Breast Men, by Maggie Z

Breast Men

August 25, 2001

A Response to Dawn's 'First Time 'Challenge

As far as I know, this challenge was never posted on any site so the options I chose to utilize are as follows:

No talking in Strifebonics AKA dropping letters left and right

The small pub was hardly what could be considered a hub of activity. A peasant or two bought shelter from the heat of the afternoon sun by the mugful, and a slumbering drunkard took up what little counter space was available with his snoring and smelly form while a bored barmaid meandered aimlessly about the room. In a darkened rear booth, shielded from the prying eyes and ears of mortals, two gods sat, involved in a deep philosophical discussion.

"For the hundredth time, Mirth is just a friend." Strife swirled an agitated finger through his drink.

"A girl who gives you your own private striptease for your birthday?" the other deity asked, not believing a word of it. "I wouldn’t mind having a ‘friend’ like that."

"That’s all it was Deimos: a tease. I didn’t actually get to *see* anything. Our whole relationship boils down to flash and flirt and absolutely no fuck."

His cousin nodded knowingly. "The girl’s a colossal cock block, huh?"

"Don’t call her that." Strife glared at him icily. "If I *ever* hear you say anything like that about her again I will sodomize you with one of Unc’s riding whips and leave you on a boat full of profoundly frustrated sailors."

"Ooh, touch-ee," Deimos drew out the last syllable and put his hands up in mock defense, flippantly wiggling his fingertips. "Obvious sore spot alert." Leaning forward on the table, he adopted a tone of utter seriousness that was rare for him. "So tell me, you're around her more then I am, does she have any...racier...piercings?"

"Racier?"

He settled back into his seat. "I bet she has her nips done, She strikes me as the type."

"I'm pretty sure she doesn't." Strife sipped from his mug. "I did the last one for her, I think she would have mentioned it."

"Not if she had somebody else do it." Deimos gave one of his pale blond spikes a twist for emphasis.

"Why would she do that?"

He shrugged. "Maybe she didn't like the idea of you copping a feel."

"She didn't seem to mind before," Strife murmured absently, recalling a time she’d let him have a clumsy, if not innocent, grope through two layers of fabric.

It was shortly after they’d successfully completed a rather cruel and completely hysterical prank on a group of peasants making a pilgrimage to Delphi, of which the less was said the better. He’d been watching from the corner of his eye as she’d been readjusting her tunic.

"I, um, don’t suppose you’d mind if I, uh, you know..." He’d nodded his head in the general vicinity of her chest. With a rather disenchanted sigh, she’d taken his hand and placed it on a breast. "Hmm," he’d mumbled, giving a slight heft to see how it felt against his palm, "this isn’t as exciting as I thought it’d be."

"My sentiments exactly," she’d replied flatly. Mirth had a way of making him feel guilty with little more then a change in pitch.

Deimos seemed oblivious to the momentary silence, preferring the sound of his own voice to that of his relative’s anyway. "I bet she’s got hoops. Knockers with their own little knockers. She likes wordplay; she'd be into that."

Strife rolled his eyes, was he still on that? "Do you mind? I have to look her in the eye from time to time."

"I can't believe you." The blonde took a deep swig from his mug. "If I had a goddess like her around I'd be looking at everything *but* her eyes."

"Which is probably why you *don't* have a goddess like her around," he snorted.

"Why have them *around* when I can have them on top or underneath?" his cousin leered with a definite glint in his eye.

"Drop the act Deimos," Strife snapped. "We’re both virgins. I know it. You know it. All of Olympus probably knows it."

"I prefer to think of it as being severely limited in a basis for comparison," Deimos sniffed haughtily, the knee of his ego obviously skinned.

His comment was met with a dismissive eye roll. "Sure."

"Yeah, well," he said defensively, "I bet you anything I'll see a pair of tits before you do."

"Is that a serious bet, or are you just trying to sound macho?"

Deimos wiped some stray ale foam from his lips. "Serious bet."

Intrigued, the mayhem god momentarily pulled himself out of his habitual slouch."Terms?"

"The girl has to strip willingly *and* not be paid."

"*And* know you're in the room," Strife added cagily. His cousin's reputation for being the sort of god who enjoyed masking his presence and watching women change or bathe was about the worst kept secret among the lesser male gods. This bit of info was rivaled only by the fact that he always managed to fail spectacularly at it, never getting to see anything more then a blurry silhouette or water-warped glimpse of flesh.

"Fine," Deimos glowered, "but the girl gets to be of our own choosing. None of this 'you take the Hestian and I'll take the wood nymph' crap."

"Fine," agreed Strife.

"Fine."

"Absolutely *any* female of our choosing?" he asked, still slightly suspicious.

