It's unnerving, the way Iphicles watches him tonight. Every sip of wine Hercules drinks, every morsel of food he eats, is cataloged by those hooded eyes. He's uncomfortable. Enough so that he has trouble meeting Iphicles' eyes, and spends the better part of the evening staring at the floor. Visiting his brother is difficult. They chat for an hour or two, share a meal, then conversation becomes stilted and the silences stretch until they both find somewhere else to be. 

If Iolaus is here, it's easier. He fills the hard, dark places with bright chatter. He makes them laugh, at themselves and each other. But Iolaus is visiting some girl Hercules doesn't know, and can't be jealous of, because Iolaus' caring for her is so sincere. So he's here, in Corinth, watching his own hands tear a piece of flatbread into little strips instead of looking at Iphicles. Because Iphicles looks back at him like Hercules is something new and shiny that he's never seen before.

The room is hot, and Hercules feels sweat bead along his hairline and on the back of his neck. Iphicles starts to say something, shrugs instead and reaches for a pomegranate. Hercules can't help but study the shape of Iphicles' lips as they suck the deep red juice of the fruit, and he wonders at his own fascination. He's never noticed those lips before, at least not that he can remember. Tonight they make him squirm in his seat.

"You look flushed," Iphicles says, and he catches a trail of liquid running down his chin with his forefinger. Then licks it off. "Are you feeling all right?"

Looking up, concentrating on the question, is more difficult than it should be. When he does meet Iphicles' eyes, he finds the same measuring stare that's been there all night. It catches him, and he can't look away this time. It's clear that Iphicles is waiting for something, searching for a reaction. But what does he want?

"It's hot in here. Otherwise I'm fine. Why?"

"I just wondered." Iphicles looks disappointed. "More wine?"

"What are you up to?" The question is abrupt, but he wants it out in the open, whatever it is. 

"Just trying to get you to relax. You're always in such a hurry to save the world. Have some more wine, Hercules, and stop acting like I'm going to bash your head in if you turn your back on me. It's insulting."

"I don't think you're going to hurt me. I just don't understand what's gotten into you tonight." Hercules fiddles with the gap at the neck of his tunic where more sweat is pooling. It's not just hot in here now; he feels almost feverish. "You've been watching me like a hawk the whole time I've been here."

A tiny smile curves Iphicles' lips into a shape that's utterly alluring. Pulling out a miniature earthenware jug that bears the bow and arrow stamp of Cupid, Iphicles waggles it in front of him. "Well, it could be that I'm looking for some reaction to the potion I put your wine. It's from Cupid's temple. It's supposed to lower your inhibitions. Too bad it doesn't seem to work on someone with a constitution like yours." 

"You did what?" Hercules is so shocked for a moment that he just stares. The familiar anger, never far from the surface with Iphicles, flares up. "Why would you do that? What on Olympus did you hope to accomplish?"

"Maybe I was trying to loosen you up." Iphicles sighs and gestures to Hercules' wine cup. "I thought it might help. You're so tense around me, like you want to be anywhere but here. I thought you might talk to me, let us be together without closing up tighter than Athena's legs. But it's not working, so either it's your half-god thing, or you hate my guts and that counteracts the effects ."

The thought that Iphicles believes Hercules hates him is impossible, and it leaves him speechless. He looks back on the few short times they've spent together in the the last two or three years, thinks about his own earlier uncomfortable musings, and wonders how to fix this. The room has gone from over-warm, to hot, to boiling. Hercules can feel the heat in his face. Angry heat, not a flush of shame; he's angry with himself, and Iphicles, and the whole tangled situation that makes them more like adversaries than brothers. 

"I don't hate you." Hercules feels the need to do more than say it, and he moves across the room to rest a hip on the edge of Iphicles' couch. He reaches out to touch Iphicles, and it feels rusty, like he hasn't done it in so long that his body can't quite remember how. Hercules watches his own hand close over Iphicles' shoulder with a sort of detached wonder. "I just don't know how to talk to you anymore. It's been so long since we were kids, just you and me. So much between us now."

The smile is back, only more real this time, reaching Iphicles' eyes. Tentatively, Iphicles reaches up and touches Hercules' face. "That's the most you've said on the subject in years, little brother. Do you ever miss how easy it used to be?"

"Was it ever easy enough? For me to miss it, I mean." 

They sit quietly for a time, still touching in those two places. Every so often Iphicles' leg nudges against Hercules' thigh. Hercules thinks it must be Cupid's potion; he can feel little tingles of heat spreading from all points of contact. His hand, his cheek, and his hip all warm to the touch and he leans closer to Iphicles, wanting more. Iphicles seems to know what he wants before he does. He sits up straight, coming up under Hercules' arm until they share a half-embrace, and it feels right. As good as the hand still resting against his cheek, catching lightly on the stubble there. 

