Present
Rain falls softly across the kingdom of Corinth. Not a gentle, cleansing rain, but a hard, cold, stinging silver rain. The cold crawls into bones and muscles, burrowing, twisting, refusing to leave. Low, flat, ominous clouds fill the gray sky, lurking from horizon to horizon. The sun has been absent for weeks, the formerly rich earth is turned to swamp and bog, and even the animals huddle together for warmth and comfort against the gray chill.
The great castle of Corinth, an ancient walled fortress, stands steadfast against the rain, gray stones covered with gray lichen, the skeletal arms of surrounding trees imploring the heavens for sun or light. Inside, booted footsteps echo on the gray flagstone floors, the sound reflecting off gray stone walls, occasionally absorbed by ancient and faded tapestries. The footsteps belong to Iphicles, King of Corinth, who wanders the halls aimlessly, his copper hair dull and tarnished, his golden tunic stained and spotted, his amber eyes clouded and haunted.
Two months previous
Corinth
Braxis stood in the castle, shivering in her new body. She had been busily preparing a nest in the mountains when Zeus appeared to her and told her that the strange bronze dragon had been an ensorcelled human and he really was King Iphicles of Corinth. The king of the gods had then offered her the chance to be a human, and queen of Corinth. Well, to be quite honest, he hadn't exactly asked her, he'd informed her.
One minute she'd been a smallish dragon happily building a nest in the rocky crags of a mountain, the next minute she was in a strange body in a strange place, her senses assaulted with new and overwhelming stimuli. Dragons are, by nature, highly intelligent animals and highly adaptable, but this situation was far outside of anything Braxis had ever experienced in her short life. She fainted.
When she regained consciousness Braxis immediately knew that this was wrong. Her body felt strange and alien, and she didn't like it. Instead of four legs and two wings, she had only two short, stubby arms and two legs. No wings. Instead of her beautiful iridescent armor of scales, she was covered with something smooth, soft, and hairy. For the first time in her life she felt weak and defenseless. She opened her eyes tentatively and was shocked at how little she could see. The edges of objects blurred, and she couldn't see into the shadows surrounding her. Human eyes were obviously inferior to dragon eyes. She sniffed, but there were no scents. Everything smelled flat and dusty. There was no way to tell if danger lurked or strangers approached.
She looked around in panic and saw a human male next to the bed. She had to squint her eyes to focus, unused to the way they worked. The human was dressed in gold and copper, and she somehow sensed that this was her bronze dragon. He looked at her and she recognized the sad, somewhat mad eyes, and knew.
"Iphicles?" Her human voice was soft and weak. She didn't like it.
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. Of course, she had little idea how to read human expressions in general, but she could tell it was neither happy nor sad nor afraid.
"Hello, Braxis. How do you feel?" He towered over the former dragon, who suddenly felt afraid. This human was much bigger than she was, and she no longer had her claws to defend herself or her scales to protect her. Looking down at herself, she cringed in revulsion. She had only this soft, pinkish, squishy flesh, and she knew from experience that it was easily pierced and torn and damaged. Her small, weak hands were trembling and she pulled back as he reached out and touched her wrist. She reacted instinctively, pulling the arm away and raking at his face with her nonexistent claws, but he easily caught her wrist and held it in his big hand.
The human king spoke softly, looking into her eyes. "I know you're scared, and I'm sorry. I'm going to try to get you out of this. Please try not to be afraid."
Braxis swallowed, trying to force down the fear. But she felt something twisting inside of her, forcing its way up, and suddenly she was choking and her throat was burning, and she felt a slimy and foul mess force its way out from inside her as she turned and threw up all over the king. Her stomach continued to twist and churn and force liquid out of her, spasming without relief until tears streamed down her face and she was gasping for breath, her nose running and yellowish liquid staining her face.
She continued to gasp, sickened, her stomach still trying to force out more as her breathing slowly returned to normal. She looked up at the king through a haze of tears. "Am I dying?" She barely managed to croak out the question, her throat was so sore that it hurt to even speak.
"No, you're not dying." Iphicles carried a washbasin and cloth to the table next to the bed and began to clean the mess. "You're pregnant."
"I don't understand." Braxis moaned and rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes to clear the tears, but only managed to smear them. She still couldn't see properly and her eyes were drifting shut. This damn body was so weak; it couldn't handle the stress.
The king sat the washbasin on the floor and gave her a serious look. "Braxis, we're both in very, very big trouble." She didn't hear anything else as she drifted into an exhausted sleep.
Thrace
In Thrace, in the main temple of Ares, God of War, two warlords and several priests waited for their god. Agathon of Boeotia and Pelios of Thrace were both tall and broad-shouldered. Agathon wore a beard to cover the scars on his face and his armor was dented and stained. Pelios displayed his scars with pride and stood straight, his armor polished until it glowed. The two were complete opposites, but had a common goal. They had been planning a daring raid on Leuctra for weeks, with help from Ares, who promised them his support and great reward if they succeeded. He was to provide weapons and troops, and while both men realized the god was using them for some purpose of his own, neither cared. They would get weapons, men and victory, what else mattered? Ares had ordered them to be at his temple this day, and both arrived at the appointed time. But the god didn't. The priests quietly speculated that the God was in a bad mood, which never boded well, and so they went about their duties with increased zeal.
Day passed into night, and the God of War never appeared.
Amphipolis
Iolaus waited at an inn outside Amphipolis, drinking his third mug of wine, feeling slightly light-headed. He and Hercules had arranged to meet here, but the demigod was late. Iolaus frowned, more petulant than worried. Hercules could take care of himself. He was probably helping someone with a broken wagon or repairing a fence, being his usual helpful self. Iolaus just wished he'd hurry up about it. They'd been apart for over a week and he'd been eagerly anticipating their reunion.
Iolaus waited until dark, drinking until he could barely stagger up the stairs to the room he had rented. Hercules never arrived.
Cyprus
Aphrodite appeared in her favorite temple in a blaze of light so bright that any mortal looking at her would have been blinded. She threw her head back and screamed, a sound so loud and full of anger that any mortal who heard it would have been rendered deaf. She raised her deceptively delicate hands and formed them into fists, nails cutting into the flesh of her palms, pounding them into the white marble wall with such strength that the columns shuddered and dust fell from the ceiling.
Hephaestus arrived immediately, feeling his wife's overwhelming rage. He found himself before a goddess blazing with fury; her pacing throwing up sparks behind her heels, her blonde hair wild and her eyes glowing with her power.
"'Dite?" Hephaestus had seen similar displays from his mother and brother, but never from his wife. "What's wrong?"
The Goddess of Love spun toward her husband, her hands still clenched into fists, her beautiful face set into a snarl. "Ares and Zeus. They interfered." She drew the word out, spitting the last syllable. "Now I have to fix the mess they made before everyone involved ends up dead, or worse."
Hephaestus felt a sudden chill. He walked forward hesitantly, afraid to touch Aphrodite. "What can I do?"
Aphrodite pointed at a white statue, light glinting off her pink manicured fingernails, and blasted it into dust. "Find Iolaus and bring him here. I'm gonna need all the help I can get and he'll come in handy."
Hephaestus nodded and disappeared, glad to be away.
Corinth
Braxis opened her eyes and shivered, wakened by the cold. It hadn't been a nightmare. She was still trapped in an alien body. She sat up slightly, resting on her elbows, and looked around.
The room was made of dark stone and had a fireplace stained black from soot. The lone window was tall and narrow, too narrow to use for escape. Her quarters appeared tiny and cramped to a creature accustomed to living in majestic caves and in the open wilderness. She was lying in a bed that was too soft and her lower back ached; dragons prefer sleeping on hard surfaces.
Throwing back the covers, she placed one foot on the floor, trying not to look at the misshapen appendage. The floor was cold and she instinctively prepared to blow a fireball to warm it, staring in momentary puzzlement when nothing happened. Of course, she realized, humans don't breathe fire. She placed both feet on the floor and stood, swaying, as another bout of nausea attacked her. She doubled over, her stomach again spasming and her breathing becoming ragged. But her stomach was empty so she merely spat out bile, wiping her mouth with a trembling hand to try to clear the foul acidic taste.
The narrow window and clean air beckoned. Braxis walked cautiously to the window and looked outside, leaning against the stone wall, shivering as the stone chilled her skin. The day was overcast and visibility was limited, but it reminded her of freedom. The wind blew in her hair and she gritted her teeth, feeling her stringy human hair whip against her face, stinging her eyes. For the first time she realized just how pathetic this new body was. She could barely see, and the colors she saw were muted and flat, the world muddy and distorted. Her new ears were as stunted as her eyes; she could barely make out noises and those she heard were muffled instead of clear. As for the scents - there were none.
As a dragon she could smell everything around her - the rich scents of plants and animals, changes in weather, territorial borders of other dragons and animals, the decaying, loamy scent of earth itself underlying everything. She could smell the unconcerned self-absorption of cows grazing. She could smell the fear of the rabbit dashing through the woods, the excitement of the fox on the chase. But now, there was nothing. This body was able to experience only a fraction of a dragon's world. She felt alone, isolated from her senses, struck blind, deaf and mute, a helpless prisoner of this strange flesh.
The door creaked and Braxis jumped, her new body emitting a high-pitched squeak that she despised for the weakness it conveyed. Of course, she reflected, humans were weak, especially when compared with dragons. She'd have to adjust. She had no choice. She had to adjust or die. Her eyes struggled to focus in the dim light as she saw Iphicles walking slowly toward her, a steaming bowl in his hand.
"I brought you some food." He sat the bowl down on the bedside table as Braxis fatalistically noted that she could barely smell the odors wafting from the food within. It smelled dead, decayed and musty. "Feeling any better?"
"No." Her voice was a whisper, her throat still raw. She leaned against the wall, continuing to look out the window, longing to fly free.
"I'm sorry." He sighed. "We're stuck in this together, at least for the meantime. Hopefully it'll be over soon. Hercules said he'd help take care of things; he's probably working hard at it right now. I know Herc, he won't let us down."
Braxis slid into the bed, burrowing under the covers for warmth. "I don't understand any of this."
The king pulled up a chair and sat, his shoulders stooped as he explained. "First, Zeus changed me back to a human, obviously. He found out about you and transformed you into a human. Maybe it was his idea of helping, I don't know. The gods don't really seem to care much about what we think."
"I noticed." Braxis shivered, still unable to get warm. "I was building a nest, high in the mountains, when he appeared. He told me that you really were a human who'd been transformed. I'm sorry I thought you were insane."
Iphicles' laugh was bitter. "You're not the only one, believe me."
The former dragon continued. "I was flying, high in the clouds, looking for wood and plants to make the nest. It was a good day for flying. Lots of air currents to glide upon, lots of sun to bask in." She trailed off for a moment, looking wistful. "I love flying."
"I think that's part of what I liked best about being a dragon. Well, that and swimming. And the power. And breathing fire, that was a rush." Iphicles stopped, chagrined. "Sorry to interrupt you..." The king motioned her to continue.
"Zeus told me you really were the king of Corinth and he was going to turn me into a human so I could be your queen. And then he did."
"And now your troubles are just starting." Iphicles reached for the bowl of soup and began feeding Braxis, who made a face and spat it out.
"That's disgusting!" She wiped at her mouth, trying to deal with the salt and spices. Her stomach lurched and she turned pale, holding her breath, tasting acid in her mouth once more. "Why does this keep happening?"
"Because you're pregnant."
"You keep saying that." Braxis was becoming irritated. "I don't understand."
Iphicles put the soup back on the table and stretched, his back popping as Braxis winced in sympathy. It sounded painful. "It's called morning sickness, but Rena used to say it should be called 'all day sickness'. It's part of being pregnant for a lot of women."
Braxis shuddered. "I don't like it. Dragons don't have this problem. How soon do I lay the eggs and get this over with?"
"Um." Iphicles was stumped. "Humans don't lay eggs. They give birth to live young."
"They do what?" Braxis grew pale. She'd seen a cow give birth once, and it was a revolting sight. All the slime, and the awful scents, and the blood and moans of pain. The newborn calf had tasted wonderful, but the birthing process seemd to Braxis to be too much effort for too little reward. "Well, how soon do I get it over with?"
"From the way you look, I'd say about six months."
Braxis blinked at Iphicles, the world spinning and the edges of her vision turning to black tendrils of smoke. She couldn't have heard that right. "What did you say?" She heard the quiver in her voice and wished she could still roar. She wished she would wake up and find this was all a nightmare.
Iphicles looked at the floor. "I'm not an expert or anything, but I'd guess six months or around that. I think that what Zeus did was to take how far along you were as a dragon and put you in the same time frame as a human, if you know what I mean. How long does it take for dragons to, you know, lay eggs?"
"About six weeks. We lay the eggs, keep them warm for about two weeks, then they hatch. We spend about a month teaching them and then they leave."
"Oh boy." The king leaned back. "Humans are extremely different."
"I gathered that." The former dragon's head was spinning. Her life had been so simple just yesterday and now it loomed ahead of her, a vast unknown that made her dizzy with terror.
Iphicles pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing against his headache. It seemed to be permanent lately. "Gestation in humans takes about nine months. After that, the young have to be cared for for at least ten years."
"What?" Braxis' throat was still raw and the scream hurt, but she couldn't help it. Ten years? How did they do it? How did this pathetic race survive? How would she survive so long?
Corinth
Iphicles slipped out of the guest chamber and walked past the guard, turning the corner before leaning against the cool stone wall in exhaustion. The past days had left him emotionally drained, feeling like a damp rag that had been wrung out. He closed his eyes for a few moments but quickly opened them. He couldn't drift off, not now. He had to stay focused to get himself and the dragon in the guest room out of this damn situation.
The king schooled his expression into a neutral mask and strode through the hallway, his footsteps echoing around him. He turned left as he reached the main corridor, nodding politely at the people who stopped and bowed obsequiously to him. Rumors and whispers were already starting. Everyone had heard that a dragon had eaten the king, but the next day he appeared out of the air, a beautiful naked woman in his arms.
No one knew who the woman was or where she came from. The king let no one near her and kept a guard posted at the door to her room. Some said Zeus had commanded the king to take the woman as a queen. Some whispered snidely that she had been his mistress for years. He was, after all, a commoner, what did he know of protocol? Others whispered that she was a kidnapped princess, forced to marry him against her will. Darker voices whispered that she was his prisoner, a kidnapped peasant, driven insane by the king.
Whispers filled the halls, surrounding Iphicles. He didn't notice, his thoughts churning madly as he drowned in guilt for getting the innocent creature involved in this situation. He hadn't thought about the consequences, as usual. Just like with Rena. He walked, lost in his own mind, as people moved out of his way, avoiding standing too close.
The kitchen in the castle was large and bustling with energy. Cooks stirred pots and assistants chopped vegetables, while children ran madly from one end of the room to the other fetching utensils and ingredients. The cooks joked and sang, sweating in the heat from the many fires. And then the king entered, and the room fell silent, motion stilled. All heads turned to watch as the monarch silently walked through the room, picking up the bloody carcass of a skinned and gutted rabbit, then turning and vanishing out the door. Once he left the whispers began.
Iphicles knocked on Braxis' door out of courtesy, but entered quickly, his bloody hand slipping on the doorknob. His guest was sitting up in bed, still looking pale. She was pretty, he mused, but not spectacular. She looked like the kind of farm girl Hercules probably met all the time. Her skin was pale, her bone structure fragile, like a bird, her hair a quite ordinary mouselike brown color. But her eyes, her eyes belonged to a wild animal and he could see something in them that frightened him. Animals didn't like being trapped. It made them dangerous.
Braxis looked up, a shudder rippling through her frame as she saw the king. He held up the rabbit for her inspection. "I thought maybe you might prefer this for dinner."
Her smile was feral as she reached for the rabbit. She held the carcass clumsily, unused to her new hands, and bit into the chest, happily tearing off chunks of flesh as best she could with her weaker teeth. Blood stained her face, chin and hands, smearing her with gore.
Iphicles watched, fascinated. He remembered the pleasure of his fangs tearing into flesh, feeling it rend under his power. He'd always considered food to be merely a necessity, fuel that allowed him to get through the day. But as a dragon he'd found that the act of tearing into a living being, ripping it with his claws, slicing it with his fangs, made eating a sensual experience.
When Braxis finished her meal the bed was littered with bones, tissue and blood. Dried blood matted in her hair and stained her face and body, but she appeared sated. Iphicles reached for the bones to begin cleaning, but she growled at him, clutching the gore to her chest as he backed down.
"Mine," she growled, "for my nest."
"Humans don't build nests." He reminded her gently.
Her dark green eyes misted with tears, Braxis continued to clutch the bones and tissue. "I'm not a human. I'm a dragon."
Iphicles nodded, understanding completely.
Cyprus
Aphrodite's temple looked like the mother of all earthquakes had hit it. Statues were pulverized, dust and chunks of marble littering the floor, columns were cracked, leaning precariously, and blue sky showed where part of the ceiling had collapsed. A confused Iolaus gasped at the damage and turned to Hephaestus.
"What happened? Is Aphrodite hurt?"
