or maybe not. Oh, and been deathly ill a few times, too. But the good news is that you’ve had a world-class sex life."

Iolaus blushed furiously. "That’s the biggest cartload of horseshit I’ve ever heard," he managed, grateful her eyes were on his hand and not his face.

"Okay, the sex life part was just an educated guess," she admitted. She released his hand and pulled off her turban; Iolaus was less than surprised when her waist-length, implausibly red curls came with it, revealing short, spiky brown hair. Rubbing her temples with a sigh of relief, she muttered something under her breath; Iolaus didn’t catch all of it, but was positive he heard the word "edible". He wondered why he was still sitting in her tent, and rose to leave.

"Look, babe," she started.

"Iolaus," he interrupted, but turned back to her nevertheless.

"Iolaus," she repeated patiently. "Ninety-seven per cent of what I do is horseshit. But I’m still doing it because of that last three per cent. Insult me all you want, but I didn’t turn your lifeline into chicken tracks, and I’m not the one having those dreams."

"This is totally ludicrous!" Iolaus said angrily. "I’ve never been married, I’ve never been raped, blind or a drug addict, and I’ve sure as hell never fucked Hercules!"

He could have bitten off his tongue; she shrugged her shoulders. "World-class sex," she said to herself. "Damn, I’m good. You can run, but you can’t hide!" she shouted after his retreating back.

Ten minutes later, he was dripping in front of the inn’s fire. The rain was driving him crazy; he didn’t remember this much rain before. It had been coming down for days already. Hercules must be having a miserable trip. Iolaus hoped the rain wasn’t going to slow him up; he wanted to get out of here.

Thinking about Hercules had not been a good idea. He tried, and failed, to drag his mind from the image of the two of them at the waterfall near the Thallian Caves. What in Zeus’ name would make him dream of Hercules giving him head under a waterfall? Herc was like a brother to him.

The fortune teller’s voice popped into his head, reminding him that incest was a time-honoured Greek tradition.

Hades take the woman! He jumped up and began to pace in front of the fireplace; the serving girl who approached him got a view of his scowl and backed away hastily. One dream he could have dismissed; after all, he hadn’t gotten laid in a month, and it could have been his body telling him to get a move on. Except that last night he’d had one incredibly erotic dream after another, and they all starred his best pal. In bed, on the floor, by a lake, in his grandmother’s house, by the gods! And each dream hotter than the last, until he’d woken up in the throes of an orgasm that had damn near knocked him unconscious.

He stopped in his tracks. Just thinking about those dreams was giving him a hard-on again. What if he betrayed himself to Hercules somehow when his friend finally arrived? All he had to do was blush once, and Herc would know something was up. Oh, really poor choice of words, Iolaus, he told himself, then groaned. What if he had another spectacular wet dream tonight, with Herc right there in the bed beside him? They always shared a room now, unless Iolaus got lucky. Maybe he could pretend he’d found someone in the village. No, it was too easy for Hercules to find out in casual conversation that he’d been solo since he arrived. He’d just have to brazen it out.

He was asleep by the time Hercules got to the inn. He stayed asleep until the second that Hercules climbed, shivering, under the covers with him. One minute he was having his brains fucked out in front of a roaring fire, the next the object of his salacious dreams was pressing his icy feet against Iolaus’ calves. He hadn’t yelled too much, though, since the shock had effectively throttled his erection. He shooed Hercules firmly over to his own side of the bed and put up with ten minutes of self-pitying sighs before he grudgingly allowed him to scoot back against his warmth. "You’ve already sucked all the heat out of the bed anyway," he grumbled. Hercules pressed against Iolaus’ back and gave a deep sigh of contentment as he relaxed.

"This is the first time I’ve been warm since I left Mother’s before dawn this morning," he said sleepily. "I need some decent clothes." Another sigh, a loosening of bunched shoulder muscles, and he was asleep.

This wasn’t right, Iolaus told himself. Hercules was the one with insomnia, not he. He tried not to think of the possibility that Hercules’ hand might come sidling over his thigh to insinuate itself under his breechclout. He tried even harder to forget how Hercules had been in his dream, head thrown back, face transfigured by passion as he sheathed himself in Iolaus’ ass.

He was trying so hard to forget about it, in fact, that he didn’t even notice that he’d actually thought the word "sheathed".

