"Suck me."
Concentrates
on that, tries to, lapping at the head, running his tongue around the
crown, one hand fixed at the base. A sundial. No, a whore, pushing his
ass back into Ares' tongue and finger, whimpering around the cock in
his mouth, vaguely aware of his brother's still form across the room.
What if Hercules woke up now and saw this, saw Iphicles with his face
stuffed full of cock, his ass fingered and licked by a god? Knowing
him, he'd find some way to make it dirty and wrong, when it's the best
thing that Iphicles has ever felt, except for the worry about motives
that fades in and out. Out now, with an added finger changing rhythms
inside him. Suddenly aware of his cock again, hanging thick between his
legs, swaying a little. Funny how it's not the center anymore, which
has shifted lower to the wet tight place that Ares owns.
There's
now a slickness to the fingers slowly fucking him. They're coated with
something oilier than spit. It's going to happen, and his heart's
clattering in his chest, detaching and floating through him. He's so
ready and not ready, open and closed. Needs to see--
"Turn."
Armies
follow that voice. Him, too, as he moves back, knees against Ares'
waist. And sees this look on Ares' face that stills him, the tense line
of Ares' jaw, the shrouded eyes. He's going to be fucked for the first
time. It'll change him, which he wants, and maybe hurt like hell, which
he might want, too. This hasn't hurt enough, all this stuff with Ares,
and it won't be real until it does. Iphicles is used to a painful
reality. "Are you going to...?"
"It's why you called me here."
Which
isn't a good answer, and he grabs Ares' hands, which are on his hips.
"You don't have to, if you don't want to." Tries to sound brave, but it
comes out past sulky and near tears.
"I don't do anything I don't want to."
Iphicles is now squatting over Ares' cock, the head hard and insistent against him. He waits for it. Nothing happens. "Ares?"
"You want it? Do it yourself."
"I..."
Ready to back off, Iphicles slides a little over the stiff flesh and
feels himself open to it. Maybe he can do this, and tries a slow
circle. Gets a moan that wraps around the base of his spine. Another
circle, then another, and his body relaxes, accepts. Not all the way,
not even an inch, just the barest penetration. Stretches him, and
Iphicles gasps and wants it even more, teased by the pain, the heat and
the fullness. By Ares' almost-closed eyes, his open mouth.
A
deep breath, and Iphicles sinks lower. Wider now, stretched too far,
and he stops to catch up. His skin is wet everywhere, salting his
mouth; his cock sticks straight out over Ares' stomach, very hard.
Iphicles thinks that he might look beautiful, sweating and stretched
for his first time. Ares doesn't even have to say it, not with his own
skin glowing and the burn of his clutching fingers. It brings the weird
sense that Iphicles is winning. Sure, Ares has all the power and can
stop this with a word, or a punch, or a fireball. Only he doesn't, and
Iphicles keeps sliding down his big, hot cock.
A sudden, sharp
flare, and the head's in. Can't hold down the groan, and Ares gives him
a slow, dark smile before taking Iphicles' hand. He expects it to cover
his mouth, but, "Oh, god," he says, because Ares has moved their hands
onto Iphicles' cock. The surprise tenses then relaxes him, and there's
a final sear as Ares' hips align with his thighs. Full, perfect
penetration.
"Good boy," Ares says. Was his voice always that
low? "Now fuck me." Still holding Iphicles' fingers, he slides them
from the base of his cock to the head. Iphicles goes rigid everywhere,
and Ares growls. "Do it hard."
At first, it's slow and awkward
as he adjusts, shifting so his body will accept the big cock invading
him. Then the head presses hard, right there, and it starts. He starts.
Up and down, his thighs straining, up and down, his cock hot in their
hands, up and down, his ass flayed, up and down, Ares arching, up and
down...
He's whispering Ares' name, and the room's gone now.
Just him and Ares, not even him, just Ares, Ares inside him, so hot,
stroking him, fucking him, changing him. Only an echo of pain, enough
to keep it real, not just a wet dream. Ares is inside him and--
Iphicles
loses, hit so hard he can't move, just freezes, quivering, while he
comes. There's so much, like his blood's turned to semen, and he shoots
it all over Ares' hand, Ares' chest, rivers of it. He might whimper,
especially when he hears Ares laughing. He's still coming, still
shaking, when Ares pushes him onto his back. They're apart for maybe a
second, then Ares spreads Iphicles' legs. One thrust, and he's back,
slamming hard, his wet hands on Iphicles' shoulders, pinning him down.
Before Iphicles' moan is out, Ares' tongue is in his mouth. The whole
house seems to shake, the whole world, as Ares fucks him roughly, bites
when he's not kissing.
It doesn't end.
"Come again," Ares says in his ear. "Come again for me."
Can't
make a sound by now, can't do anything but be fucked, be used, be
taken. He's hard, just like Ares wants, and he jerks off just like Ares
orders him. It's so sharp and perfect, he is, broken like old glass,
that he comes easily, maybe never stops coming, maybe even cries while
it happens. His face is wet, he knows that, so maybe it's sweat, or
tears, or Ares' tongue sliding over his mouth, his cheeks, his eyes.
"I'm going to come inside you."
Iphicles
does whimper this time, loving the dirtiness, the command, and watches
Ares' beautiful, brutal face as it happens. He thinks about Perseus,
about Medusa, and hopes the change comes fast; nothing will ever be the
same, and that's just what he wants.
The body over him, so hot
and slick with sweat, feels like old stone, every muscle tensed.