Hephaestus shook his head, then gestured toward a corner of the temple. As they walked forward, Iolaus saw Aphrodite standing in the shadows, her head bowed as if in despair. There were rips in her gauzy pink gown and dirt stains on her arms, and her posture screamed of something held in check.
"Aphrodite?" Iolaus whispered her name, afraid that something horrible had happened. While she was an interfering busybody, Aphrodite never meant any harm, and she had brought him a fair amount of laughter and joy in his life.
He flinched when the goddess turned to face him, her hands clenched into fists, her eyes glowing blue with anger. Her beautiful face was twisted into a mask of rage that reminded him of Ares, but was much more frightening on the goddess of love. He instinctively took a step back as Aphrodite stalked toward him, sparks arcing from the floor where she walked.
"Aphrodite?" Iolaus gulped, taking another step back. "Um, Hep said you needed my help?" The silent goddess continued to advance as Iolaus scrambled backward. "'Dite, what's gotten into you?" He wondered if gods could be possessed, because he would swear that the being stalking him was not Aphrodite.
Aphrodite stopped and shook her head, clearing it. The glow in her eyes dimmed as she relaxed, beginning to look more like herself. Iolaus relaxed fractionally, still on edge.
"Sorry 'bout that, Curly." She shook her head as she patted her hair back into place. "I don't like people seeing me like that. I don't like being like that, but this time," the angry glow returned to her eyes and her voice changed subtly, "they went too far."
"Who?" Iolaus asked her, Hephaestus fading into the background. Neither had ever imagined being afraid of Aphrodite.
"Ares and Zeus." The goddess' voice dripped with venom. "They interfered with my work and they've caused damage that I may not be able to repair." The glow disappeared again, and suddenly Aphrodite looked very, very tired. "It's like I'm standing here, watching these chariots rush toward each other and I know they're gonna wreck, but there's nothing I can do about it." She hugged herself, looking small and sad. "And I'm the one who set it in motion. It was supposed to have a happy ending, but now... now they're all gonna be lucky to walk away at all."
"Would you please just explain this to me?" Iolaus snapped, his exasperation and confusion getting the best of him.
"First let me show you something, okay?" Aphrodite held out her hand and Iolaus took it, still suspicious. The goddess then transported them someplace else...
Iolaus dropped Aphrodite's hand and looked around. They were in Ares' throne room, but the black throne stood empty and silent, looming over the room. The fire was unlit and the room was dark, shadows creeping up the walls, eyeless skulls peering out of the darkness. The place was creepy under normal circumstances, since Ares' idea of decorating involved lots of black, weaponry and skeletons, but now it was more unsettling than usual. It felt still and abandoned, like a crypt. Iolaus shivered. The goddess of love motioned him to follow her as she began to glide down the black hallways like a butterfly in the night, her diaphanous pink gown fluttering behind her.
They passed several closed doors, but Iolaus heard nothing behind any of them and still saw no signs of life. His apprehension, his sense of wrongness, grew in the dark silence. Finally, Aphrodite stopped and put her finger to her lips.
"Stay quiet, Curly. I'm hiding us, but they can still hear us." She opened the door and slipped inside, Iolaus behind her. His jaw dropped at the sight before him.
The bed was easily the largest that Iolaus had ever seen, draped in red and black silk, covers in disarray. In the middle of the bed he saw Hercules, his lover, in another man's arms. Iolaus had trouble breathing past the pain in his stomach, feeling like someone had punched him in the gut. Hercules whispered into the other man's ear, a lazy, loving smile playing about his lips. Iolaus swallowed, difficult as it was with the rapidly swelling lump in his throat.
Then it all went to Tartarus. The stranger turned over and Iolaus could see that Hercules was in bed with Ares. Ares, the god who had spent decades trying to torture and kill Iolaus, Jason, and everyone who Hercules cared for. Ares, who the demigod claimed to hate.
They were kissing, softly, sweetly, lips barely brushing at first, then mouths opening for tongues to twine together. Hercules gently ran a finger down his brother's chest, softly rubbing a nipple, as he whispered in the war god's ear. The brothers gazed deep into each others' eyes, lost in a love that even Iolaus could feel emanating from them.
He felt small, used, a forgotten discard. Hercules had said he loved him. Hercules had said that he'd never love anyone like he loved Iolaus. Hercules had lied. It was obvious that the brothers had a long and deep relationship, based on the way they were touching and looking at each other. Iolaus pressed his arm into his stomach, trying in vain to keep the pain inside, as the evidence of his lover's betrayal continued before his eyes.
He said nothing, following quietly, his head bent and his shoulders stooped as Aphrodite led him out of the room and transported them back to her temple.
Corinth
Iphicles sat in the dark in his bed chamber. He rarely slept any more. He could only stay awake and stare at the ceiling, lost in memories. He sometimes drifted off into a light sleep, but even the softest noise awoke him. It had started when Rena died, as had his loss of appetite and the fuzziness in his head. He sometimes worried that he had lost a part of his mind as well as his heart when she died. That something important inside him had died, and now it rotted him, eating him up from the inside out. The only nights he was able to sleep were the nights his brother came to visit, when Hercules lay beside him, holding him in his arms.
When they were children Hercules had been nothing but a pain as far as Iphicles was concerned. He'd tried to please his mother but nothing he did could measure up to his younger brother's success. He always tried too hard, became too intense, lost his temper and sabotaged his own efforts.
As he grew older Iphicles developed a festering hatred toward his younger brother. For years after he left home he fantasized about finding Hercules doing something horrible and killing him; he, Iphicles, would return home the hero, and everyone would be sorry they had ignored him for so long.
Sometimes he just fantasized about killing Hercules, or raping him, pounding his hatred into his brother, spilling his own anger and corruption into him. He would lie in bed, his hard cock in his hand, stroking himself as he imagined beating his brother's face in, their bodies smeared with blood as Hercules begged him to stop.
Rena had lanced that wound inside his soul and allowed him to let go of the hatred. Their love had filled the hole left when the hate drained out of him. But now that she was gone there was a black void inside of him, and sometimes Iphicles was afraid that it would swallow him up completely. He wondered if anyone would notice.
The king lay on the bed, fully clothed, shivering a little in the chill. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, unblinking. Hercules would come soon, and they'd fix this mess. After all, Hercules had already promised him they'd fix it, and irritating though he might be, Hercules didn't lie.
He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the unwelcome image his mind painted; his brother and Ares, together, loving each other. Hercules taking off, leaving him behind without a backward glance. Hercules proclaiming his love to the god of war.
He bit his lip until it bled, trying to hold the blazing hatred away, struggling with himself. It wasn't like Hercules had stolen Ares from him; there had only been a few dreams, longings, half-formed hopes between himself and the War God. But Hercules already had Iolaus, now he had Ares. And Iphicles had no one, especially now, just a dragon trapped in the wrong body to care for. Another responsibility added to his long list of responsibilities.
The king of Corinth lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, waiting for his brother. And he remembered the joy of flying.
The Halls of War
Ares and Hercules lounged in Ares' great bed. The luxurious black silk sheets were stained and twisted by their lovemaking, pillows scattered to the floor. Ares lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling a warm contentment spreading through his body and soul. He gazed upon his sleeping brother, taking in the perfect face, the perfect body, and he sighed in contentment. He belonged to Hercules. He loved Hercules. They would be together forever. He was happy.
Something itched at the back of his mind, something that should be important. It whispered that something was wrong, but how could anything be wrong when he was lying in bed next to his one true love? The warm, fuzzy feeling that had dominated his being for the past day banished the nagging suspicion, encouraging him to reach out and trace the curve of his lover's jaw, tickling his lover's ear, making him smile and glow with joy as Hercules gazed deep into his eyes.
Hercules, his master, kissed him, and the god of war was warm and happy.
Cyprus
Aphrodite looked on as Iolaus tried to pull himself together. She felt the heartbreak emanating from him, and that far-off loneliness calling to her, that loneliness that had started this entire mess. It was getting worse. She stamped her delicate pink-clad foot in frustration.
Iolaus moved toward the remains of a ruined loveseat, feathers landing in his hair as he sat on the pink satin cushion. He was hunched over, his chest resting on his knees, eyes shut to hold in the pain.
The goddess placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed, hoping to offer some comfort. Iolaus didn't respond, so she sank to her knees in front of him, taking his hands in her own.
"It's not his fault," she whispered, trying to coax a reaction out of the mortal. "It's a love spell. That's part of what's wrong."
Iolaus finally looked up, his eyes bright with unshed tears and suppressed anger. "You did this to him?"
"No, not me. Ares. The other Ares. He hit them both with a really strong spell. Now do you understand?"
"No. But I'll listen." The hunter slowly uncurled, taking a few deep breaths to center himself. "So you're saying that Ares, the God of Love from the Sovereign's world did this? Mister 'I'm a lover, not a fighter'?"
"Yeah." Aphrodite nodded eagerly. "And when I get my hands on him," she mimed wringing a neck, "he's gonna be sorry he ever messed up one of my plans."
"Okay, okay," Iolaus motioned frantically with his hands, "back up. Start from the beginning. What started all of this?"
Aphrodite stood and waved her arms in the air. "Look, it's way too complicated. But here's the important part. I'm in the middle of something and then Mr. Love God shows up and says he's visiting and can he tag along. So I'm like 'sure, why not, this one's a piece of cake', right? But there was a teeny little snag and Ares, the love Ares that is, was helpful and all, so he threw me off guard, right? Okay." She paused for breath as Iolaus crossed his legs, trying to relax.
"So, he's being all helpful and all sorts of stuff's happening, and so stupid ol' me, I don't notice when he puts what has to be this totally major spell on Herc and Ares. I mean, at first they were just fucking around, which is fine."
"Fine? What's fine about it?" Iolaus spoke up jealously.
The goddess raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, come on Iolaus. Like you're telling me you've never noticed those two just ooze sexual tension."
The hunter had to admit she was right. "Yeah, well, they didn't have to act on it." He spoke sullenly, not happy about sharing his lover with Ares of all people. Putting up with Hercules' obsession with Iphicles was frustrating enough; an affair with Ares was completely off-limits.
Aphrodite rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Look, it was just sex, okay? And they needed to get it out of their systems. So, anyhow, they're having fun blowing off steam and all, and I'm just happy everything looks like it's working out. That's when that back-stabbing lowlife cast what had to be a major strength love-whammy on Herc and Ares."
A puzzled Iolaus mouthed 'major strength love-whammy?' to himself, shaking his head. Sometimes he wished his lover were just a simple farmer, or maybe a farrier or a banker. And he definitely wished Herc had a nice, normal family full of people who spoke plain Greek and didn't try to kill them on a regular basis.
Aphrodite looked distressed and spoke quickly. "Then Zeus showed up and I had to cover, cause I didn't want him to know what I was up to. So I put on my airhead routine and he fell for it, but then he went and did some things that you don't need to know the details about cause they aren't directly related to the Herc and Ares mess, but he made things even worse for two more involved parties." She ran her hand through her disheveled hair, tired. "And now I have to clean up after both of them, cause Olympus forbid Zeus should clean up his own messes and Ares, the other Ares, zapped himself back home right after all of this." She finished her tirade with a loud exhalation as Iolaus looked on, his mouth open.
Iolaus had what he considered a reasonable question. "So, why didn't you just take the spell off Herc and Ares?"
"Like, duh, because I can't! Ares cast it, he has to remove it."
"Oh."
The goddess and mortal sat and regarded each other, neither noticing Hephaestus cleaning the debris in the temple until he tripped on the amputated arm of a statue. Aphrodite lazily stretched out her hand and a golden light flowed from her, pink and white hearts dancing in the glow, restoring the room to its previous glory. Once finished, she looked around in satisfaction before addressing Iolaus.
"So you see, you have to get Ares and bring him back to undo the spell before it's too late."
The phrasing caught Iolaus' attention. "What do you mean, too late? Is there a frog clause or something?" Maybe being turned into a frog would teach Hercules not to screw around with his brothers.
Aphrodite was serious. "Based on what I could see, the spell increases exponentially over time. It started out as a mutual desire, then it turned into a mutual love. Soon it'll be a mutual obsession. If it doesn't stop they're going to become so obsessed with each other that neither will be able to function at all. Herc'll forget to eat, Ares won't do his job." Understanding dawned in her eyes. "Which is why Zeus let that slimy lounge lizard get away with it. If Ares can't do his job, Zeus can kill him. That's it."
Hephaestus sat next to Iolaus, focusing on his wife; Iolaus watched as Aphrodite paced, awed at the fact that wheels were turning in her head. "You lost me again. Why would Zeus want to kill Ares?"
This time Hephaestus answered, looking into Iolaus' eyes as he spoke. "Dahak. The episode where he shut us all up into that globe. And don't forget that patricide runs in the family." He shrugged. "Not that Zeus ever really needs a reason for anything he does, but take your pick of those."
The goddess of love turned to them, her face animated and her hands waving in the air. "Zeus wants Ares dead, but he can't just kill him. I mean, he's the one who made that 'no killing other gods' rule, and he'd lose face if he just broke it. But if Ares isn't doing his job, that gives Zeus a reason to kill him. Plus, if this obsession means Herc starves to death while he and Ares are lovers, Zeus can say that Ares killed Herc and off him for that." She stomped her foot and looked simultaneously angry and admiring.
"You know, Blondie, if anyone ever tells you Ares gets his manipulative nature from Hera, don't you believe it. It comes straight from daddy dearest."
Of course, Iolaus mused, there was a flaw in Aphrodite's thinking and he helpfully pointed it out. "Zeus wouldn't let Herc die."
"Don't be so naive." Aphrodite tilted her head toward him. "You don't think Zeus really cares about Herc, do you? Herc's just a pawn, that's all he's ever been. He's a tool for Zeus to use against Ares and Hera, just like Ares is a tool for Hera to use against Zeus. I can't believe what a warped family I married into." She looked briefly disgusted. "I'm glad you don't play their little games, sweetie." She leaned over and kissed Hephaestos on his forehead.
Iolaus stood and stretched. "Okay. I go, I find Ares, I bring him back. Does that about cover it?"
"About. But you can't let him know why you're there. He won't want to come back and undo the spell."
"Why not? No, don't answer that, my head hurts enough as it is."
Aphrodite motioned to Hephaestus, who stood up. "Look, there's two things to keep in mind here. First, he may dress in white and sashay around, but that's just on the outside. On the inside he's still Ares, and he's still a manipulative son of a bitch. Don't underestimate him like I did. Second, he threw that spell for a reason, and whatever it was, it was malicious. He's got an agenda, so look out. Use your heartbreak and pain; that should draw in the emotional leech."
The two gods raised their arms and focused their power, bolts of energy flowing from each of them until Iolaus saw the familiar blue vortex before him, the wind blowing his hair into his face. He advanced on it, his arm in front of his eyes to protect them from debris, and turned around to wave goodbye.
Hephaestus stood beside his wife and nodded his encouragement. Aphrodite waved a pink scarf at him, her blonde hair blowing in the wind. "Be careful, Sweet Cheeks! And hurry back, for Herc!"
Iolaus clutched the image of Hercules and Ares in bed to his heart, deliberately reopening the wound and drawing blood as he hurried through the vortex.
Present
Outside, the ever-present rain falls. Inside, the Halls of War are still dark and cold. The flames from the fire lick up the black walls, throwing shadows that writhe and twist, like tortured souls in Tartarus. The floor is awash with blood; fresh blood runs in rivulets while old dried blood crusts in ice crystal-like patterns. In the center of the room is a massive black throne. On this throne sits Ares, god of war, his eyes glowing red with a rage that will not be quenched, no matter how much blood is spilt. His black leathers are saturated scarlet, his hair is crusted with gore, and still he sits, motionless, pondering, waiting. He needs more blood, more death, more pain, to purge the memories; to cauterize the wound, to sterilize his soul. He stands, the motion fluid, as he licks his lips, tasting the coppery tang on his tongue. There is a flash of blue light as the god of war disappears, on his way to Corinth.
One Month Previous
Corinth
The great throne room of Corinth's castle was filled with people. Dressed warmly, they huddled together, still shivering from the cold, water dripping from their sodden clothing forming muddy puddles on the inlaid tile floor, obscuring the intricate designs. At the front of the room, surrounded by guards, Iphicles sat in his throne, golden crown upon his head, and listened to the arguments and tales of the petitioners before him. He smiled, nodded his head in the right places and made decisions that most agreed were just, but he actually paid very little attention.
In his mind, Iphicles was flying. He stretched his leather wings, catching an updraft, gliding effortlessly upon the wind, basking in the sunlight. He looked around the court, seeing it through dragon's eyes in his mind.
A dragon wouldn't sit here all day in this hard cold throne, listening as humans squabbled and whined over petty concerns. A dragon would stand tall and proud, stalking through the room, smelling the respect and fear. A dragon would be concerned only with itself, not caring how others saw it, what they thought of it. A dragon would not be judged.
He shook his head, startled out of his reverie as a particularly irate man with foul breath smelling of garlic and onions began shouting and pointing. Iphicles squinted, hand rubbing his forehead to relieve his headache as he listened to the man shout about his neighbor's dog attacking and eating cattle.