In retrospect, he supposed that the dreams of blood and mayhem that rounded off his night were an improvement under the circumstances; better to wake up Hercules with a scream or two than with a hard-on poking him in the leg. That one where he was a drug-addicted rape victim had doubtless been inspired by the fortune teller, damn the woman.

In fact, maybe he was still dreaming. This whole situation was bizarre even by the standards of his profoundly weird life. He stood up, just in case the bed suddenly took a notion to go the way of the inn and its customers, and approached one of the food-laden tables. Dream or no dream, he still hadn’t had breakfast.

He was reaching for a particularly succulent-looking piece of roast pheasant breast when a hand cupped his ass. He jumped, dropping the pheasant, and swung quickly to find Ares smiling unpleasantly at him. "I’d say you’re awake," he said, and reached around Iolaus to pour himself a goblet of wine.

"Ares!" Iolaus said furiously. "I should have known you were involved in this. What have you done with Hercules?"

Ares eyed him over the top of the goblet. "You know," he said, taking an appreciative sip, "She may be convinced that nobody could look at you without wanting to fuck you, but the truth is I’ve never given you that much thought. The world seems to be rife with irritating blond sidekicks, have you noticed? Now that we’re actually here, though, I have to admit that she could be right. You’re not in my usual line, but you do have a certain elemental charm. If only you weren’t such a damn goody-goody," he sighed.

Iolaus stared at him in bewilderment. "I don’t know what in Hades you’re talking about, and I don’t care. Undo whatever you did to us so we can get out of here."

"I haven’t done anything to anyone. You’re here because she wants you here, and Hercules is gone because she changed her mind about him."

"Hera? Are you saying Hera’s behind this?"

"Not Mother, you dolt. Valentin. Have you been dreaming lately?"

What, was it tattooed on his forehead? "Ares! If you don’t say something intelligible inside of ten seconds, I’m going to –"

"What? Put your hands inside my shirt? Suck on my lower lip? Bite my shoulder? Push me on to the bed so you can undo my –"

Iolaus clamped his hands over his ears. That was exactly what he’d been thinking about doing. Out of nowhere, and apropos of absolutely nothing. He hadn’t been this much of a horndog since he was a teenager. Besides, he could have sworn he liked girls.

He tested that theory. He tried to think about Gabrielle and Niobe, but nothing happened, so he thought about Nebula, and Dirce. Okay; apparently, he still liked girls. It was just that there was this whole new world of boys that his dreams seemed to be opening him up to. So to speak.

He stifled a suspiciously hysterical-sounding giggle, and watched Ares drain his goblet and refill it. He nearly shook his head from force of habit when Ares offered him a glass, then thought better of it; wine from Ares’ hand was a lot better than no wine at all, even if it was a little early in the day. Although for all he knew it could be the middle of the night. Three quick gulps, and he was holding the glass out for a refill; the wine was already spreading its delicious warmth through his middle.

"Help yourself," Ares said, passing him a decanter. "She’ll get you drunk, but she’d never give you a hangover. You’re her favourite."

Ares had totally lost it, and he’d never be getting Hercules back. For some reason, that wasn’t bothering him quite as much as it ought to.

Maybe if he humoured Ares a little.

"I’m sure she likes you as much as she likes me," he said soothingly, unprepared for the sudden blur that leaped toward his face. He flinched as Ares’ fist came to an abrupt halt a fraction of an inch from his nose.

"See?" Ares said morosely, and drained another goblet of wine. The two of them would be singing songs under a table if they kept this up.

"Okay," Iolaus finally said. "If this Valentin likes me so much, and she’s so damn powerful, why has she brought you here? Why aren’t I here with Hercules?"

Ares concentrated, frowning. "Because she’s developed a new appreciation for Kevin Smith," he announced at last.

"Who’s Kevin Smith?"

Another goblet of wine, and Ares considered the question. "Damned if I know," he admitted, and grinned. "But I do know that she doesn’t like Niobe, Gabrielle and damn near every other woman you’ve been involved with for the past four years. Except Nebula and Dirce. Oh, and somebody named Theoris."

Iolaus tried again to think of Niobe and Gabrielle. Nothing. "Oh," he said.

"She’s been working on setting you up with Callisto, too, but she can’t figure out a way to finesse it."