"Yes. When we were young. Before we really knew who you were, and who I wasn't." 

Little puffs of Iphicles' breath hit his face with every word, distracting Hercules from the protest he tries to make. He wants to tell Iphicles that it doesn't matter that he's the mortal son and that the only reason Hercules gets so mad at him is that he does dumb things, but it sounds condescending. Like a lot of the things he says to Iphicles. He hears it every time he brings up why did you this or how could you that. It's his natural way of dealing with Iphicles and now he wonders what might happen if he took the time to listen instead of judging.

"It's not just me," is what he says instead. Sounding vaguely accusing, but more worried. 

Resting his forehead against Hercules', Iphicles makes a small sound, affirmative and negative. "No, it's not just you. I never know what to say to you, either. All I ever wanted was for you to care about me as much as you do about the next stranger you save from a fate worse than death."

"I do." Blurts it out without any thought at all, and Iphicles must be wrong about that potion and his constitution. "Much, much more. I do care about you. That's why it's so hard to let you make mistakes and do things that I think will hurt you. I only get that angry at people I care for."

It seems natural to keep Iphicles from pulling away when he tries. Hercules doesn't want to see hurt on his face, doesn't want Iphicles to see whatever might be in his own expression. So instead he pulls him even closer, and their lips brush together. It jolts him all the way down to his toes, and Iphicles must feel it too, because the hand on his cheek slides into his hair to hold him there.  The taste and texture of Iphicles' lips are just as enticing as their shape. 

The flavor of Iphicles on his tongue is spicy, and dark with wine. It surprises him, how he lets this happen without protest, this thing that he's always wanted to do but was afraid of. Is still afraid of. This isn't how you go about being brothers, is it? With kissing? Or with feeling the soft, soft skin at the hollow of Iphicles' throat and wanting to dive into him. "Love you," he whispers. In his head he thanks Cupid for whatever poison it is running through his blood, because it lets him say it.

Before he knows it, they're wrapped in each other, sinking down onto the couch in a snarl of long legs and reaching hands. Hercules has to push away the cloth and leather covering Iphicles' body, has to feel the springy curls on his chest and the tiny, hard points of his nipples. Iphicles finds his way beneath the stifling layer of Hercules' clothes as well, and he skims the long muscles of Hercules' back with his hands. Hercules is startled by the greed in that touch, and by the answering need in his own. They arch together and apart in a rough, urgent rhythm. Hercules twines one leg around both of Iphicles'. His brother snakes one arm around his waist and pulls him closer, tighter, together. They hump against each other furiously, and Hercules feels like his cock has never really been hard before, not until now. Iphicles gasps out obscenities as well as endearments, begging him to let them finish. 

Over before it begins, and Hercules can't remember going off this fast since he was a teenager. Neither can Iphicles, if his raspy "fuck" is any indication, and they shudder and moan and yell as it rolls over them. They stay there for a long while, listening to their breathing even out and letting their sweat and come fuse them together.

"I can't believe you drugged me," Hercules says, but the accusation doesn't come out as strong as he means it to. They can't go back now, can't ever go back. They won't be this to each other, Hercules can't handle that thought, but maybe now Iphicles will know how he feels. 

Shifting, grunting a little as he digs beneath them, Iphicles pulls out the little clay jar. "I didn't." Iphicles pops the stopper out of the lip of the vial and pours the tiny bit of liquid in it across Hercules' mouth. "It's only water. Ares told me I was an idiot."

"Ares?" It is water, clear and cool, and Hercules licks it from his lips. "What does he have to do with this?" His voice has all the hard edges again, the ones that come out whenever Iphicles disappoints him.

"He told me you loved me. That he knew you did, because he shared your blood too. That I was a fool to think you didn't." A lingering kiss is pressed against his forehead, and Iphicles holds him tightly for a moment before pushing him away and righting his clothes. "I know how mad you are. But it was nice to know, just for a little while, that you care."

"Even if you had to make me think I was drugged to get it?"

"Especially then. Because I knew better the whole time."

There's nothing he can say to that. Nothing he needs to say. When he gets up and dresses, he sees the look on Iphicles' face, the one that says he knows Hercules is leaving. But it's okay. They've said more to each other in the last hour than they have in the last ten years, and they both have a lot of thinking to do. Maybe when he comes to Corinth next time they'll have something to talk about.