The king sighed, imagining sweeping down upon the man's farm, grabbing a cow in his massive claws and flying off with it; maybe even eating the farmer while he was at it. He smiled to himself, imagining suddenly being transformed into a dragon and setting the court on fire. The flames would devour the tapestries, the people would run screaming, and he would be free to do as he pleased.
It wasn't to be. He was a human, and a king at that. He had responsibilities. Those responsibilities weighed as heavily on his soul as the golden crown weighed upon his head. It crushed him down, constricting him, squeezing his skull; sometimes he imagined the crown growing smaller and smaller, until it split his skull and his brains oozed out, covering the golden circlet. The crown would lurk, almost pulsing with malevolence, as it waited for another victim.
Iphicles winced and rubbed the back of his neck. His mood was growing worse; if this continued he wouldn't be able to function. He waved at the magistrate to indicate that the day's petitions were done, striding out of the room oblivious to the man's objections.
These sorts of moods had struck more often of late. He found that he spent most of his time drifting in a gray cloud in his mind, living more in imagination and wishes than in reality. He had no one to talk to, no one to listen; not since Rena died and Hercules left him. He thought of his brother, who had promised to stay and help, and lied. The hatred burned inside of him like acid, carving hot trails within his heart.
The king walked to the great meeting room where his advisors awaited him. He heard murmurs from within the room, but silence descended as he entered. Looking around he saw expressions quickly mutating from fear and anger into neutral, blank, empty masks. He nodded and took his seat at the head of the great walnut table as the others sat, clustered at the opposite end of the room.
Argeus, a gray-haired healer, stood and addressed the king, his eyes focused on a point on the wall behind Iphicles, never quite meeting his eyes.
"Your Highness, the council would like to again address the issue of your...queen." He flinched as he said the word, and Iphicles sighed.
"Gentlemen, nothing has changed. Nothing will change. At least, not for the better." Iphicles slouched, dangling one leg over the massive carved arm of the chair.
"But Highness," Argeus continued undaunted, "the people are talking. Rumors are spreading like wildfire, and I don't have to tell you that they are *most* uncomplimentary."
"I understand that." Iphicles nodded at the older man. "And I appreciate it. But it doesn't change anything." The pounding in his head was msking the king testy.
Argeus took a deep breath, determined to charge ahead. "Not per se, no. But the rumors are becoming more outlandish. Everyone knows you have a woman imprisoned in the castle. They also know that Zeus said she is to be your queen. If you don't show her in public, that lends more weight to the rumors that you've kidnapped a young woman. Every peasant with a missing daughter will suspect you and hate you."
Iphicles leaned forward, forehead creased. "And if I do show her in public, what then? We all know how well she dresses and comports herself."
The advisors looked at each other uneasily. Some had been there, some had not, when Braxis had first arrived at the castle. She had arrived naked and refused to wear clothing, claiming it was restrictive and uncomfortable. One of the court ladies, Phoebe, had decided that Braxis just needed some encouragement. Phoebe had insisted that the former dragon wear 'proper' garments and even tried to force her into a gown. Braxis had panicked and fought back like the animal she was.
Phoebe survived, but lost one eye and would carry the scars on her face for the rest of her life.
Iphicles nodded, seeing the fear in their eyes, imagining he could smell it, remembering the pungent, heady scent of terror. He pressed his point, drawling sarcastically to the council. "Of course, we could always have lots of guards around her. I'm sure that'd go over well."
Several of the men paled at the pointed remark. No one knew the details, no one ever would. All Iphicles knew was that several weeks earlier, when he visited the dragon, he had found her door unguarded. Opening the door he had found the guard inside; what was left of him, that is.
Braxis said he had entered the room, no one knew why. She had broken a pitcher over his head and neatly snapped his neck when he fell. She had then taken a broken shard of pottery and used it to cut him open. When Iphicles found her she had been happily devouring the guard's entrails, which the dragon regarded as a great treat.
Many advised the king to kill her, but he refused. She was a dragon, after all, and merely behaving as dragons do. Who were they to judge a dragon?
The Halls of War
Hercules stirred, looking down at the body snuggled against his. Ares. His beautiful lover, his soul mate, the one being in all of creation who could complete him. Ares stirred but didn't wake as Hercules took the opportunity to let his eyes wander over the hard muscles, the raven hair, the talented mouth. He couldn't remember ever being happier, not even with...
His mind jumped to a different subject as he completely forgot his previous train of thought.
The room smelled of incense, musk and sex. They hadn't moved from the bed in the past week. Ares had materialized food for his mortal lover, and they had sat in bed and eaten between lovemaking sessions. Hercules found that merely being near Ares made him hard, no matter how many times he had come already. He loved his brother, needed him with a desire that was never sated.
Rolling Ares over, Hercules parted his lover's ass cheeks and slowly, deliberately slid in, the way already lubricated by semen from their last session. Ares moaned his pleasure as Hercules began to thrust gently, each whispering endearments.
"Loveyouloveyouloveyou..."
"Mine, Ares. You're mine."
"Yours. I'm yours, always. Forever. Loveyouloveyouloveyou..."
Cyprus
Aphrodite paced, walking in neat circles, contemplating the pink-veined marble floor of her temple. How had the situation turned so bad so quickly, she wondered. She had spent the past month trying to understand, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when the other Ares had cast his spell. More than that, she wanted to understand why he had done it. She had her suspicions but wanted confirmation. Never again, the goddess vowed, would she let another god interfere with one of her plans.
She just wished that Iolaus would hurry up. She'd known that Ares would be in hiding, that it would take time to coax him out and allow Iolaus to gain his trust, but this was ridiculous. She was continuing to perform her duties, acting like nothing had happened, but worry gnawed at her innards.
People were noticing that Hercules was gone and that Ares wasn't doing his job. There were whispers, that Ares had killed the hero, that Hercules had killed Ares, that they had killed each other. So many whispers, and Zeus tried to look concerned, but she saw his smug smirk lurking beneath the wise and compassionate facade.
A noise, similar to the roar of rushing water or an approaching funnel cloud alerted her. Straightening, she faced the swirling vortex, anxiously peering into the azure mist. Two familiar figures approached and the goddess sighed in relief. Finally.
Aphrodite straightened her shoulders and rolled her head, trying to relax. As the two figures emerged from the vortex she smiled her brightest and most vacant smile, hoping it was convincing. She squealed and jumped up and down, waving, deliberately giving an appreciative Ares a generous view of her cleavage as she waved.
"Ares! Sweet Cheeks!" She made sure her voice squeaked as she hit the high notes, but warned herself not to overdo the airhead act. Ares was much more intelligent than he looked.
The god of love strode forward, a bright yet vacant smile on his face, and embraced Aphrodite, holding her close and inhaling the scent of her hair.
"Ares!" She pulled back, remaining in his arms, as she looked into his midnight black eyes. "You came back for another visit! This is so totally cool. You did, like, so great last time."
Ares smiled at her, and she saw something coiled behind his eyes, a serpent preparing to strike. "I had so much fun the last time, I just had to come back and check up on everyone. Besides," his full lips shaped into an insincere pout, "Iolaus was just so sad, I had to try and make it better for him." Aphrodite saw crocodile tears glistening in his eyes and mentally awarded him bonus points.
The goddess pulled away, but latched her arm through Ares', patting his hand as they walked into her temple, a dejected Iolaus following. Aphrodite turned to Iolaus, still holding on to Ares.
"Sweet Cheeks? You doing better?" She spoke as if addressing a favorite pet.
Iolaus nodded. He looked tired, sad, thinner than when he'd left. "Yeah. Traveling helped. And it took me a while to find Ares. That gave me time to think, sort things out in my head, you know?"
Aphrodite nodded as she saw the look of steely determination on Iolaus' face. "Why don't you go get some sleep in one of the back rooms? You still look totally bummed." Iolaus nodded and left them. Turning once more to Ares, the goddess played the airhead hostess.
"So, what's up? Were you hiding from Curly?" She tried to make it sound light, teasing. "Or do you have a secret lover you ran off to be with?" The darkness twisted behind Ares' eyes again, and Aphrodite knew she had found a weakness. "You know, Hephy and I are just, like, so happy! It's amazing, isn't it? Being in love?" She smiled to herself as she saw pain flit across Ares' face.
They entered the back room of the temple and Aphrodite motioned toward a settee, indicating that Ares should sit. He lazily reclined onto the pink satin, chin propped in his hand as he blessed her with a beatific smile.
"So, fill me in on the gossip. What'd I miss?" Ares looked like he was waiting for good news, and Aphrodite measured her words carefully, positioning herself behind the love god's head, idly running her fingers through his hair as he sighed in pleasure.
"Well." She lowered her voice confidentially. "Zeus and Hera are fighting again, but that's old news. He threw her back into one of the deeper pits of Tartarus, you'd think he'd get a little more creative."
"At his age, what do you expect?" Ares sounded catty, she mused.
"Let's see... oh, yeah...." Aphrodite lowered her voice further and leaned forward, breathing into Ares' ear, her tongue gently licking around the outside before she started speaking. "You remember how Herc and our Ares got together right before you left? That big orgy in the sky?"
"Yes?" Ares' eagerness gave him away.
"Well, no one's seen either of them for, like, a month." She waited a few beats. "No one but me, that is." The trap was set, but would the mouse take the bait?
The god of love turned to look at her, a mask of indifference upon his face. "And what, exactly, are they up to?"
Aphrodite leaned forward, exposing more cleavage as she placed her finger in front of her lips, leaning close enough to Ares that they were almost kissing. "It's a secret." She giggled. "I could take you there and show you," she whispered, "they put on quite a show."
Ares licked his full lips, his tongue almost caressing her mouth, his voice low-pitched and throaty. "Oh, that sounds like such fun. I'd love to watch!" Aphrodite saw self-congratulations behind his eyes, and suddenly she saw the similarities between the two Ares. She'd have to be careful, very careful.
"Okay, but let's not tell Curly, okay?" She looked sympathetic. "I don't wanna depress the little guy any more than he is already, ya know?"
Ares nodded his agreement and stood, brushing his thighs, trying to hide his impatience. "Poor Iolaus." He sighed theatrically. "It's just not fair that he should be left all alone." Aphrodite saw the darkness writhing behind the god's eyes and almost felt sorry for him; until she remembered her Ares and Hercules.
The goddess of love giggled prettily. "Well then, what're we waiting for, silly? Let's do it!" She took Ares' hand in her own and squeezed it, leering at her counterpart and lowering her voice. "You know, even you might pick up a tip or two from them."
They disappeared in a shower of pink and white hearts and golden energy.
Corinth
Braxis leaned against the cold stone wall, gazing out the window. She spent most of her time before the window, watching, yearning. The nausea had become part of her existence, the taste of acid in her mouth would never dissipate. She was wrapped in a thick, rough woolen blanket for warmth, although she was never warm any more.
The blanket itched. Everything itched her sensitive new flesh. She had clawed and bitten herself until she drew blood, but she always felt it, small creatures crawling on her skin, biting and sucking, the texture of the coarse material. It was all unbearable.
Her claws tapped an erratic beat on the stone. Braxis had learned that human fingernails grow quickly. She allowed hers to grow and filed them into sharp, deadly points. At least now she had weapons, of a sort, although they were good only for close quarters.
A mourning dove landed on the sill just outside the window, its gray feathers blending easily into the gray stone and the gray sky. It shook itself briefly in an attempt to dislodge the worst of the water. It then began fluffing and grooming itself; beak nuzzling quickly between feathers as it pulled and arranged, much as Braxis had once done with her scales.
The dove looked around in sudden panic and exploded into motion and flight, winging its way into the sky, into the unknown. Into freedom. Braxis sighed, longing with all of her being for the ability to fly away like the lowly gray bird.
She heard the familiar knock at the door and turned to see Iphicles enter. He carried two pheasant carcasses, one for each of them. The king rarely ate prepared food anymore, preferring instead to take his meals with the dragon. While she ate her food raw and bloody, he cooked his over the fireplace, although he had tried eating the meat raw upon occasion. She didn't quite understand why, but she had noticed that he cooked the meat less and less as time passed.
Iphicles nodded to her, but Braxis ignored him. As usual, he placed her meal on a plate. She didn't understand why he did this, but he seemed to be a creature of habit. Based on what the king had told her, humans in general seemed to be creatures of habit. They were herd animals, actions dictated by others and by 'custom', which meant they never questioned why they did what they did. They placed high regard upon what others thought of them, how others saw them. They were pathetic.
Braxis continued to gaze out the window, her weak human eyes searching the clouded skies for solace. She heard Iphicles preparing his pheasant, smelled the meat cooking, heard the fat pop and hiss as it dripped into the fire, but she steadfastly ignored him.
Iphicles was her keeper. She had quickly learned that any threat against him would be met with pain for herself. She smiled grimly to herself, wondering if that were still true. She had bitten him once, and the guard had decided to 'teach her a lesson'. Iphicles had been so horrified to find her eating the guard that she still laughed as she pictured his face.
The king removed his pheasant from the roughly made spit and walked to the opposite side of the room, setting his dinner on the table and preparing to eat. As he cut the meat with his knife, Braxis saw clear juices and blood, pink flesh under the skin. How she longed for that knife! But Iphicles knew this and never let her near. Sighing, the dragon entered her nest to begin eating her dinner.
Braxis had refused to sleep in the bed, so Iphicles finally removed it. She made herself a nest of blankets and bones and scraps of wood in front of the fire, part of her eternal quest for warmth. The king had brought her jewels, gold, and baubles to decorate the nest, but still, it brought her no joy.
She examined the pheasant carcass, lying on its wooden plate. Iphicles no longer allowed her anything that could be broken or used as a weapon. She smiled to herself, glad the king didn't know about the bones she had patiently sharpened in her nest.
The dragon bit into her dinner, which still wasn't fresh enough for her taste, wincing as her new, weak incisors struggled to tear the skin. Her hands grew slippery with fluids, making it more difficult to grip the carcass tightly. She focused on the task at hand and was startled when Iphicles spoke.
"They're talking about making it formal again."
"Um." Braxis made a neutral sound. What did she care?
"Some of them are talking about us getting married again."
She sighed. He was in one of those moods again. She had made it plain that didn't want to talk or listen, but sometimes he insisted on talking, droning on about matters that didn't concern her. That was why she had bitten him.
"The rumors are getting worse."
"So?" She challenged him. Sometimes a challenge made him shut up.
The king paused, then changed his tack. "Don't your kind have any form of social order? Don't you follow any rules?" He sounded exasperated. She'd learned how that sounded.
"No."
Iphicles shook his head. "Then how do you get along? How do you cooperate?"
"We don't." Simple enough. "We're territorial. Dragons don't interact except during mating season. Otherwise we avoid each other."
"Don't you get lonely?" It seemed important to him. Not that she really cared.
"What's lonely?"
The king's eyes clouded. "It's when you want someone to talk to, someone to hold, or just someone to be with."
Braxis shook her head. Humans were so strange. "We don't want that. We don't like other dragons."
Iphicles wasn't ready to give up. "Well, what if one of your children came to visit you?" He leaned forward, his hands clasped in his lap, knife left on the table.
"I'd kill it." The king sat back, staring, as the dragon continued. "You humans are herd animals. You need each other. We aren't herd animals. We eat herd animals."
Iphicles picked up his knife, dashing her hopes, and left the room. Braxis returned to her window.
The rain continued to fall, turning into a stinging sheet that hammered at the castle's walls, the sound of thunder rolling across the land drowning out all else. Lightning pierced the gray, bolts of electricity striking, burning, and Braxis remembered when she, too, had the power to burn. Throwing back her head, she screamed, giving voice to her pain and anger. The sound flowed over hills, amplified by the wind. And the people of Corinth shivered and shut their windows, huddling together by their fireplaces.
The Halls of War
The love gods arrived in the bedchamber, cloaked in invisibility. Hercules and Ares were in bed, the covers long gone, soaked through with semen and sweat. Aphrodite noticed that Hercules appeared thinner, somewhat drawn. He'd grown a beard and moustache during the period he was with Ares.
Hercules was lying on his back, Ares between his legs. Ares licked Hercules' erection, running his tongue in circles, flicking to tease the sensitive underside, probing at the slit. Hercules moaned as Ares smiled. It was a warm, nice, loving smile, and it made Aphrodite very uneasy. Looking at her companion, she saw that he was caught up in the show before them. His breathing had quickened, his pupils were dilated, and his tongue darted out to lick his full lips. Good.
As they watched, Hercules grabbed Ares' hair, close to the skull, in a grip that brought sympathetic tears to Aphrodite's eyes. He held Ares still and began pumping his hips rhythmically, brutally fucking Ares' mouth, ignoring the occasional sound of protest as he thrust too deeply. Ares appeared to love it.
The god of war reached for his own swollen cock, but Hercules roughly kicked his hand aside. When Hercules spoke, his voice was low and rough, with an unfamiliar edge.
"Just sit there and take it, slut." His head was thrown back, eyes closed, face twisted into an expression that could have been anger or ecstasy, the goddess wasn't sure which. They continued to watch as Hercules came in Ares' mouth, forcing the war god's head down at the last moment as he thrust madly, smiling as Ares choked, trying to swallow the semen and breathe.