His cousin nodded. "Yup,"

"Good."

"Except Discord," Deimos said coolly.

"Fi-...Damn it!"

"Come on Cous’." He tilted his head and shot a look of mild annoyance across the table. "You know catching her naked is like screwing Bacchae in a barrel."

"Awkward, uncomfortable, and completely unsatisfying?" the other god offered.

"Not the point I was going for, but yeah that works."

Strife bit idly at a fingernail. "So what's the ante?"

"Bragging rights, of course, public admission that the other is a superior sex magnet..."

"And a favor."

"What kind of favor," asked Deimos warily.

Strife smiled wickedly. "Winner's choice."

"Ooh, I like it." Deimos nodded enthusiastically. "The possibilities: endless. The potential for utter humiliation: amazing." He licked his lips in anticipation. "So when does Breast Fest BC kick off?"

"Your mom dropped you a lot when you were young, didn't she?" Strife asked in annoyance. "No sense in wasting time. It starts now."

The other deity squealed and clapped in frenzied excitement. "This is gonna be so great!"

"Uh huh," Strife said distractedly, squinting to see who it was who’d just entered the pub. Slight build. Rabbit brown hair. Good posture. Definitely female. He tried not to smile. Deimos had foolishly wagered with his back to the door, leaving him with the distinct advantage: a jump on every sweet young thing that wandered in. This bet was practically in the bag.

But something nagged at the back of his mind. This mortal didn’t look like the type who would hang out around his Uncle’s temple- nor any of his other usual haunts for that matter- so why did she seem so familiar?

Then he saw it. Just a momentary ripple of her facade, but there it was. A sinking feeling wormed its way into his belly; he only knew one being who was that carelessly inexperienced with their masking powers. "Oh no."

"Oh man." Strife ducked down and put an arm up to block his face from view. "Mirth's here."

"You lucky jerk!" The terror god banged a fist on the table, causing his drink to jump. "You two are pals; she'd get naked for you in a heartbeat!"

"Shut up you spaz, she'll hear you." The other deity shifted even further down in his bench.

"What are you complaining about? I'd say she was your 'breast' bet," he chuckled at his own pun, however lame it was.

"If she knew I was doing this I'd never hear the end of it, and I need her for that feud Ares wants me to start next week."

"So you wouldn't even try it with her?" Deimos purred sadistically. "Interesting." Turning in his chair, he put his fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle."He's over here!" he pointed broadly at the dark corner his cousin was vainly trying to squeeze himself into.

"You remorseless bastard," Strife hissed, sliding down under the table up to his chin.

"Hey." Mirth leaned casually against the side of the booth. "Fatuus said you were looking for me. Something about a dispute you wanted a hand with and-" she glanced questioningly over at Deimos with raised brow and pursed lip. "What's he doing down there?"

"Something very personal and highly icky," he told her. " And I'm pretty sure he's thinking of you while he does it."

"I saw some cash down there and was trying to get it, that’s all." Strife got back in his seat, eyeing his cousin venomously.

"O-kay," Mirth put her hands in the air in surrender. "I'm obviously interrupting something here, so I'll just be on my way."

"No, no, stay," Deimos said beseechingly. "Strife and I can sort out our business later. Can't we Cous‘?" he asked his fuming relative.

"All right." She reluctantly got to her feet. "I'm gonna go get myself a drink."

"Don’t be long," the blond sing-songged giddily as she headed towards the bar.

Strife whirled on him the moment she was out of earshot. "No. No, no, no, no, NO!" he insisted. "We exempted Discord; we're exempting her."

"Oh, I don't think so," the other grinned with a shake of his head. "We agreed already. The terms are final. You're just sore because you know I'm going to win."

"I'm sore because you have all the subtle devious tendencies of a bowl of custard, and when she finds out what's going on she's going to string us both up by our testicles!"

Deimos didn't seem to be paying much attention he was toon busy ogling Mirth as she reached over the unconscious drunk to get at her beverage. "Eyes on the prize, man. Eyes on the prize."

"Stupid backwater bar." The goddess dropped into her seat, an unfeminine heap of jutting knees and elbows, casting off her clumsy glamour with a shake once she was obscured by the high back of the bench. "Ale and water. What kind of a selection is that? And no salty snack things. I ask you, what sort of establishment is this? Certainly not one of the finest ilk, I can tell you," she rambled momentarily along before quaffing the liquid down.

"Well it's kind of hard not to, what with them being attached and all," she said nimbly, bringing up a knee so her arm could have something to rest on. She'd never liked Deimos. Every time Strife got near him, his IQ dropped through the floor about as quickly as his common sense flew up the chimney. "Maybe you wouldn't be so easily impressed if you actually got *good* at your peeping."