"Callisto?" Iolaus repeated in horror. "She’s a psychopath!"

"Yeah, but she’s hot."

Iolaus threw the goblet over his shoulder and lifted the decanter to his lips.

"If she’s so crazy about me, what was that drug-addicted rape thing about?"

Ares waved a dismissive hand. "Please. It doesn’t count when it’s back story. She didn’t actually make you live through it, did she?"

Iolaus conceded the point.

"No, her idea of drama is a little mental anguish followed by multiple orgasms." Ares’ voice was petulant.

"Sickly sentimentality. Not my type at all." He looked at Iolaus again, and licked his lips. "Now Rudy – there’s a woman after my own heart. She really knows how to make a man suffer."

Iolaus’ gaze was drawn helplessly to the deliciously ominous bulge that was developing in the front of Ares’ tight leather trousers; his halfhearted retreat was halted by a table.

"Good call," Ares said. "Valentin’s done some of her best work with tables." He fingered Iolaus’ shoulder-length curls regretfully. "Ah, well, I suppose you can’t have everything," he sighed, a reminiscent gleam in his eye. He pulled off his boots and unfastened his belt, dropping it to the floor; Iolaus held his vest firmly closed with one hand and held Ares off with the other.

"Maybe we should talk about this a little," he started to say, trying to ignore the fascinating, unprecedented feeling of hard, hairy chest under his palm. He couldn’t seem to keep his fingers still; he released his vest and ran both hands over that delightful thicket of curls, stopping when his thumbs made contact with jutting nipples.

"Oh," he said again, and his cock sprang to extremely demanding life.

He looked up into hot black eyes. "You know," he confided, "I’ve never actually done this with a man before. And frankly," he continued, bewildered, "I can’t imagine why I’m going to do it now. Especially with you, considering everything. You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?"

"I’ve been having sex for hundreds of years," Ares reminded him. Iolaus’ eyes widened.

"I hadn’t thought of that," he said, and looked at Ares with new respect and a certain amount of speculation.

"Practice really does make perfect," Ares added with a wolfish grin. "Go with it," he advised. "We’ll have a few hours of sweaty, physical, mind-blowing sex, and the next time we see each other it’ll be like it never happened. She’ll fulfil fantasies you didn’t even know you had. Hell, you don’t know what an orgasm is until you’ve had somebody write you one. Your throat will be sore from screaming."

"Oh," Iolaus said for the third time, adding a surprised "Oof" as Ares clamped his hands on Iolaus’ ass and slammed him against his body. Iolaus opened his mouth to complain and found Ares’ tongue swooping over his. Who would have thought that Ares’ lips would be so soft? Iolaus wrapped a leg around Ares’ thigh and settled his ass a little more firmly against Ares’ hands, and was rewarded with a low groan. Ares had let his hair grow longer; Iolaus twisted his hands into the luxuriant black curls and tugged till Ares growled, then dug his fingers into the muscle that ridged his broad shoulders. This was amazing. He’d certainly had sex with women taller than he was before, but nothing in his experience had prepared him for the exhilaration of feeling this massive strength under his hands.

No wonder women liked buff guys. This rocked. He couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t done this before. If only he could figure out a way to get naked without having to take his tongue out of Ares’ mouth.

The thought was barely formed when Ares gave a grunt of satisfaction at holding a double handful of naked Iolaus. Him too, Iolaus thought experimentally.

Bitchin’.

He wrapped his legs around Ares’ waist and yanked on his hair until the god looked at him with sex-fogged eyes. "Bed," he commanded. It wasn’t until Ares slid him onto the sheets that he realised that the bed was now a precise three inches below the level of Ares’ cock.

Then those luscious lips pressed against his inner thigh. "Zeus!" he shouted involuntarily, and Ares raised his head.

"Try to refrain from invoking my relatives while we’re fucking," he requested wearily. "Where was I? Ah."

Ares took his time while Iolaus squirmed, writhed, swore at him and finally begged him to take his cock in his mouth.

"Later," Ares said, and pushed a pillow under Iolaus’ ass. He felt around under the bed and came up with a jar of salve, dipping his fingers into it.

"Wait a minute," Iolaus gasped. "Why am I on the bottom?"

"She’s convinced it’s more fun," Ares said as his fingers glided into Iolaus’ ass. "It’s a classic case of prostate envy."