Nothing happens for a breathless instant, then Ares grips his
shoulders, fingers to the bone, and-- He's an animal, teeth barred,
eyes black, his hips roughly jerking. Wet heat as Ares fills him with
come, pain as Ares bites his throat.
This goes on through the
night. When the dark finally thins, Iphicles barely notices; he can't
move, aching everywhere, come drying on his face, his chest, his
stomach, his thighs. It's in his mouth and his hair, an ocean up his
ass. Always under it are bruises from Ares' fingers and teeth, dark
purple-blue like the sky outside. He needs sleep, years of it, but
still knows when Ares is about to leave and reaches for him. "Wait."
"You want more?" Ares sounds amused.
"Don't go." In the other bed, Hercules, long forgotten, is shifting.
"Why not?"
"Because you won't come back." Iphicles knows how it works. His father left.
Ares stretches beside him, yawning. His lips are bruised. "You got what you wanted."
"I want more."
"I don't owe you anything."
"I
know." He wants Ares to want him, to come back and fuck him all over
again. It's not going to happen. Why would it? "But you could still
come back. Teach me things. Show me what you know." He sounds
desperate, and he is. "Not just the sex stuff. Everything. How to
fight. Be strong. I'll be a warrior for you."
"I've got plenty of warriors."
"I'll be better."
"Sure
you will." Ares laughs, then he's standing beside the bed, dressed and
perfect. He looks down at Iphicles, who has run out of things to say.
"You're a mess," he says, and his hand goes out, then falls back. He's
gone.
"Who are you talking to, Iph?" Hercules asks in a sleepy voice.
"No
one, jerk-off. Go back to sleep." As the sun moves higher, Iphicles
sees what Ares saw: the streaks of come everywhere. It's leaking out of
him, too. His mom will freak, and he can't tell her anything. Can't
tell anyone. It's this special thing between him and Ares, this thing
that's made him a man, even if he still can't fight worth shit. His
thighs scream when he slides his feet off the bed and onto the floor,
and more muscles complain when he bends to grab his clothes.
Dressed,
he pads quietly downstairs, out the back door, and down to the river.
The come is running out now, so he runs with it, his bare feet kicking
up small clouds on the sandy path. No noise, not even a bird, except
for the sound of his feet. The sun should be loud, the way it's beating
the darkness, but fights quietly. Iphicles, already pushing past reeds
high as his hip, with soft heads that he rubs between his fingers,
thinks about Ares, wonders how he'd be on the battlefield. He fucks
without a lot of noise...Iphicles stays with that a minute, a hand over
his used cock. Just moans and growls. Words, sometimes, dirty ones,
about what he wants Iphicles to do, or what he's doing. He's got to
find a battle and see. Someone in town will know. Time to leave this
shit-hole, anyway. His mother won't miss him, and Hercules--well, he
needs to learn to take care of himself.
Iphicles drops his tunic
in the grass, then wades in. No bite to the water, not even this early,
with summer coming. When it reaches his chest, he dives down to the
mossy bottom and lies there, letting the river touch him where Ares
did. Stays down until it hurts, his lungs bracing against his chest,
then bursts to the surface, blinking in the light. Shakes back his hair
and remembers Ares' fingers tangled in it, helping him improve his blow
job skills.
On his back, Iphicles floats and stares blindly at
the sky through water-heavy lashes. Even without the come, he should
sink, weighted by change and newness. He's got an adult body, not a
kid's, and he squeezes and strokes himself, testing for differences.
Finds only bruises and raw skin, all the marked places that Ares left.
Maybe they'll heal tougher, stronger, until nothing can hurt him again.
He's picturing this, him on the battlefield, fighting at Ares' side,
when Hercules' voice reaches him.
"Iph! Breakfast!"
Sting
of resentment, then he ducks under again and swims languidly to shore.
Sand warming his soles, he picks up his tunic, which is streaked with
juice, and rinses it before tugging it on. It's tight and uncomfortable
as he walks, but his mother can't know about last night. She wouldn't
understand. Or maybe she would, and that would be even worse. No, he
decides, it doesn't matter. They'll know something's different. They'll
see him and know. He'll be a man to them.
"What happened to
you?" Hercules asks as Iphicles walks into the kitchen. "You went
swimming by yourself? We're not supposed to do that."
"Iphicles,
you're making a mess," his mother says over her shoulder, as she prods
the fire under the pot. "Go upstairs and put on some dry clothes before
you catch a cold."
He says nothing, just stands in the doorway, the sun warm on his back. Waiting.
"Wake up, Iph. Mom wants you to change so we can eat, then do the chores. Stop wasting time."
"Come
on, Iphicles." She sounds a little impatient, and looks up at him. Her
lips are pursed. "You're dripping water all over my clean floor."
"I fell in," Iphicles announces dramatically. "I could've drowned."
"And that's why, young man, you're not going in that river for the next two weeks, until you can learn some responsibility."
"Aw, mom, that's not fair." Hercules pushes back his chair. "That means I can't swim, either."
"Sorry, Hercules, but that's your brother's fault. He knows the rules."
"Good one, Iph. You're such a loser."
"That's
enough out of you," she tells Hercules. "Now go upstairs, Iphicles.
Now. You'll have to wear your old tunic. It'll be a bit tight, but..."
He hates that they don't see and decides to force the issue. "I wasn't alone last night. Ares was here."
"Iphicles!
That's enough. Your dreams are private--no one needs to hear them. Bad
enough that you've made a mess of the sheets. Now go before..."
He misses the rest as he runs upstairs. Unchanged.
___
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