The demigod didn't release his brother's hair, instead tightening his grip and pulling the god up until they were face to face, kissing him, plundering his mouth in dark triumph. Ares didn't protest. Hercules relaxed his grip, pushing Ares away contemptuously, a sneer on his face.
"I suppose you want that," he nodded at Ares' cock, swollen and purple, still untouched, "taken care of?"
Ares nodded, looking down at the bed. "Yes." His voice was low, breathy.
"Yes, what?" Hercules loomed over his brother, suddenly slapping Ares' face. Ares refused to look up.
"Yes, master." He emphasized the last word, drawing it out sensually.
Hercules quirked his mouth derisively. "Take care of it yourself. Why should I waste my time?"
Ares gaped for a moment, disappointment etched on his face, as he scooted to the head of the great bed and gripped his cock in his hand, jerking himself off roughly.
Aphrodite glanced at the god of love, his eyes focused on Hercules, something swimming behind his eyes. She took a step, standing in front of him, her erect nipples brushing against his leather vest, his hard cock pressing into her belly. She tilted her head up and to the side, looking into his eyes and licking her lips slowly.
"They put on quite a show, don't they?" She whispered, low and husky.
Ares nodded, not bothering to look at her. The goddess reached up and put her arm behind his neck, drawing him down for a passionate kiss. He returned the kiss distractedly, pulling away to continue to watch his twin, flushed with humiliation as he stroked his own cock, and Hercules, who looked indifferent to his brother.
The goddess of love nodded to herself, satisfied. Stepping back, she looked up at the god of love, one finger under her chin as she tilted her head, childlike and innocent.
"You know, they seem familiar. They remind me of someone..." She trailed off, placing her hand on the love god's shoulder, tracing a path down his back as she strolled slowly behind him. "I know!" She exclaimed brightly as she slipped the manacles she had brought around the god's wrists. "They remind me of you and the Sovereign!" She snapped the cuffs shut with a sharp crack.
Ares twisted to face her, artless and trusting. "What are you doing?"
Aphrodite stood back, out of striking range, just in case. "Drop the act, funbuns. I'm on to you. I know what you did." She sneered, hands on her hips. "Did you really think you'd get away with it?"
The love god regarded her, raising an eyebrow in triumph. "I did, didn't I? You were so busy posing and flouncing you never even noticed, not until it was too late. And believe me, honey, it's *too late*." He tossed his head as he glared at her, and Aphrodite saw a deep and endless pain under the triumphant hatred.
"You better hope you're wrong, cause if it is, you're going to pay."
"Oh, I am so afraid of you." He rolled his eyes. "Not."
Aphrodite crossed her arms and began pacing around her prisoner, who turned to watch her. "You know, it was an interesting plan. You turned them into you and the Sovereign. It took me a while to realize that, but once Herc grew the fuzz it was obvious. You must've been working on it for a while now. Ever since Ares killed your lover?"
The white-clad god glared, his eyes glowing red as he strained against the manacles. The goddess let him struggle for a few moments before she became bored. "Oh, don't bother. Hephie made those, you can't get out of them. Trust me on this. We've tested them." She glanced at Hercules and the war god, her forehead furrowed, before turning back to the love god. "Now then, on to business. You're going to remove the spell." She looked him in the eyes, challenging him.
The god of love growled, and once again Aphrodite saw the resemblance between him and the god of war. "No." His voice held no trace of its usual lightness.
Aphrodite moved closer, until she felt his breath on her face, her eyes determined. "I'm not giving you a choice here, pal."
The malice in the love god's smile would have made the god of war proud. "And what can you do to me? Kill me? You kill him." He jerked his head toward the god of war, who was nearly finished. "Oh, by the way, they'll stay like that." He paused, considering her. "And you know, I just don't see you as the vicious type."
Aphrodite moved back, smiling sweetly. "You should know better than that, Ares. I work the same way you do. I get someone else to do my dirty work. In your case, you were going to have Zeus kill Ares for you while you skulked in that little hidey hole between our worlds, isn't that right?" He nodded, sullen.
"Well, you're not the only one who's been investigating other worlds, and I have a little something cooked up for you." She stepped forward again, cupping the god's chin in her hands and gazing into his eyes. "You see, I've heard all about your Cupid." The god of love pulled back fractionally, his eyes narrowing. "He makes our Ares look, well, like you. He's a fucking lunatic. Uncontrollable. Unpredictable. He's a very bad boy."
Aphrodite pulled the god of love down and kissed him quickly and gently on the mouth as her voice dropped and became softer, more lyrical. "I wonder what would happen if, say, someone were to put a spell on him? A lust spell. Not a love spell, that'd give you leeway to manipulate him, and I know how good you are at that."
She dropped her voice again and leaned forward, balancing on her toes as she whispered into her prisoner's ear. "I'm talking about sheer, uncontrolled lust. Obsession. Possession. He'd stalk you, capture you, keep you. You may like it rough, but he'd make it real, not a game. And he'd never love you, he'd always hate you and feel nothing but contempt for you. You'd be nothing to him but an ass to fuck, and between fucking sessions he'd beat the shit out of you because he despises you. How's that sound?"
She stepped back, her breathing giving away her anger, eyes beginning to glow. "And don't think I won't do it. You've heard payback's a bitch, buddy, and you're looking at her. Remove the spell or I hand you over to your Cupid."
The god of love swallowed and contemplated the ground before slowly nodding.
"All right." His voice was sullen. "But once I take off the spell, I'm out of here. I'm not dealing with your Ares. I get a head start, agreed?"
Aphrodite nodded, using her brightest smile. "We've got a deal." She held out her hand for a handshake, but pulled it back. "Oopsie, silly me. You're kind of tied up at the moment." She giggled at her own joke but quickly turned serious once again. "Take the spell off. Now. I had Heph set up those manacles so you could remove spells, but not cast any."
The love god rolled his eyes. "What, don't you trust me?"
"Ha ha. The spell."
Pink and white energy flowed from the love god, swirling around the figures on the bed, bathing them both in a haze of light.
Once the light dissipated, Hercules sat up straight, raising shaking hands to his face, feeling the beard and moustache, turning pale. He threw himself off the bed and crawled into the closest corner, curling himself into a ball and began rocking, keening meaninglessly as he clawed at the hair on his cheeks and chin.
The god of war shook his head, momentarily confused. He threw back his head and screamed, a sound of pure fury that rocked the foundations of the temple, sending a large black candelabra clattering to the floor. He turned on Hercules, teeth clenched and eyes glowing pure red, a scarlet haze of energy surrounding him. Ares raised his hand and pointed it at his brother, a fireball forming, until Aphrodite removed her cloaking spell and yelled.
"Ares!" She yelled as loud as she could, and he slowly turned his red gaze on her. The goddess pushed the manacled love god forward. "Ar, it's not Herc's fault, it's his!" She pointed to her prisoner, who was turning toward her in panic. "He put a spell on you both. I just got him to take it off!"
Ares stalked toward his white-clad twin, his growl causing the floor to vibrate beneath their feet, and Aphrodite ran to Hercules, pulling him reluctantly to his feet. "Come on, Herc, we gotta go!" She threw one large arm around her shoulder and supported the demigod as best she could.
Meanwhile, the god of war was standing face to face with the god of love, who was looking frantically at Aphrodite. "You said you'd give me a head start!" His voice squeaked, his eyes wide with terror.
Aphrodite tried to shrug, but it was impossible with the dead weight on her shoulder. "Hey, I lied. Sorry about that." She smiled chirpily and waved. "Toodles."
Aphrodite and Hercules disappeared in a shower of hearts, leaving the two Ares alone together.
Corinth
Iphicles lay in his bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. Two candles were lit and a fire blazed in the fireplace, their light reflected off the golden cups and plates, chains and coins that the king had collected. They laid in an untidy pile in front of the fireplace, a small nest of gold in his bed chamber.
Iphicles was proud of his little hoard. He felt it was quite dragonish. He lay in bed, watching the flames dance and bounce off his acquisitions for a few moments before his gaze was drawn, as always, to the ceiling.
He imagined there was no ceiling above him, only the deep blue of the night sky, stars shining down upon him. He would spread his wings and fly, reveling in the crisp snap of his wings, feeling the night air on his scales, smelling the nighttime scents, the world open to him.
Oh, to be a dragon again! He could no longer remember why he had wished to be changed back into a human, when dragons were so clearly superior. Why, he'd been given an incredible opportunity, the chance of a lifetime when Hera changed him. He had been powerful, fearsome, and free.
And then he had blown it. As usual. And why? Because he wanted Hercules. He wanted to feel his brother holding him, touching him, loving him. Iphicles snorted to himself. He was such a fucking loser. He gave up the best thing that had ever happened to him because his brother had taken pity on him after their mother died and fucked him. The nights spent in bed with Hercules hadn't meant anything to his brother, they'd just been a duty to him. A way of keeping his idiot brother from doing anything too stupid or rash.
The king flushed with humiliation, remembering how Hercules had promised to be there for him, to try to help when the responsibility became too great. He'd lapped it up like a good little pet, like the stupid herd animal he was. It was a wonder his brother had kept a straight face.
Iphicles stared at the ceiling, wondering where Hercules was. As if he had to guess. Herc was probably off in bed with his lover. No, his lovers. Both Ares and Iolaus. They were probably making love, laughing, touching.
His brother had abandoned him, flying off, not looking back, not caring, taking Ares with him. They were together, loving each other, their love proclaimed to the world. He had to get over it and move on.
The hatred twisted and lashed in his stomach, burning him up from the inside.
In retrospect, he could see what he should have done while he was a dragon. First, he shouldn't have gone after the sand sharks. Like dragons, they were predators and deserved respect. He should have taken a cow. Cows were helpless, stupid herd animals. He wondered how it would feel to bite into a living beast, feeling hot blood in his mouth, bones crunching and poking his gums. He couldn't believe he had rejected the opportunity because of scruples about eating his subjects' livestock. Idiot.
Dragons didn't care about kingdoms, or subjects. Dragons didn't care about anyone but themselves.
His next mistake was in going to Hercules. He couldn't believe he'd gone running to his little brother for help yet again. He hadn't needed help! He was a dragon. Dragons didn't need anyone. Dragons were self- reliant. He'd just been confused. If he'd just flown off for a while instead of running to Hercules he would've been fine. He'd just needed time to adjust, that was all.
He should have waited, then searched for his brother. He should have taken Iolaus hostage, but not let him go. He remembered feeling the small, fragile human squirming in his huge claw, sensing the rapid heartbeat through his scales, smelling the terror emanating from the blonde. Instead of letting him go, he should have squeezed and squeezed, seeing if the skin popped, blood running over his claw as Iolaus died. Now that would have pissed Hercules off.
Then, he should have used his breath when Hercules attacked, which he would have done, yelling self-righteously about his lover. Herc would've been upset if anything bad happened to Iolaus, because he loved Iolaus. He should have blown fire at Hercules, watching him blaze, skin blackening and peeling back, tissue bubbling, screaming as he died. Yeah. That would've been good. Very dragon like. He sighed again. He was such a fucking idiot.
Iphicles watched the firelight reflecting off his hoard, teeth rattling in the cold. He could see his breath in the air, and imagined he was still able to breathe smoke.
He should have stayed a dragon. Dragons didn't need anyone. They didn't need to be loved. They didn't need to be held. They didn't need anyone to talk to, or look forward to a smile or a kiss or a simple walk while holding hands.
And dragons didn't lie in bed, crying.
Present
Hercules sits in a large pink room, hiding in the shadows, head resting upon his knees. He feels he belongs in the shadows, in the darkness. He can no longer face the light, unable to look at his own face. He sits on the floor, curled upon himself, blood puddled beside him, slowly soaking the leather of his clothing. He looks at his arms, at the veins he's opened, the blood running freely down his skin, and he thinks to himself that he's done the right thing. It's best this way, for everyone.
One Week Previous
The Halls of War
Ares slouched in his throne, sharpening his dagger, steadfastly ignoring the moans from the opposite side of the room. He glanced up as they became louder, quirking an eyebrow at his prisoner.
"Awake yet?" He sauntered to the bloody figure chained to the ceiling, stopping to draw his dagger gently along the muscled stomach, leaving a trail of ruby in its path. "How are we supposed to have any fun if you keep passing out on me?" He shook his head. "You know, I'm starting to take all of this personally."
The god of love spat in his face.
The chains were forged by Hephaestus, designed to hold a god. The love god stood, naked, his arms pulled so taut that his shoulders were nearly dislocated, his legs held apart, dangling so that only his toes touched the cold hard floor. His body was festooned with black, purple, yellow and green bruises, deep red gashes ripped into his flesh. He stood in a rust puddle of his own dried blood. But he refused to break.
His back had been whipped, stripped of flesh. He had been flogged and salt rubbed into the wounds. His bones had been broken, smashed and crushed. He had been beaten and kicked, clubbed and cudgelled. But still he had refused to submit, infuriating the god of war.
Ares looked at his prisoner, gauging his wounds, casually reaching out and stabbing his double in the shoulder, twisting the knife as the metal blade scraped bone, smiling at the slight whimper. Blood rushed from the wound and Ares dipped his fingers in it, licking the scarlet from the tips.
"So. What games shall we play today?" He stood in front of the love god, who slowly raised his head to look into his eyes.
"It won't change anything," he whispered, his lips cracked, throat raw.
Ares smiled mirthlessly. "I really don't care."
"Yes you do. That's the problem."
"Shut up." Ares kept his voice low, unwilling to show his opponent that he had scored a point. But the love god pushed on. He always pushed on.
"I had someone, you never have. You never will. And that's eating you up inside. You have that same desperate need for someone in your life, but you can't have it. No one wants you. No one needs you. No one loves you. No one ever will."
"Shut up."
"He wasn't much. In fact, he was a heartless bastard. But the Sovereign loved me. That's more than you've ever had, isn't it?"
Ares stood closer, looking into his twin's taunting face. "Why should I care?"
The god of love laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "But you do, that's just it! I can feel it, you know, that dark, needing void inside of you."
"You're lying. Pathetic." Ares snarled, his anger growing.
"You're the pathetic one. You can't even admit it." He refused to back down, triumph in his swollen, bloodshot eyes.
"I am War. I don't need anyone else. I don't care about anyone but myself. Love is for the weak, and I am not weak." Ares used the words as a shield, but his opponent quickly breached his defenses.
"I can feel it, calling out to me with your every heartbeat." The love god's voice was low and hypnotic. "I want. I need. I want. I need."
The god of war backhanded him, knuckles splitting the full lower lip yet again, as his prisoner licked the blood, grinning.
"You're just like me, and you can't stand it." Despite the blood flowing from the swollen lip, down his chin, the love god's voice was even, powerful.
"I am nothing like you!" Ares turned his back on his twin, shaking. "We're nothing alike!" But he still heard that mocking voice at his back.
"I want. I need. I want. I need. I want. I need."
"I am not! I don't need anyone! I don't want anyone!"
"I want. I need. I want. I need."
The god of war turned with an inarticulate howl and attacked the love god, stabbing and tearing, not thinking, not planning, merely acting on his emotions. Anything to drown out that droning voice that seemed to match the beat of his heart.
"I want. I need."
Corinth
Braxis stood in front of her window, leaning weakly against the wall. The cold seemed to have burrowed into her bones; despite the fact that she huddled in two thick blankets, she still shivered from the cold. Her joints ached, her lower back pulsed with pain. She had recently begun coughing, a phenomenon that appeared to worry Iphicles. Perhaps, she mused, if she were lucky, she would die. She had recently realized that death was to be her only escape.
She heard the door open but didn't waste the energy to turn. Only one human bothered to visit her, and he no longer attempted conversation. He merely brought her food and then left, swift and silent. But today, she heard a different noise.
The dragon turned, blankets clutched in stiff, cold, clumsy fingers, to find Iphicles standing in the room with an older man behind him. The older human stood tall and proud, but his eyes darted around the room nervously and he kept his distance from both Iphicles and herself.
"Braxis, this is Argeus. He's a healer and he's going to take a look at you. You will behave." Iphicles' voice was flat, as if he were speaking from a distance. She had noticed lately that his eyes had become flat also. She didn't care though, since it kept him quiet and away from her. She shrugged and approached the humans, noting that Iphicles' expression was blank, while Argeus' showed fear. His hands trembled.
The healer stepped forward, but stopped, noting her claws. She saw him gulp as he looked helplessly at his king, who showed no sign of emotion. Argeus stepped forward again, taking tiny, hesitant steps. His breathing quickened, becoming more shallow. When he spoke, his voice trembled.
"Please, take off the blankets."
She obliged, dropping them, enjoying keeping the humans off balance. Argeus stepped closer still, as Iphicles drew his knife, the muscles in his arms tense. Braxis considered attacking the healer and forcing Iphicles to kill her, but she couldn't be sure he'd do so. He might attack to wound, not kill, and she didn't want to take that chance. Her human body was ineffective at dealing with pain.