He illustrated his explanation with a ruthlessly efficient movement of his hand, and Iolaus saw stars. Mouth poised over Iolaus’ cock, he exhaled slowly, his hot, moist breath enveloping its head. He pressed his hand hard against Iolaus’ ass, his fingers deep inside him, and began to draw his cock into his mouth inch by agonising inch.

The sight of Iolaus rampant had been greeted with varying reactions over the years, ranging from delight to mild alarm. Nature had been generous enough that even the most ardent fellatists had been unable to offer him the full benefits of their arts.

He should have tried a god a long time ago, he thought as Ares’ tongue wrapped around the base of his cock. He wanted to watch that diabolical mouth at work, but his brain refused to take orders from anywhere north of his groin, so he contented himself with raising his knees in the hope that Ares could plumb the depths of his ass even more vividly.

Ares could. Ares did, enthusiastically and at length. Iolaus was reduced to shallow, grunting breaths; he began to wonder if he had been driven past the point where he was capable of ever coming again. Maybe he would just die of oxygen deprivation with his cock down Ares’ throat and his ass impaled on Ares’ busy fingers.

He could think of worse ways to die.

Then Ares pulled some nerve-frying manoeuvre with teeth and tongue, and the fireball that had been building suddenly blew sky-high, taking him with it, and Ares’ mouth and fingers kept him spinning wildly aloft until he couldn’t take it any more, but he pressed harder against Ares’ hand anyway, and somehow Ares knew exactly when too much was just enough, and his mouth and fingers went still and gentle while Iolaus floated back to earth.

"Oh. My. God," he croaked hoarsely when he could speak again, and Ares showed his teeth.

"That would be me," he said, pulling Iolaus to the foot of the bed and spitting him with one smooth thrust. He lifted Iolaus’ bent legs, pressing them against his chest, and slid the last two inches home. His belly was pressed against Iolaus’ spent cock, his chest keeping Iolaus’ legs not-quite-painfully anchored.

Ares’ cock was not as big as his, but it was certainly making its presence known. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but the heat was already building again, just from this feeling of fullness. Who knew there were so many entertaining nerve endings in such a seemingly inaccessible place.

Ares withdrew slowly and slid back in again, and Iolaus felt his cock stir against Ares’ belly. Being on top couldn’t possibly be better than this. However, he had every intention of finding out for himself before Ares got out of here. Oh, the possibilities were almost limitless. He had a notion to find out what it would be like to tie Ares down and lick his cock like an ice cream cone. Whatever an ice cream cone was. If he pulled his knees up a little higher, Ares’ cock could ohgods.

"You want it harder?" Ares demanded, and Iolaus nodded jerkily, and Ares pulled Iolaus’ legs over his shoulders. Iolaus grabbed the edge of the bed so Ares could release his hips, and Ares took his cock into both hands, letting the surges of his powerful thrusts direct their rhythm.

Oh, this was so different from the first time. Adding to the near-overload of physical stimulation was the intense eroticism of feeling taken by Ares. "Fuck me," he said, and Ares snarled. He closed his eyes and transferred his grip from the bed to Ares’ hands; Ares moved his own hands over them so that he was covering Iolaus’ hands as he stroked himself.

Ares’ eyes rolled back and his hands tightened around Iolaus’, and Iolaus felt Ares’ orgasm course through him. Shuddering, Ares released his hands and pulled his hips into his thrusts, and Iolaus fell headlong into his second orgasm. His cock pulsed under his hands, and Ares’ cock sliding in his ass kept him pushed out on that edge and then pulled him back off it, and the screams he heard turned out to be his own, just like Ares had promised.

Oh yeah.

Ares piled himself, winded, on the bed beside Iolaus. "Have you noticed that I’m doing all the work here?" he complained. "That’s her insidious goal, you know; she wants the world to be your helpless sexual slave."

"And that’s bad because… ?" Iolaus prompted, grinning. He was beginning to get the hang of this. If Ares wanted to believe that this was all being choreographed by some chick with a stylus, who was he to say him nay?

Another glass of wine and a little sustenance would go good about now. And then maybe he could get Ares to wash his back. He stretched out his hand for the glass that appeared on the table that appeared beside the bed.

"So, Ares," he said, sipping delicately at his wine, "if someone wanted to tie a god up, what would they need to do it?"

THE END