"You really should get better at masking your aura," she smiled coolly, "every goddess in Greece knows when you're lurking."

Mirth turned her attentions back to the other god and began playing absently with her hair. "Now about this feud thing you wanted to talk to me about-"

"Ladies, ladies, please," Deimos broke in condescendingly. "This is strictly a pleasure outing. No business chitchat allowed."

"And what do you suggest we talk about, aside from your extracurricular activities." She let the snide comment hang unspoken for a moment, purposely dragging it out for maximum irritation. "Or the crashing and burning thereof?"

He inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, trying hard not to lose his temper. "Well, before you showed up, your buddy and I were just having the most *interesting* conversation." Strife felt a sudden spear of dread at his relative’s statement.

Deimos let the butter-thick sarcasm slide. "No, really. We were discussing what we'd do if an immortal owed us a favor."

"Well, I was just saying I would probably make them be my slave for a while, force them to do really demeaning things like crawl around naked on all fours and service me--feed me, fan me," he gave Strife a darkly devious look as he spoke, "bathe me with their tongue."

Her nose wrinkled in distaste at the mental picture show she was getting."Even if that immortal was a guy?" she asked dubiously.

"Right down to my cream-filled center." His fingers briefly circled the rim of his mug, stopping to rock back and forth on the edge, until just enough force sent it tipping over. "Oops!" he declared as the cup's contents lurched out and caught the goddess in the chest. "Clumsy me."

"Would you excuse us for a moment?" Strife reacted before Mirth had a chance to, grabbing Deimos by the fringed neckline and dragging him to his feet. "I just want a word with my 'friend' here."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged, preoccupied with getting her over-shirt laces undone before the liquid had time to completely soak into the green suede.

"What are you *doing*?" Strife snarled and gave the other god a shake for good measure when they were out of range. "Are you trying to make her mad?"

"I'm *trying* to win a bet, which is more then I can say for you. What's the matter," Deimos asked snidely, "whipped by a pussy you can’t even have?"

He pulled away and straightened out his leathers. "Keep telling yourself that. It almost sounds convincing."

"Sorry ‘bout that, M." Deimos sat back down. "You know how I can be all thumbs sometimes-- and all certain other body parts different times."

"Yeah." The goddess finished wringing out the bottom of her tunic, refusing to take the bait. "It's a good thing you like your ale warm, otherwise we would've had a real nipply situation on our hands."

Deimos giggled in a most unwholesome manner; Strife blanched an even whiter shade of pale.

"What?" she asked indignantly. "Suddenly you two are too mature for chest humor? Am I suddenly beneath you now?"

"Not yet, but soon, hopefully," Deimos smiled confidently. "Although I wouldn't object to being the one beneath *you*." Strife promptly hit him upside the back of the head. "Hey!"

"Don’t do that-- that’s probably how he got to be that way in the first place," Mirth reprimanded, then paused to ponder. "On second thought, do it again, maybe it’ll *fix* him."

"Now," she said threateningly, "who‘s going to tell me what the Tartarus is going on?"

"Don’t give me that," the goddess snapped. "You two have been acting weird ever since I got here. You're twitchier then even *I* thought possible, Strife's acting like he's got a pike stuck up his backside and, let's face it, the innuendo around this table is staler then week old bread."

Strife sighed is resignation, he knew this was going to happen. "Deimos and I had this bet-"

"Shut up Deimos!" Mirth snarled, glaring over at Strife with narrowed eyes and clenched teeth. "What kind of bet?"

He cringed, inwardly and outwardly. "The kind where whoever gets to see a girl topless first wins," he answered meekly

"Uh-huh," she coldly nodded. "So you were trying to get me to play a little show and tell."

"It was his idea!" Deimos pointed an accusatory finger at his cousin. "He made me!"

Mirth ignored him. "Why didn't you just say so to begin with? I could have saved you a lot of time." She reached down and abruptly pulled her tunic up to her neck.

"Ooh," Deimos cooed, reaching a greedy arm across the table, only to get his hand sharply slapped for his trouble. "Ow." He sucked on an offended finger and pouted.

"I trust that means you find everything to your satisfaction," she said acerbically, pulling her shirt back down. "Now if you'll excuse me." The goddess stood up, obviously disgusted with the both of them. "I have some parties to go liven up. Revelry and all that." She grabbed her over-shirt and strode out, tossing a handful of coins at the confused barmaid- who hadn’t recognize the neon redhead without her glamour intact- on the way.

"I guess that means we're tied. Told you she wasn't pierced," Strife finally said, a hint of smugness in his tone.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a regular Socrates. Say," Deimos wondered, "you don't think if we made a bet where we had to see below the navel naked she'd show us her-"