The dragon shivered in the cold, avoiding looking at her repulsive new body. She had noticed of late that her belly appeared distended, the skin stretched and swollen. It was unnatural, and she hoped it was something fatal to humans. Argeus stepped closer quickly and placed his ear to her chest, drawing back hastily once finished.
The healer looked at his king and spoke. "Her lungs sound clear."
This seemed to mean something to Iphicles, who relaxed his grip on the knife fractionally. "Thank you for looking at her."
Argeus cleared his throat, hesitant. "Highness?"
"Yes?" Iphicles' sounded testy, Braxis noted.
"Has anyone spoken to her about preparing for the, um, the baby?"
The king shook his head. "What did you have in mind?" He sounded almost amused.
"Well, sire, has she ever seen a human child?"
"Why not ask her yourself?" Iphicles definitely sounded testy now.
The elderly man appeared shaken and turned to Braxis, who had gathered her blankets around her once more. "Have you?"
She stared at him, unblinking, as he waited, his hands playing with the folds of cloth at the bottom of his shirt. She turned and walked to her window, leaning once more against the familiar stone wall and gazing out into the gray world.
"Have you ever seen a human child? A newborn one, that is?" The human wasn't going to give up. They never knew when to give up.
"No." She didn't deign to look at him.
Iphicles and Argeus left, and she heard frantic whispers in the hallway. She didn't care. She was a dragon. What the herd animals said didn't concern her.
Braxis continued to survey the world outside her window. She had memorized every hill, every stream, every farm within eyesight of her window. She watched, yearning to be out there, flying free. All she wanted was a chance to fly, just one more time.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed, since she drifted off when she watched the outside world, but she heard more noises in the hallway. Several voices. Some sounded anxious, others angry. She didn't hear Iphicles.
The door opened and two guards entered, followed by three human females and Argeus. Iphicles sidled in last, avoiding the others. One of the women carried a squirming bundle close to her body.
Dragons are, by nature, solitary creatures. Braxis had never before been trapped in close quarters with so many humans. The air seemed to become close and stagnant, and she felt an urge to gasp for oxygen. The edges of her vision blurred, becoming hazy and black. Voices sounded distorted, as if she were under water. She flailed for a moment, her hand resting on the suddenly comforting stone of her window sill.
As the dragon attempted to regain her equilibrium, one of the human females approached, baring her teeth in what Braxis knew was supposed to be a friendly smile. She smelled off, like soured milk, and the odor made Braxis' stomach queasy. The human made nonsensical noises, directed toward the bundle in her arms, and the dragon's curiosity was piqued.
The human woman turned to the king and spoke, her voice smug. "You see, highness. She is, after all, a woman, and no woman can resist a baby. Once she has the baby she'll be fine. Now, let me just show him to her so she'll know how cute they are, and she'll be so excited over having one of her own..." Braxis noticed that Iphicles' teeth were clenched, and one white-knuckled hand clutched the hilt of his sword.
The dragon turned her attention to the bundle in the human female's arms. The woman pulled the blanket aside to reveal the contents, and Braxis leaned forward to peer at the creature.
And screamed. It was a high-pitched scream, drawn from the center of her being. It was primal, a sound of madness and terror. She threw herself backwards, trying to jump out the window, but the guards stopped her. She kicked, screamed and bit, drawing blood with her claws, tasting flesh in her mouth, screaming incoherently, as they wrestled her to the floor, yelling for help.
The screaming females were herded out as more guards poured in the door, and she found five of them pinning her to the ground as she struggled, arching her back, snapping at any human within striking distance. She looked around, searching, finally finding Iphicles, who stood watching, his face frozen.
Surely he understood? She couldn't do this! The thing she had seen, the human child, was monstrous. It was a grotesque alien creature, and the realization that a similar creature was actually inside her body, growing, feeding off her, sent her into a frenzy of terror. This thing was why she was always sick, always sore, always cold. It was stealing her life-force, this malicious parasite, and she could not continue like this! Death would be a blessing now.
She stopped struggling, suddenly drained of strength, numb and cold, shaking and nauseous. Iphicles stepped forward, motioning the guards to let her go. They did and stood back, warily, as he approached. As soon as they let go, Braxis curled into a tight ball, shaking with cold and fear, her eyes squeezed closed as she prayed to any gods listening to kill her now, please, before it was too late.
She felt her blanket being tucked in around her body and knew it was the king. She smelled him. He was gentle, carefully avoiding touching her. She opened her eyes and looked into his, noticing that they seemed somewhat more alive than they had for some time.
"Please..." Her voice was barely a croak and she hated herself, hearing the mute plea. "Please, I can't do this. Please kill me. Kill it. Please. Please." She was no longer aware of what she was saying, only that she was begging for it to end. Begging anyone who would listen, be it the king, the gods, the fates, the guards, she didn't know and didn't care. She just wanted it to end. She was so tired. So tired.
The king stood, his expression torn, as he looked down at her. He bit his lower lip, staring intently, before nodding to himself and kneeling down beside the dragon. His voice was low and trembled with an emotion Braxis couldn't define.
"I know someone, a friend of Rena's. She's good with herbs. Rena told me she could help women who were with child and...didn't want to be. I'll go to her. I'll be back soon, I promise. Once it's gone we'll get you back in your own body. I don't know how, but I swear to you we'll do it."
She felt him stroke her hair, the touch gentle as a spring wind, before he stood and walked out the door, not looking at the others in the room.
Cyprus
Iolaus and Hercules sat on a large pink bed in a large pink room in Aphrodite's temple. Iolaus knelt behind his lover, watching powerlessly in the face of the demigod's pain as Hercules leaned forward, arms crossed in front of his stomach, hugging himself, head bent, hair obscuring his face.
Hercules was afraid to sleep, because of the nightmares. He sometimes drifted off and woke up, screaming, refusing to speak or allow himself to be touched. It had taken weeks for Iolaus to persuade his lover to allow him to try to help, but Hercules was locked inside himself, broken and afraid. Try as he might, Iolaus was unable to reach him.
Iolaus reached out, his hand gently brushing the golden hair on the back of Hercules' neck. Just a fleeting touch, that was all he would allow, before the hand reluctantly retreated.
"Hercules? Can I help? Please?" The question was the same as every other night.
"No." So was the response, spoken in a monotone.
"Please? You can't go on like this, Herc."
"I know." Hercules looked up, eyes flashing. "You think I like this? I hate it as much as you do, but I just... I can't talk about it. Not right now." He lowered his head again, sighing. "Not right now."
"All right." Iolaus stood, his hand on the demigod's shoulder. "I'm going to walk around for a while. Try to get some sleep."
Hercules looked up and managed a weak smile that didn't lessen the pain in his eyes as Iolaus left the room, shutting the door softly behind him. Outside, Iolaus wandered through the labyrinth of white and pink marble hallways. They had been here for weeks and the walks had become a nightly ritual, but every night Iolaus found that the temple changed. New doors appeared, then vanished. Corridors that were straight one night were curved the next. Each doorway contained a different room, ever-changing. He supposed it was Aphrodite's idea of fun, and was grateful that she had set some sort of spell that allowed a few hallways to remain unchanged so that he could find his way back.
Iolaus trailed his hand along the wall, fingers spread, feeling the unnatural warmth of the marble, watching as small gold sprinkles followed each finger. If he wasn't so worried and exhausted it would be fun. But he was worried. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. Every night was the same. Every night Hercules woke screaming, insisting on being left alone. Iolaus had tried staying, but that just made Hercules lock himself up tighter. He seemed to need the space, and Iolaus reluctantly gave it to him. Being shut out, forced to watch his lover suffer as he stood by helplessly was sapping all of Iolaus' strength. He preferred fighting real monsters, not things that lurked inside people's hearts and heads.
Neither Aphrodite not Hercules would talk about what had happened to the demigod while he was with Ares, but Iolaus could guess at least part of the story. He had been waiting in the main room of the temple when Aphrodite appeared, Hercules leaning against her, a dead weight which she had clumsily dropped to the floor.
Iolaus had run to his lover and turned over the limp body, stepping back for a moment upon witnessing the bearded visage, memories of the Sovereign sending momentary sparks of panic through him. Aphrodite had quickly reassured him that this was his Hercules, and he advanced again, noting the red welts where the demigod had clawed at his face, the gaunt features, the pale skin. He kneeled, gathering his lover in his arms, overwhelmed and grateful to be able to hold him once more.
Hercules had awoken, disoriented, whimpering to himself, gazing around wildly in panic, not appearing to know where he was. Despite their best efforts, Aphrodite and Iolaus had been unable to convince him that the spell was lifted and he was safe. He had curled in upon himself again, refusing to open his eyes, and locked himself away in a small, distant corner of his mind.
It had taken nearly a week for Hercules to emerge from that dark corner inside himself, seeming to finally realize that his ordeal was over. He had begun to respond to Iolaus, Aphrodite and Hephaestus, speaking only in monosyllables, sometimes drifting off, sometimes mumbling to himself, but he recognized them.
Within the past few days he seemed to be more like himself, but still withdrawn and distant. He acknowledged their concern, tried to let them help, but he still kept most of what happened from them. Fear for his lover and gnawing anxiety had become part of Iolaus, as he watched helplessly, trying to reach out but constantly rebuffed.
Iolaus wandered into the main room of the temple. It was bright and airy, circular, columns of pink and white gold-veined marble supporting the domed ceiling that glowed with a serene pink and white light. Most of the furniture was too soft for the hunter's taste, but he curled up on a pink satin sofa, his head resting on its arm, hoping for a few moments rest. Before he could drift off, he felt a warm hand on his forearm.
"Hey there." Aphrodite whispered, kneeling so that he could gaze into her soft eyes. "How's he doing?"
Iolaus shook his head. "Same nightmare. He still won't let me in." He ran his fingers through his already untidy curls, biting his lower lip to stop the slight termor as he looked to the goddess for comfort. "I keep trying, but the harder I try, the harder he pushes me away. And then, afterwards, he feels bad for hurting me and that makes it worse." He paused. "I just wish he'd talk to me about it. Maybe I can't help, but letting it out might do some good."
Aphrodite sunk to the floor, her pink-clad feet tucked delicately under her, leaning her head against the sofa arm and idly toying with Iolaus' curls. "I know, sweetie. But he's been through a lot, and it's not just that things were done to him, but that he did things." She looked frustrated. "I know I'm not saying that very well, but I can't tell you his secrets, you know? He has to tell you himself. But before he can do that, he has to face a part of himself that he's always pretended doesn't exist."
"Yeah. I don't understand any of this, Aphrodite."
"Just give him time, okay?" The goddess smiled at him, but it didn't lessen the worry. "Why don't you head back to bed? He's gone back to sleep, and I know he likes seeing you when he wakes up. That really does help him."
Iolaus stretched his arms, yawning, as he gathered the strength to stand. Before he could rise to his feet, there was a bright flash of red and blue light and Ares, god of war, stood in the center of the room, a limp and bloody naked body over his shoulders.
Ares' eyes glowed red, the air around his body shimmered with power, and his mouth was shaped into a sneer of disgust. He abruptly dropped the body to the floor where it bounced slightly, crimson rivulets of blood staining the coral floor. "I'm finished with this piece of garbage. Get rid of it." Even Ares' voice sounded imbued with power as he glared at Aphrodite.
He didn't wait for a response, but disappeared in another flash of light, leaving the air charged and smelling of ozone. Aphrodite stood near the body, her mouth open in shock, blood seeping into her pink slippers, seemingly frozen.
Iolaus walked to the body and turned it over. The features of the God of Love were barely visible under the bruising and swelling. The hunter idly noticed the extent of the god's injuries. He appeared to have several broken ribs. There were deep stab wounds covering his arms and legs, and purple and black bruises spread over most of his skin. Iolaus felt a moment of pity, but remembered Hercules and the pity evaporated.
Aphrodite finally regained her voice. "Ew!" Her delicate nose wrinkled in disgust. "That big lout. I can't believe he'd just dump him here like this. This is just totally gross." She began walking around the body, leaving small bloody footprints that were quickly absorbed by the pink floor. "I'll get Heph and we'll do the vortex thing and dump him back home. He can make a mess in his own temple."
"Wait." Both man and goddess turned, surprised, to see Hercules leaning against a rose column, his eyes on the broken body of the god before them. "Don't send him back yet." His mouth tightened. "I want to talk to him first."
The Halls of War
Ares strode through his throne room, the blackness surrounding him darker than the blackest night, his heels sending flares of blue flame licking at the shadows. His eyes glowed red, and the air surrounding him crackled with power. His footsteps, the same pace as his heartbeat, seemed to punctuate the refrain echoing in his head, the refrain he couldn't exorcise.
I want. I need.
The god of war roared, summoning a two-handed sword from the wall, and began whirling the sword in a series of complex exercises designed to help him regain control and focus. But still, he heard it, that voice in his head, that damnable voice that sounded just like his own.
I want. I need.
The exercises gained speed and complexity, the sword moving, blurring, almost a phantom, until Ares threw it and it shattered against a wall, exploding into shards of silver that littered the floor, small broken pieces of a metallic corpse.
I want. I need.
The god shook his head in denial. He was War. He was Death. He was Destruction. He was Power and Strength. To want, to need, that was weakness. He was not weak. He needed no one, he needed nothing. He stood, head down, large hands clenched into fists, eyes glowing red in the ebony night as he looked up, his teeth bared in a feral snarl. The god of war disappeared in a blaze of azure light, to prove he did not want, did not need.
Outside Leuctra
It had taken longer than originally planned, but Agathon and Pelios had begun their raid on Leuctra. Without the promised aid from Ares, they had been forced to locate mercenaries to fight for them, but they had found several; good ones, in fact. The raid was going well. The fighting was intense, the air filled with the sound of metal upon metal, the screams and moans of the injured and dying. Tongues of flame penetrated the blackness, twisting and lunging, illuminating little, black smoke obscuring more.
The raiders were winning. They had planned well, trained well. They were motivated by greed, by rage, by bloodlust; each had his own reasons, each fought with skill. Victory imminent, they surged forward, a wave of weapons and men, screaming cries of victory.
And in the midst of the charge there was a flash of brilliant blue light, a clap of thunder, and the raiders saw Ares, god of war, standing among them. The god stood, motionless, assessing the battle, and the warriors felt proud. They had done Ares' bidding, they had fought well for their god. He nodded, as if in approval, and the warriors were happy. The god raised his hand, and a bolt of lightning flowed from his fingers, spreading like a blue web of death, to capture and kill several members of the Leuctran Army.
The raiders cheered. The god of war stood with them. Victory was theirs.
The god turned toward the raiders, who saw his face for the first time, and silence fell as they held their collective breath. Ares' eyes glowed with an unearthly light, the air around him crackled and sizzled, and they could see no sign of approval etched on his face, only fury, bottomless, endless fury.
The silent god raised his hand and five balls of fire streamed from him, consuming all in their path. Raiders screamed as they died, some staggered, clothing on fire, before falling into the muck. And still the god didn't stop.
Men on both sides of the conflict ran, praying for their lives, as the god of war attacked indiscriminately, killing anyone in his sight. He used lightning, fire and wind, but also his great shining sword and even his bare hands.
When Ares finished, the battlefield was littered with corpses, the ground soaked with blood, crimson puddles soaking into the green earth, the creeks and waterways resembling arteries more than water.
The god looked around the field and smiled to himself. Here was what he was. He was death, he was destruction, he was power and slaughter. He had no need for anyone. He had no desire for anyone. He did not want. He did not need.
But still, the voice echoed in his skull. The voice that sounded like his own.
I want. I need.
Corinth
Iphicles rushed down the narrow, slippery stone staircase, one hand pressed against the wall, feeling the cold rock, occasionally leaning upon it when he missed a step. Reaching the bottom, he stumbled, looking around wildly as courtiers and servants pressed themselves against the wall in their hurry to get out of his way before he dashed down a corridor. Behind him, courtiers stared in frank amazement and muttered to themselves about commoners rising above their station in life. Servants scurried on their way, and the whispers began anew.
The king raced down another hallway, his footsteps echoing in the narrow corridor as he reached his goal. He put his shoulder to the massive oak door and opened it, exiting the castle. When he stepped outside, a gust of wind drove sharp needles of cold rain into his face, thousands of biting, stinging pinpoints impaling his body as he shrunk back against the slick wall of the castle. He was dressed for indoors, not for this weather, but he paused only for a moment to get his bearings before bending his head and pushing into the wind.
Iphicles quickly reached the small square inside the city walls where stalls and tents braved the elements, shopkeepers bundled warmly as they haggled over their wares. Most of the people were dressed in rough gray and brown wool, huddled into their cloaks for warmth; the tall king in his fine white and gold tunic was a blaze of color, standing out easily as he ran from stall to stall, searching frantically, his amber eyes wild. The people shrunk back as he passed, clinging to each other as they avoided looking at the distressed king.
Iphicles ran, stepping into puddles, splashing mud onto his clothing, soaked and shivering in the cold rain. He ran, looking about for the familiar purple tent, but couldn't find it. Finally, as he began to tremble from the cold, unable to feel his fingers or toes, he saw the tent and ran again, dashing for the welcoming flap.
Once inside he looked around in confusion. Instead of the familiar herbs on their tables, he saw shelves of pottery. Instead of Rena's blonde, cheerful friend Pareia he saw a young couple, the man standing protectively in front of his wife.
"Where's Pareia?" He gasped it out between teeth that had begun to chatter.
The young man gaped, moving closer to his wife as the king spun around, searching. It was the young woman who answered, hesitantly. "Her mother took sick, so Pareia went home to take care of her. She sold us her tent."
Iphicles suddenly felt completely drained. He slumped, knees buckling, as he grabbed a small table for support. He'd failed, yet again. The woman began to reach out, her eyes soft, but her husband pulled her arm back and glared at her. Running his shaking hand through his sodden hair, the king quietly thanked the young woman before walking back out into the rain and to the castle. He didn't notice that people made a path for him as he trudged through the gray muck.
Back in the castle, Iphicles leaned against the stone wall, exhausted, feeling his pulse pounding in his head, trying to decide what to do next. He had to help Braxis, but he had no idea how. He'd tried appealing to the gods, making the rounds of temples, but none had bothered to acknowledge him. He'd sent messenger after messenger to find Hercules, but his brother was nowhere to be found.
The king bit his lip in frustration. He was only a mortal, and this situation required more than a mere mortal. He was responsible for the dragon being in this predicament. It was his responsibility to solve her problem and return her to her old life, but he knew he couldn't do it, not without help, and help didn't appear to be forthcoming.
Iphicles started to climb the stairs, shivering with each step as his cold, sodden clothes clung to him, chilling him further. He was no longer sure if the cold came from outside or from within his soul. His hands and feet were numb, but not as numb as his heart, paralyzed with failure.
He reached the dragon's room and noted in passing that there was no guard. Pushing the door open carefully, too tired to unsheathe his sword, he peered inside.
The nest was gone, the bed had been replaced. And in the chair sat Argeus, his chin resting in his hands, elbows planted on the table. Iphicles looked around. There was no one else in the room.
"Where is she?" It was hard to force the words out, hard to push past the overpowering gray miasma in his head.
Argeus looked up, sat up straight, spoke firmly. "Highness, I've had her moved."
"Where?"
The healer looked at his feet. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you that."
Iphicles stared for a moment, trying to process the words. "What do you mean, you can't tell me that?"
Argeus stood and walked to the window, looking outside. "Your highness, I realize that you've been through quite a lot lately, and you may not be... quite yourself at the moment." Iphicles merely stared, hand on the hilt of his sword as the healer cleared his throat and continued, still looking out the window. "You don't seem to grasp the fact that that...woman... is carrying your heir."
"That woman isn't human."
"For all intents and purposes, sire, she is. As is the child. Your child."
"Would you listen to yourself?" Iphicles was beginning to lose his temper, a flame of anger beginning to warm him. "She may look human, but she's not. You know what she's capable of, you've seen what she's done."
"Nevertheless, she is carrying the heir to the throne."
"And it's driving her insane! Argeus, she isn't human! I have to get her changed back into a dragon before it's too late, if it isn't already!"
The healer continued to stare out the window. "She is merely a vessel for your heir. The child is more important."
Iphicles moved, standing next to Argeus. "She's my responsibility."
Argeus turned, finally looking at his king. "All of Corinth is your responsibility. You must weigh the needs of the kingdom against the needs of one individual. Corinth needs a king, and an heir to the throne. That is what is important. If others are damaged bringing that heir into the world, that is the price that must be paid for the greater good."
Iphicles seethed, speaking between clenched teeth. "Think about this, when you think about your precious heir. The child was conceived when she was a dragon; there's no way of telling if it'll be fully human or if it'll be like her. Is that what you want on your throne? Is that what's best for Corinth?" He shivered at the thought of a full-grown dragon in human form running rampant in Corinth.
Argeus opened his mouth to reply, but Iphicles turned and walked from the room, determined to find Braxis.
Cyprus
Against Aphrodite's wishes, Ares, the God of Love, had been allowed to stay in her temple. He had, however, been afforded the smallest room available. Hercules carried the wounded god to the room and gently laid him in bed, using a soft cloth to delicately clean the gaping wounds as Iolaus and Aphrodite hovered.
Aphrodite was still upset, standing with her hands on her hips and glaring balefully at the injured love god. Iolaus stood next to her, unsure how he felt about this latest development. If helping Ares helped Hercules, he'd be grateful. But at the same time, Hercules' face was carefully blank, and Iolaus was suddenly afraid of what lurked under the neutral mask. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all.
Iolaus moved closer to Aphrodite, startled to find that he had the urge to whisper, to avoid disturbing Hercules.
"Is this good?"
The goddess tapped her foot. "I don't know." She also whispered. "What I do know is I don't like having that snake in here!"
Iolaus thought for a moment. "Well, he's a snake, and you know he's a snake, and he knows you know he's a snake, so maybe he'll behave."
Aphrodite snorted. "Don't hold your breath, Curly. He's gonna use this, I can feel it."
Iolaus had to admit that he agreed. He was used to the god of war, his temper, his juvenile plots, his bad puns and offbeat sense of humor. He sensed that the God of Love was infinitely more dangerous, and didn't like the idea of Hercules being alone with him for any length of time.
As if reading his friend's thoughts, Hercules stood and dropped the bloody cotton cloth he'd been using to clean the love god into the pink bowl of water. "I'd like to speak with him alone."
"Herc!" Iolaus was suddenly unsure as to why he was afraid. Was he afraid that the demigod would be hurt, or that he'd hurt the injured god? "Is that a good idea right now? I mean, maybe one of us should stay with you. In case you need help or.. or something."
Aphrodite shook her head in agreement. "I don't trust him alone with you."
Hercules sighed. "Guys, this is something I have to do. Trust me, okay?"
The hunter and goddess looked at each other, at a loss, before finally giving in. As they walked out of the room, Iolaus turned. "We'll be right outside. Holler if you need help, okay?"
The demigod smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "I'll be fine."
Hercules waited until the door had closed before turning to his patient. "You can open your eyes now. I know you're awake."
The God of Love raised one arm weakly, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead as his eyes gently fluttered open. He looked at Hercules, melting at the sight of the demigod. "You saved me." His voice was a whisper. "How can I thank you?"
Hercules frowned as he stepped closer. "For one thing, you can drop the act."
Ares looked puzzled, chewing on his lower lip as he gazed up in vacant adoration. "I don't understand. What act?"
"This act. This 'poor pitiful me' act. This 'I'm a lover, not a fighter' act."
The Love God didn't move, but Hercules noticed that his bruises were healing, cuts sealing themselves. "It's true." Ares' eyes were opened wide, clear and guileless.
"Drop it, or I hand you over to Aphrodite."
The threat had the intended effect. Ares immediately ceased pouting, a subtle change coming over his features as he struggled weakly to a sitting position, crossing his arms over his chest. He sat silently, regarding Hercules.
"Why?" Hercules paced, arms waving in the air, putting all of his frustration into the single syllable.
"Why what?" This time Hercules heard strength in Ares' voice, as well as a familiar but somehow alien mocking tone.
"Why'd you put that spell on us?" Hercules felt his hands clenching into fists as he remembered what he had done, what he had become, thanks to the god in front of him.
Ares tilted his head to one side, regarding the demigod with an intense gaze that reminded Hercules of a cobra before it strikes. "Revenge." His hiss also reminded the demigod of a serpent.
"Why'd you drag me into it?" Hercules stepped closer, hearing his voice rise, trying to control the anger burning within him. "Why couldn't you just go after Ares?"
The God of Love shrugged. "This way, I got to humiliate him. He'll never forget it, never forget what it was like. It's burned into his soul. Besides," he laughed, a light, happy sound, "this way was so much more fun."
"Fun?" Hercules advanced on the god, leaning over him, face to face. "You think this is fun? You did this to me for fun?" He suppressed the urge to smash that beautiful face, to hurt the god to release some of his own pain.
Ares leaned forward, and Hercules could feel his breath on his face. "Yeah, it was fun." The Love God reached out, slowly running three fingers down the demigod's chest, caressing the skin exposed by the open neck of his vest. "You should thank me." His voice was lower, breathier. "Don't tell me you never dreamed about it. You never laid there at night, imagining fucking your Ares, him begging you for it, pounding into him until he screamed..." He licked his lips, and Hercules was drawn in, closer, as the god continued.
"All I did was release your inhibitions. Oh, and make him a little more... malleable." He grinned wolfishly. "I just released some of his inhibitions too. You know," Ares leaned forward, whispering into Hercules' ear, lightly nibbling at his earlobe, "he dreamed about it too. Where do you think all that hostility came from? You were fighting cause you didn't want to admit you'd rather be fucking."
The God of Love leaned back against his pink pillows, smirking, as Hercules shook his head to clear it, stepping back, out of striking range. "No." He shook his head again, breathing deeply, fighting the combination of fury and arousal battling within him. "That's not true."
"Yes it is. You just don't want to admit it. Power and violence turn you on. Admit it, quit feeling guilty about it."
"No. Violence is wrong." The demigod was still fighting himself as the god leaned closer.
"But you love it. You love feeling your own power. That's why you do it, you know." Ares looked smug.
"Why I do what?"
"This whole," Ares paused, searching for the right word, waving his hand absently, "hero thing. You're sublimating."
"What?" Hercules resisted the urge to slap the love god and demand a straight answer.
"Why aren't you settled down somewhere with your little studmuffin? Why do you wander from village to village, righting wrongs and saving people?" Ares sighed melodramatically, pouting out his lower lip. "And don't tell me it's because you're forced into it. Please."
Hercules moved closer, confident he had himself under control. "It's true. Hera and Ares would never let me settle down."
Ares snorted. "Please, spare me the selfless routine. Ares and Hera would do handflips if you'd settle down and stay out of their affairs. They'd build you a house, give you anything you wanted, just to get you out of their hair." He crooked a finger at the demigod, motioning him closer. "You do it because you get off on it." He was smiling again, baring his teeth. "You get off on the power and the adoration."
"No." Hercules moved closer, mesmerized by the Love God, feeling the god's hand caressing his face, thumb running over his lips as his tongue instinctively darted out to lick it. "No." This time it was a moan.
Ares pressed his advantage, his other hand loosening the demigod's vest. "It's true." His voice was still low, hypnotic. "You like being recognized, treated like a hero. Like a god. People practically worship you here, and you love it."
"No."
Ares leaned forward, capturing Hercules' lips, his tongue gently plundering the demigod's mouth, one hand at the back of his neck, pressing Hercules closer. "Yes." He broke the kiss. "You get worshipped like a god, you get offerings like a god, but you can feel morally superior to the gods. That's why you do it."
"No." Hercules wasn't sure if he had spoken aloud. He wanted to deny it, but somehow, it all made sense. He quit thinking as Ares leaned forward, kissing him again, warm tongue gently twining with his. He felt a gentle hand at his crotch, stroking his hard cock as he moaned into that warm, gentle mouth. He protested silently as the mouth pulled back fractionally, lips brushing his as the god spoke.
"You set yourself up as a hero, because that way you can fight, you can be violent and hurt people, but you still look good. You still feel morally superior. You never have to face yourself, or examine your actions."
Hercules was drowning. His knees buckled and he collapsed onto the bed, feeling the soft mattress beneath his body. Ares quickly twisted on top of him, blanketing the demigod's body with his own, a hard erection pressing into his own hardness.
Another kiss, this one harder, more demanding. "You like the power, the adoration. You *want* to be worshipped, you just have to admit it. Let go of your silly inhibitions. Be yourself."
The demigod opened his mouth to protest, but the protest turned into a moan as a warm, wet mouth enveloped his hard cock. Ares sucked for a few moments, alternating between hard and light suction, his tongue licking around the sensitive crown, probing the weeping slit as Hercules' hips bucked roughly. His hands, seemingly of their own volition, reached for the god's head, his fingers tangling in his hair, pulling it hard, forcing the god's head down, fucking his mouth.
Hercules threw his head back, gasping for air, groaning in pleasure. He thrust hard, feeling the head of his cock hitting the back of Ares' throat, ignoring the small choking sounds from the god, deriving some small satisfaction from the knowledge that he was hurting Ares.
The God of Love reached for his own swollen cock, but Hercules noticed and roughly kicked his hand aside. What had Ares done to deserve to pleasure himself? His voice rasped as he gasped his order. "Just take it, slut." He threw his head back, eyes closed, as he enjoyed the sensations, knowing his enemy was debasing himself to bring his pleasure.
Hercules felt his climax approaching and gripped Ares' hair tighter, feeling some hair pull loose in his hands. He thrust harder, losing his rhythm, as he came in the god's mouth, listening as Ares choked, trying to swallow all the semen.
He opened his eyes and looked down, suddenly realizing what had just happened, a numb horror racing through his soul. The God of Love looked up at him, white cum dribbling from a corner of his mouth, and smirked.
"See? You're just like him."
Hercules closed his eyes and let the wave of fury break over him and carry him along, growling as he struck out at the god's insolent face, feeling warm blood trickle over his fist, knuckles bruising. He was satisfied as he heard the crunch of bones smashing, flesh splitting, the gasps of pain.
But when the fury finally dissipated, Ares, beaten and bloody, still looked smug, still looked superior.
And Hercules, sickened, curled into a ball in the corner and tried to hide from himself.
The Halls of War
The god of war sat in his black throne, his raven hair smelling of smoke, his boots encrusted with gore, one leg thrown carelessly over an arm of the throne. He sat very, very still, staring at a point deep inside himself. He had killed hundreds, he had proven his strength, yet he still felt somehow empty, as if something were missing.
(I want. I need.)
He ignored the whisper as it echoed in his head. The words were a legacy from an enemy. They meant nothing. They meant less than nothing. He built a wall in his mind, sealing the offending words and feelings behind the barrier.
(I want. I need.)
Ares shook his head irritably and stood, beginning to pace. The problem, he decided, was that he had neglected his duties. He'd been out of action too long, thanks to that fucking fop and his little games. He'd go check his temples, visit warlords, get back into his usual routine. That was what he needed. Routine.
(I want. I need.)
Once he visited his temples, he was sure he would find himself returning to normal. It was the remnants of that damn spell, lingering like a bad cold. He'd get back into his usual routine, and that abominable itching in the back of his head, that strange sensation of emptiness in his soul, both would vanish. He just needed a little time to recover.
(I want. I need.)
Corinth
Iphicles lay in bed, huddled under several blankets, curled upon himself for warmth. He shivered uncontrollably, pulling the wool blankets tighter, wondering irritably why the fire blazing in the fireplace didn't warm the room.
He had spent the evening searching for Braxis, challenging every guard and servant he encountered. Some had merely stared at him, others had run in panic, while a few had seemed somehow concerned. He ignored them all, intent upon finding his charge. She was his responsibility. He would find her and go to one of Zeus' temples. Once there he'd threaten to raze the temple, to burn it to the ground, if the god didn't restore Braxis to her natural state. The god wouldn't ignore a threat like that, would he?
The king pulled his blankets tighter, shaking, fighting a tickling cough, feeling rather nauseous. The point was moot, since he hadn't been able to locate the dragon. He'd searched the castle as best he could, fighting the cold, the pain in his head, the thundering in his ears. The only reason he'd given up was because he'd collapsed, his legs suddenly unable to hold him. He'd dragged himself along the hallway, using the last of his strength to pull himself into a standing position, leaning against the wall as he slowly staggered back to his bed chamber.
Iphicles despised his weakness. He should still be searching, not lying here in bed. Hercules, he was sure, would have kept searching until he found her. He snorted to himself. But Hercules wasn't here, despite his promises. He was off somewhere warm, fucking Iolaus and Ares, listening to their words of love and adoration, touching them, holding them.
He shook his head, suddenly hot. He threw off the covers, feeling sweat bead on his body. The fire must have finally warmed the room. Iphicles stared at the ceiling, thinking about Argeus' words.
Braxis was a dragon. But she carried the heir to the throne of Corinth. He was responsible for Braxis, but he was responsible for Corinth. How could he possibly choose? If he chose to help Braxis, that meant he had no heir. If he chose to help Corinth, the dragon would go mad.
The king squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the pounding in his head, the pressure in his skull. He began to shiver again and pulled the covers back on top of his body.
He remembered, as a child, how his mother had looked at him sometimes. It was a look of exasperation, as if she wished he would just... go away. He had always had a nagging feeling that his mother would have been happier if he had never been born.
Oh, she said the right words, acted motherly, but sometimes he felt like it was all just an act, the love she professed not quite showing in her eyes. Not for him, at least. Her love for Hercules shone like a beacon, but no matter how hard he tried, Iphicles had never seen that beacon lit for him. It left him feeling empty for most of his life, hungry for something he couldn't name or understand. It was only when he found Rena that he felt truly loved.
And now Rena was gone. Iphicles raised his hand to his forehead, feeling sweat dripping into his eyes as he kicked off the covers, suddenly burning up again. Would it be right to force Braxis to have this child? Would it be right to raise a child that would know it had been responsible for driving its mother insane?
More than that, he began to wonder, would it even be right for Corinth for his progeny to sit on the throne? He stared at the ceiling, consumed. He had failed Braxis, he'd failed at so much in his life. Maybe it would be better for Corinth if he didn't leave an heir, if someone new stepped in.
The king dropped into a troubled sleep. And he dreamed of flying, free, a life without decisions and responsibilities.
Present
Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, sits on a pink sofa, knees pulled to her chin, arms wrapped protectively around her legs. She sits very, very still, blue eyes staring into the distance, tears pouring down her face like the rain pours from the heavens outside. For the first time in ages, she feels lost, helpless. She's a goddess, but events have spiraled out of even her control. She prays to the Fates for a happy ending, because she likes happy endings. But she isn't sure they're listening.
One Day Previous
The Halls of War
Ares, god of war, sat in his great throne, leaning forward, elbows resting upon his knees, chin resting on steepled hands. He looked pensive, as if he were considering a challenging problem, but his eyes glowed red and the air around his form sizzled with power. He growled, a low, constant sound that caused a vibration in the very foundations of the great black hall.
Broken weapons and bones littered the ebony floor of the great hall, their whiteness a stark contrast to the impenetrable darkness. Human limbs burned in the great fireplace, the air filled with the stench of burning flesh.
Ares had thought that routine would solve his problem, erase that infernal voice in the back of his mind. Instead, it had made him more angry, more frustrated. The familiar routine suddenly seemed empty and hollow. He felt as if he were searching for something, but he didn't know what. He only knew it wasn't to be found in his priests, with their empty, glib words, or his followers, with their bloodstained hands and visions of wealth and power. He had visited battlefields, raining death and destruction, but still the void remained.
The growl grew louder as Ares pounded his fist into an arm of his throne, splitting his knuckles, blood dripping down his hand and onto the obsidian armrest. He idly brought the hand to his face, licking at the blood, sparks forming around his body.
I want. I need.
That damn chorus in his head was growing louder. He brought his hands to his head, palms to his ears to shut out the noise, stood and screamed. Onyx pillars trembled, the floor shook, and even the air seemed to retreat at the sound of fury. But he couldn't drown it out. He still heard it.
I want. I need.
The god staggered back, slumping again in his throne, head thrown back, jugular exposed as he tried to control himself. He could not lose control. He would not lose control. To lose control was weak, and he was not weak. He was War. He was Death and Destruction. He did not want, he did not need. He took long, deep breaths, teeth clenched as he pondered his options.
There was a flash of blue light, and Eris, Goddess of Discord, stood among the litter and remains, her upturned nose wrinkled into an expression of disgust.
"Ugh. Gross." She looked up, seeing Ares, and strode toward him, her movements graceful, like a cat stalking its prey. Reaching the throne, she draped herself bonelessly across one armrest, her blood-red lips pouting at Ares. "So, I heard you were pissed off." She looked around at the destruction. "Looks like someone's had a really bad day. Wanna tell me about it?"
"No." Ares' teeth were still clenched, the rage barely contained within him.
Discord snuggled closer. "Come on. I can help." She wriggled her hips seductively, but Ares casually pushed her off his throne. She landed on her backside, indignant. "Fine. Be that way. See if I care. But if you keep this up, you're gonna run out of toys, and you can't borrow any of mine."
Ares grunted, noncommittal. So he'd slaughtered a few armies. There were plenty more where those came from.
Discord struggled up, brushing the dirt off her clothing. "What's with you, anyway?" Ares glared, a definite warning, but she stalked forward, purring. "You know, I heard some rumors, but I didn't believe them."
"What rumors?" Ares didn't really care, but he was so used to answering his twin without paying any attention that it just slipped out.
"I heard," Eris looked coy, "that you were getting it on with Hercules." Her voice dripped acid. "That you two were all lovey-dovey and cute and fuzzy."
The god of war lifted his head, looking directly at Eris. His eyes glowed brighter, like two coals being stoked. "It never happened." His voice was low and growling, and the room trembled as he flushed with remembered humiliation.
Eris continued, unperturbed. "Really?" She feigned a puzzled expression. "They way I heard it, you told him you loved him, and you were his."
"It never happened." He recoiled from the memories. The earth trembled.
"I heard you two spent over a month in bed together, being all smoochy."
"It never happened." Ares' voice was a roar as he stood, a blue nimbus of lightning dancing over his body. He would not allow this, would not allow anyone to know what had been done to him, would not allow anyone to see him as weak, as a victim.
Eris suddenly realized that she had pushed too far. She stepped back, her trembling hands in the air in a gesture of appeasement. "You're right. It was just a stupid rumor." She spoke quickly, her eyes darting around the room, looking for a place to hide as Ares advanced upon her. "It was so totally ridiculous I had to tell you. For laughs, you know."
Ares backhanded her, the goddess' head snapping around, blood trickling from a corner of her mouth. She raised one hand to her face, crimson staining her fingers. He stepped closer as she stared, puzzled, at the contrasting ruby on her alabaster skin.
The god struck again, his fist driving into her midsection, knocking the breath out of her as she bent over, arms clutching her stomach. Eris looked up, her brother's knee slamming into her chin, knocking her backwards into a polished black wall. She slid down the wall, pulling knees to her chest, arms covering her head as the furious god kicked her, his black leather boots breaking bones, tearing flesh.
"It never happened. It never happened." He repeated the words, almost chanting them, a mantra to ward off the memories.
Eris whimpered, curling tighter, clenching her teeth against the pain. Summoning the last of her strength, she transported herself elsewhere.
Ares found himself facing nothingness, his boot kicking solid wall instead of yielding flesh, and his hands clenched so tightly that his nails drew blood.
"It never happened." He whispered it to himself, willing the memories away. He stood, leaning against the wall for support. There were witnesses, those who had seen his weakness. If he removed the witnesses, no one would ever know. If no one knew, it never happened.
It never happened.
Corinth
Braxis strained weakly against her bonds, knowing the struggle was futile, but desperate enough to persevere. She had been moved to a dark room, one without windows, and the closeness of the walls and the low ceiling frightened her. She often had trouble catching her breath, and found herself bathed in cold sweat and fighting in blind panic.
She was lying on a bed, each arm and each leg tied with leather thongs to a bedpost. She had scraped all of the skin off her wrists and ankles the first day, the blood soaking the leather making it draw tighter still, cutting off circulation to her extremities. Her captors had bandaged the wounds and loosened the thongs slightly, but not enough for her to escape. The wounds were festering, she could smell the decay, could feel the itching and burning sensations. She welcomed the pain, because she knew she might get lucky and die from the infection.
The dragon tossed her head from side to side, rubbing her red and chafed cheek against the rough pillow, trying yet again to dislodge the gag in her mouth. She had screamed and bitten when she was brought to this room, screamed until her throat was raw, and they had gagged her since. They removed the gag when they fed her, usually foul cooked human food that she spat back at them. But when the panic attacks came, she had to gasp for air, and the gag seemed to absorb oxygen, making breathing even more difficult.
She had to escape, somehow. Braxis had long ago given up hope of being turned back into a dragon, now she just wanted the horror to end. She was tired and drained.
The previous day, something had happened. Something that convinced her that there was no hope, no escape. She had felt the monster growing inside of her squirm, writhing and twisting within her innards as she vomited into her gag, crying for help, praying to the human's gods. But none answered, and she had fought until she had no strength left.
Today, she struggled weakly, shivering with cold and nausea as she pulled her arms, twisting them, hoping to find a weakness in the leather binding her. She froze when she heard a sound outside the plank door. It sounded like a soft clatter, then a thud. She raised her head as the door opened slowly.
It was Iphicles. He stood in the doorway, dragging a limp guard into the room, dropping the man in front of the fireplace, stopping to lean against the wall, his face shiny with sweat. His amber eyes glittered strangely, and his cheeks were flushed. He rushed to the bed, pulling out the familiar knife and cutting her bonds. His skin felt hot to her.
Braxis massaged her wrists, trying to restore circulation without hurting herself more than she already was. She wriggled her fingers experimentally, wincing at the unfamiliar sensation, bowing her head so Iphicles could remove the gag. He held out his hand, but she ignored him and stood, swaying, fighting dizziness and weakness.
"We have to get out of here." The king was whispering, and she noticed that his hands shook.
"And go where?" She whispered also, raising one eyebrow at him. Where could she go? There was only one escape for her, why didn't he see that?
"I'll take you to Zeus' temple," he leaned forward and she stepped back, increasing the distance between them, avoiding his outstretched hand, "I'll make him change you back. I'll tear the temple apart, kill his priests, do whatever it takes."
The dragon shook her head in resignation. "All he'll do is kill you." She looked the king in the eye, unblinking. "There's no guarantee he'll change me back, and if he kills you I won't have a protector."
Iphicles seemed to deflate, tears filling his eyes as he slumped against the wall, hand to his flushed brow. "I don't know. I'm sorry, I just don't know... Hercules would know what to do, but I don't." His gaze was helpless, hopeless.
Braxis took a deep breath and spoke slowly. "I know what to do. What has to be done."
He nodded, staring at the floor. "Then you better go." He cleared his throat, voice trembling. "Go outside and turn right, then left. You'll find a stairwell."
She nodded, walking out the door to freedom, and didn't look back. But she heard a sound, as if the king were sliding down the wall, sitting on the floor, and she wondered briefly how he would find his freedom.
The dragon followed the king's directions and found the stairwell easily enough. Her cramped legs protested as she climbed and climbed, spiraling upwards from the underground darkness of the dungeon to the world above. She climbed until she could climb no more, until the staircase ended and she saw light, the light of the sun. She blinked, having become accustomed to the darkness.
She stood on the battlement of the ruined East Wing of the castle. The wind drove rain into her, and it felt as if her body was being pierced by tiny needles of ice. But she felt the wind, saw the light and the clouds, and raised her arms in victory, spinning madly in circles and laughing. She was free!
The stones were slippery and icy, but Braxis was determined, fueled by anticipation. She clambered up, until she was standing on the outer wall, and used one hand to balance herself against the nearby wall. She could see all of Corinth, her familiar rolling hills, the mountains in the distance where she had begun building her nest, the shore where waves crashed into sand, roaring. She remembered flying over this land, diving in the ocean, sleeping in the meadows.
She had missed freedom, and now she would reclaim it, the only way possible. Spreading her arms as if she were spreading her wings, Braxis spun around once more, giddy with joy, before throwing herself forward.
And for a brief moment, Braxis flew again.
Cyprus
Iolaus watched as Hercules twisted in his sleep, moaning in pain. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on his lover's shoulder, whispering meaningless words to soothe. The demigod quieted, but his brow was still furrowed and there was still a twitch in his cheek.
After leaving him alone with the God of Love, Iolaus and Aphrodite had paced in circles, worrying together and making the watching Hephaestus dizzy. After some time, Hercules had left the injured god and joined them. His face had been drawn and pale, and he looked sick, but he refused to tell them what he and Ares had discussed.
They had found Ares still in bed, his wounds healing before their eyes, and a self-congratulatory smirk on his face. Iolaus had been torn between wanting to slap the smirk off Ares' face and concern for Hercules, and his concern had won. He had watched as Aphrodite and Hephaestus opened the vortex to the other world and Ares entered it, his grin fading slightly when Aphrodite asked him to send her regards to Cupid.
That had been one week ago. Since then, Hercules had visibly deteriorated, his blue eyes shadowed, ghosts swimming behind them. Iolaus had spent the past week with Hercules, trying to get through to him. He had failed.
Hercules moaned again, then arched his back, gasping for air as his eyes shot open. Iolaus reached out to hold him, but Hercules pushed him back roughly, the rejection hurting Iolaus more than the moment when his head hit the wall.
"Herc? It's me..." Iolaus rubbed the back of his head, moving back toward his lover. "It's just me." He laughed nervously. "Sorry if I spooked you there. Um. You must've been having some nightmare there." He hoped Hercules would take advantage of the opening and talk to him.
"Yeah. A nightmare." Hercules spoke in a monotone, his hands twisting the pink brocade coverlet, eyes downcast and shadowed.
"Wanna talk about it?"
"No."
Iolaus started to back off but finally decided that enough was enough. Being gentle and loving wasn't helping. Perhaps other tactics were called for.
"You're not the only one suffering here, you know." He let some of his anger show in his voice, capturing Hercules' attention. "I know, you went through something terrible, but has it occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, some of the rest of us just might not be enjoying it either?"
The demigod looked up and Iolaus pushed on. "Aphrodite's practically worn out her shoes pacing, Hephaestus spends all his time sitting around looking helpless, and you're driving me insane!"
"Sorry." Hercules' voice was still a monotone. "Maybe you should just leave me."
"No! Absolutely not. Not a chance in Tartarus. Would you look at me when I'm talking to you?" Iolaus grabbed the demigod's chin, forcing the blue eyes to look at him. "I love you, Herc, and watching you in so much pain's eating me up inside. Talk to me. Let me help."
"You can't help." Hercules contemplated the coverlet again as Iolaus sighed in exasperation.
"Fine. Then talk to me and I'll shut up. How's that for a deal?"
Hercules sighed, still looking down. He was silent, and Iolaus was ready to give up when the monotone started again. "I remember once, when I was little," he trailed off for a moment, staring at the wall, "I was maybe six, I think. My mother was going to market, and I insisted on going with her. She wanted me to stay home, but I threw a tantrum and she gave in." He smiled a little, tilting his head. "She always gave in."
Iolaus settled himself more comfortably, listening, wondering what Hercules was trying to tell him without words. The demigod returned to his story.
"We went into town, and I remember how people stared at us and pointed and whispered. Looking back, I'm sure it was because of who my father was, but at the time it just scared me. I guess that's why she didn't want me going with her. I remember holding onto her skirt like it was a shield and trying to hide behind it."
"We left quickly. She probably wasn't even finished with her shopping, but tripping over me wasn't making matters any easier. On the way home, a man came up to us. I don't even remember what he looked like, just that he seemed big, and he smelled. He'd been drinking."
Iolaus watched closely as Hercules' brow furrowed and a shadow moved behind his eyes. "I don't remember what he said, but he grabbed my mother and pulled her close. She screamed and dropped all the vegetables she was carrying. For some reason I just have this image of an apple rolling in the dirt, the red, shiny skin getting covered with dust. I was mad at the man for hurting my mother, and I was scared."
The demigod took a deep breath. "I grabbed a big stick that was near the road, and I just...hit him with it." There was a moment of silence. "I remember the sound, the loud crack, and his scream." A longer moment of silence as Iolaus found himself staring into haunted azure eyes. "I broke both his legs. I didn't mean to, I was just scared, and I didn't realize how strong I was."
The hunter reached out, intending to reassure, but he was shrugged off as Hercules continued. "My mother sat down with me that night and explained that she knew I didn't mean to hurt the man, but I always had to be very, very careful, because I was so strong that I could hurt people accidentally. She told me I had to stay in control, and not let fear and anger dictate my actions, or else I could hurt people, and that would be bad."
"So, all my life, I've taken all my anger and hatred and fear, all those black emotions, and I've stuffed them into this little box that I keep locked in a corner in the back of my mind. Ares opened that box and let them out, and now I can't get them to go back in again."
Hercules looked anguished and lost, like a small glass figurine that would shatter at the lightest touch. Iolaus watched his lover, feeling helpless, unable to fight an inner demon. He could stand with Hercules in a fight, face incredible odds, risk life and limb, but this enemy was in his lover's head and his heart and soul, and Iolaus was suddenly shut out, unable to breach the defenses so recently erected.
They sat in silence for several moments, Hercules' head bowed and shoulders stooped, Iolaus chewing his lip, paralyzed with fear and indecision. Finally, he reached out and gingerly placed his hand on the demigod's shoulder, hoping to send a lifeline from his heart. He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed there, and his voice trembled with suppressed emotion.
"Herc, I know you're scared, and I understand. But -"
He was caught off guard when Hercules' head snapped up, blue eyes glittering, his teeth clenched. The demigod removed Iolaus' hand from his shoulder and began twisting it, painfully.
"You understand?" It wasn't a question; it was a challenge. "How can you *possibly* understand, Iolaus?" He continued to twist the captive wrist, bringing tears to the hunter's eyes. "Do you have any idea what it's like, having to be in complete control every single day of your life? Always afraid if you lose control you'll become a monster? Knowing that inside of you there *is* a monster?" Iolaus whimpered, afraid Hercules would break his wrist, trying to squirm away.
"Are you afraid, Iolaus? You should be, you know." Hercules' voice was still calm, but there was a dark undercurrent, a riptide sucking Iolaus in. "I could snap you in half, rip your arm right out of the socket, and not even break a sweat. I could crush you without a second thought. Does that scare you?"
Iolaus nodded, tears of pain leaking from below his eyelids. "The only reason I never did anything like that is because I kept that part of me locked away in a deep, dark dungeon in my mind. But he's out now, and he's not going back. And I can't stop him. You know why?"
Hercules dropped the hand and Iolaus cradled it to his chest, massaging feeling into the wrist, wincing at the sharp ache. The demigod leaned forward, closing the space between them, and Iolaus leaned back involuntarily, eyeing his lover warily. "I can't stop him because he's stronger than I am. And you know what else? He *likes* the power, and he likes hurting people."
The demigod leaned back, collapsing in exhaustion, vacant blue eyes staring at the ceiling in resignation. "How can you possibly understand what it's like to realize that you *are* everything you've fought against for years? Tell me that, Iolaus."
Iolaus felt his heart become numb as he stared at his lover's face, seeing the pain pulsing beneath Hercules' skin, but knowing he was helpless in the face of that tsunami of anguish.
Hercules turned away from Iolaus, a gesture that seemed somehow final. "Leave me alone, Iolaus. Please, leave me alone." It was a plea, a request that Iolaus couldn't deny, caught as he was in his own web of helplessness.
"I'll go." He whispered, still cradling his injured wrist as he stood. "But I'll be back when you're feeling better."
The demigod closed his eyes, shaking his head. "You just don't get it, do you?"
"And you just don't get how much I love you." Iolaus spoke confidently, with a strength he didn't feel. "We'll work through this together, I promise." Iolaus leaned over, gently brushing his lover's cheek with a kiss, and left.
Hercules sat up in the bed, staring at the door as it closed behind the hunter. "No, we won't." He whispered, the sound unnoticed. "I have to take care of this myself."
Corinth
Iphicles stood in the rain, looking down at the body. Braxis was dead. He looked up, wondering if she had been afraid, or just happy that her ordeal was over. A part of him felt she was lucky. She was at peace. She had no more responsibilities, no more pain.
He bent over, another coughing fit taking him by surprise. They'd been getting worse the past several days, seeming to echo within his chest, and Argeus was worried. Iphicles ignored the healer and his advice, determined to find and help Braxis. He'd failed. He'd helped her to escape, but he hadn't returned her to her old body, he hadn't helped to free her.
Hercules would have been able to help her, Iphicles was convinced of that. But Hercules had abandoned her, just like he'd abandoned his brother, in favor of Ares. Hercules had betrayed both of them. Braxis was dead because the great hero was too busy fucking Ares and Iolaus to bother to help her.
Iphicles looked at her body, watching her blood mix with the gray rain, and swore to avenge her death. It was all he could do now. He could find Hercules and make him pay.
Present
Corinth
Iphicles wandered the halls of the ruined east wing of the castle. He wandered aimlessly, occasionally stopping and coughing. The coughs were loud and hollow, forcing him to gasp for breath. He could hear his breath as he inhaled, the sound of suction within his chest. Argeus had ordered bed rest, but Iphicles refused, unable to sleep, unable to sit still. Instead he wandered the halls, a copper and gold ghost, avoided by all.
He listened as his booted footsteps echoed in the empty halls, the sound bouncing off of cold stone walls, sometimes absorbed by flat, colorless tapestries. He walked, and listened, and thought. He thought of dragons, and gods, and the last time he saw his brother, flying away, abandoning those who depended upon him.
The king sighed as he realized where he was. His old bed chamber, the one he had partially demolished when Hera turned him into a dragon. The wall was partially destroyed, wind and rain blew in, soaking the floor.
He had placed the body on the bed, covering it with a blanket. He wished they had discussed dragon funeral customs, although he had a strong suspicion that they had none. He had decided to build a funeral pyre. He thought Braxis would like that.
Iphicles stood, staring at the body, but not really seeing it, his mind wandering as his body had. He was distracted by a flash of light and turned to find himself facing Aphrodite.
The goddess stood in the ruined chamber, a golden glow repelling the rain, looking at him, and the king was gripped by a sudden anger.
"What are you doing here?" He tried to keep his voice calm, but it was shaking with rage. Aphrodite reached for the king, who pulled back, glaring at her. "Leave me alone. Haven't you done enough?" He glanced at the bed and her gaze followed his, her eyes suddenly downcast.
"I'm sorry." She stood very still, trying desperately to let Iphicles know how sorry she was for all of the pain, all of the suffering she had inadvertently caused.
"Oh, that's just great. You think you can just come here and say you're sorry and it'll all be better?" His voice had a slightly hysterical edge.
"No." She sighed, studying the floor intently. "None of this was supposed to happen. No one was supposed to get hurt."
"But we did get hurt, and you can't change that."
"You're right." The goddess looked at the king, suddenly appearing as tired as he felt. "I wish I could, I really do. But I can't."
Iphicles continued to glare. "So? Why don't you just get out of here? Or did you want to do something else to fuck up my life?"
Aphrodite hugged herself, looking at the ground. "I just... I wish I could do something for you, to make up for all of this."
"Don't do me any favors." The king looked at the blanket-covered body. "I mean that literally. Your kind, all you ever do is cause trouble. Find some other schmuck to play with and leave me out of your little games."
The goddess fidgeted. Apparently she wasn't used to being told to get lost. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help?" She sounded hopeful, eager.
"I'm sure." Iphicles was suddenly exhausted. "Look, go back to Olympus or wherever you go. Pop in and annoy Herc and Ares or something. Just stay away from me."
Aphrodite looked up, startled. "Oh, dear."
"What now?" The king looked wary.
"You don't know?"
"Know what?" Iphicles was becoming testy. He really didn't want to hear whatever it was the goddess wanted to say.
"About Ares and Hercules."
Iphicles felt nauseous as the anger flared through him, as he remembered his brother and his own failure. "Yeah, I was there, remember? They love each other." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I hope they're very happy together." He spoke the words through clenched teeth, not willing to let Aphrodite see his pain. And especially not wanting Aphrodite to tell Hercules about it. He didn't want his brother to know he had hurt him, didn't want to show that weakness.
"That's not it." She paused, searching for the right words. "They were under a spell. The other Ares put a love spell on them."
"Oh." Iphicles was confused, but pushed the confusion to the back of his mind. He refused to release the anger, the only emotion he could truly feel through the gray mist in his head.
"I made him take it off," she added helpfully, "but they're both kinda freaked out." Iphicles was suddenly distracted by another coughing fit, leaving him bent over, gasping for air, his face pale. Aphrodite studied him. "You're pretty sick, you know."
"So?" The king's hostility returned.
"Pneumonia, I think." The goddess could hear the fluid in his lungs as he breathed. "I can take care of it for you." Before he could protest, Aphrodite waved her hand, golden sparkles floating down to cover Iphicles, healing him. She smiled, happy to have helped.
Iphicles glared. "I told you to leave me the fuck alone! Why can't you gods just stay away? What is it with you, you get bored and decide to just...find some new toy to play with or something? And then you get bored with the game and break the toy and that's the end of it? Don't we get a say in any of this?"
Aphrodite backed away. She'd only been trying to help, after all. "I'm sorry, I just wanted..."
The king interrupted her. "You wanted to do what you wanted to do, nevermind what I wanted. Nevermind what she wanted." He nodded toward Braxis' body. "You play your little games, you drag us into them, and you don't care what the consequences are for us. None of you do."
The goddess pouted, beginning to get angry. "Look, buddy, I was just trying to help, okay? What do you want me to do here, throw myself on a sword or something?"
"And what would that do? It wouldn't hurt you. Nothing seems to hurt your kind, but we're different." Iphicles stopped, breathing deeply. "Look at her. She used to be a dragon. She was happy. And then she got dragged into this whole mess, and Zeus turned her into a human, and now she's dead. Nothing can change that, and I really don't think Zeus gives a damn."
"You're right, he doesn't."
Iphicles walked to the bed, his hand resting on the mattress near the body, but not touching it. "She used to be able to fly. That's all she wanted, was to be able to fly again." He bent his head, remembering the crisp flap of wings, the sensation of soaring through the sky. "I could only fly for one day and I miss it. She was able to fly her entire life, until Zeus took that from her."
"I'm sorry." Aphrodite gingerly placed her hand on his shoulder. "You were really good at flying, you know?"
"Yeah, I know." Iphicles closed his eyes, lost in memories and regrets.
"Would you like to fly again?"
The king looked at the goddess, desperate hunger warring with anger and distrust. Would he like to fly again? More than anything. He would do anything for one more chance to fly free, to be a dragon. To be an independent, strong creature, one that didn't understand loneliness, one that didn't care what others thought, one that didn't need love or companionship. Her offer was so tempting, but accepting anything from the gods had its price.
Aphrodite, looking compassionate, seemed to sense his internal conflict. "How's about this for an offer: I give you the ability to change into a dragon any time you want, and you can also change yourself back. Whether or not you ever do it's up to you. Fair enough?"
Iphicles felt his head nodding assent, despite the fact that he was still mired in indecision. He watched, distantly, as Aphrodite stood back and pointed a finger at him, a shower of glowing pink hearts and golden sparkles enveloping him. There was a tingling sensation, but no pain, not like when Hera had transformed him. He inspected his arms, his hands, looking for a sign of change.
The goddess grinned. "Cool. The world's first were-dragon!" She giggled, but quickly turned serious. "Just remember, Iphy. Sometimes we want something, but when we get it, it's not really what we wanted, ya know?" She tilted her head to the side as if she heard a far-off sound. "Sorry, gotta go. Someone's calling me. Toodles!"
Aphrodite disappeared in her customary flash, small glowing hearts floating to the ground in her wake, finally fading into nothing. Iphicles stood, staring at the spot where she had stood. He could sense something inside himself, some new knowledge.
He walked to the gaping hole in the wall and looked down, remembering his panicked flight so long ago. He closed his eyes and stepped forward into nothingness, arms spread.
At first, all he felt was the cold wind and rain on his skin. Then there was a burning sensation rippling through his body, a sense of stretching and growing, changing somehow. The pain was familiar and he welcomed it. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was flying.
Iphicles felt the resistance of the air beneath his great bronze wings as he flapped them, listening to the crisp snapping sound they made. He flew in lazy circles around the castle, chuckling to himself as he saw humans scurry for cover. He lowered his head and dove, roaring as he skimmed along the ground, almost touching the earth, then pulling out of the dive and climbing into the skies. He spun as he climbed, feeling the coolness on his scales, opening his mouth and experimentally breathing a jet of fire that lit the sky like a beacon.
He had unfinished business, though. He had a few responsibilities he had to see through before he could begin his new life. He banked and glided back to the castle, to the east wing and executed a nearly perfect landing in his former bed chamber. Looking at the body on the bed, he closed his large amber eyes and remembered the cute green dragon he had met once, so long ago.
He opened his eyes and took aim, sending a stream of fire toward the bed, burning it and the body. It seemed like a good funeral pyre for a dragon. He turned, listening to the fire crackle and pop behind him, consuming the room and everything in it. Cleansing it.
Flapping his great wings again, he took off into the sky, trying to decide what business to take care of next.
Cyprus
Iolaus sat in the main room of Aphrodite's temple; his hands folded neatly, shoulders hunched, as he contemplated his feet. He seemed to do quite a bit of that lately. Just sit and stare blankly, feeling helpless, watching as his lover drowned in his own mind.
The demigod had become even worse, since their last conversation. He refused to speak to Iolaus, refused to even look at him. Iolaus had tried being loving and supportive, and had been rejected. He had tried anger and accusation, and had been rejected. He felt like Hercules had built a fortress around himself, and there was no way in. Iolaus was merely banging his head against the outer wall of the fortress for all the good he was doing.
He sighed and bit into an apple, jumping slightly as Aphrodite materialized next to him. The goddess looked rather put-out, he noticed.
"Bad day?"
"You could say that." She sat next to him on the sofa, examining her own feet. "You know, I mentioned a couple of others got caught up in this mess? Well, they're in worse shape than Herc is."
Iolaus snorted. "That's hard to believe."
"I know, but it's true. I guess I was so worried about Herc I just... I kinda forgot about them." She sighed, a long, wistful sound. "He was right, they were just toys, and they got stepped on and broken and thrown away." She rested her chin in her hands. "I hope I helped a little..."
"I'm sure you did." Iolaus reached out, hugging the goddess, glad he wasn't the only one feeling like they were being swept along in a dark undertow. "You can be helpful, when you put your mind to it."
"Thanks, Curly." Aphrodite's smile was hesitant, but made Iolaus grateful that he could make *someone* happy. "So, how's Herc doing?"
"The same." Iolaus held on to Aphrodite, desperately needing the contact with someone, someone who wouldn't push him away, someone who would listen to him. "I just can't get through to him, no matter what I try." Aphrodite returned his hug, gently running her fingers through his curls. "I don't know what to do."
They sat, taking solace from each other, each pondering their failures. Iolaus turned to Aphrodite, feeling something close to a sense of peace for the first time in months. "Why don't you try talking to him? Maybe he'll listen to you."
The goddess laughed. "Not likely, babe, but I'll try." She patted his hair. "Maybe I'll pick up on something you missed. Or maybe I'll annoy him enough that you'll look better to him."
Iolaus giggled, imagining Hercules trying to deal with a determined Aphrodite. She stood, wiggling her fingers at him, and Iolaus felt a surge of affection for the goddess. They were like co-conspirators, working together for the first time, and he realized that he had come to depend on her strength and wisdom, two attributes he'd never previously associated with the Goddess of Love.
The hunter relaxed, taking another bite out of his apple. Aphrodite might just be able to reach Hercules in her own strange way, and give him a small push to open up and allow the people who loved him to help him. Iolaus' eyes were drifting shut as he felt something pulling him, moving him, and he saw a flash of golden light.
He stood, dazed and blinking, before realizing that Aphrodite had transported him to Hercules' room. Looking around, he felt an abrupt surge of panic when he saw Aphrodite, pale and trembling, backed into a corner. She emitted a series of small, incoherent squeaks, stretching out a shaking hand. Iolaus followed the hand, and his knees suddenly buckled.
Hercules lay in the corner, unconscious in a pool of his own blood. Iolaus stood, staring, uncomprehending, before his instincts took over and he rushed to his lover's side. Reaching for the demigod's neck, he felt a faint pulse. Blood was still pouring from the wounds, and the hunter recoiled upon seeing the crimson stained knife gripped in Hercules' hand. He gingerly removed the weapon, searching for cloth to bind the wounds. He knew it wouldn't be enough, but he had to try.
His eyes fell upon Aphrodite, ashen faced and still trembling, her eyes open and unblinking, staring in horror.
"Aphrodite!" He yelled, but she didn't react, merely continued staring. "Aphrodite!" He screamed her name and the goddess jumped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Get your ass over here and heal him!"
She walked forward, and it seemed to Iolaus that she was walking too slowly, as if she were wading through water. She finally reached them and kneeled, reaching out for the injured demigod. Iolaus cradled his lover's head in his lap as Aphrodite touched Hercules, glittering, glowing golden ribbons of light emerging from her hands to wrap around the unconscious form. The wounds healed as Iolaus watched, but Hercules didn't stir.
Aphrodite leaned back on her heels, tears dripping down her face, and Iolaus wanted to comfort her, but didn't know how. "I, um..." She whispered, her voice broken. "I took care of the, um, the cuts. I think he should sleep for a while, you know?"
Iolaus nodded. "Yeah. Thank you." The words were too small, too trite. One said 'thank you' for a nice Solstice gift, or for a nice dinner. Why were there no more powerful words for occasions like this? Words that conveyed more meaning, more than simple thanks?
The hunter stood, grabbing the demigod under the shoulders and dragging him to the bed, where he gently tucked him in. Leaning down, he kissed Hercules on the cheek, smoothing back a wayward lock of hair. "Sleep well, okay? I'll be back soon."
Iolaus and Aphrodite left, closing the door behind them.
The Halls of War
Ares sat in his great black throne, surveying the devastation around him. Discord hadn't shown her sneering face since she ran away the previous day, and he took some small measure of pleasure in that fact. The floor ran with blood, he was soaked with gore, but still, he felt that damn hypnotic pulse within him.
(I want. I need.)
He sat very still, staring, eyes glowing red with anger, lightning flickering about his form. Yesterday he had decided to wipe out all witnesses to his humiliation, refusing to be seen as weak, refusing to be perceived as a victim. He was not a victim, he victimized others. He was War. He was not weak.
But he had failed. Cupid and his boy-toy Autolycus were deep within Cupid's temple, shielded from outsiders. Aphrodite was protecting Hercules and Iolaus. As for Zeus, well, killing Zeus was out of the question. For now, at least. He wouldn't attack his father until he was positive he would win, since he knew full well that he would have only one chance.
Ares seethed with hatred. He needed more. He needed to kill, to maim, to tear. He needed more blood, more pain, more suffering. He needed to prove that he was not weak. That he did not want. Did not need.
He stood, a wolfish grin preying on his features. Of course! How could he have been so stupid? That infernal worm. Iphicles. He had been a witness to his weakness, and now that he was human again he would be easily destroyed. His grin widened as he realized that Iphicles' death would be even sweeter. The king and their brother had obviously grown close; killing Iphicles would be a blow to Hercules.
The god licked his lips, tasting the coppery tang of blood. Ares vanished in a flash of blue and red light, on his way to Corinth.
Corinth
Iphicles flew through the sky, his wings beating to the same rhythm as his heart. His new body was so powerful, so efficient, that he was constantly amazed by it. He could get used to this. He would get used to this. He felt the muscles in his legs, and experimentally clenched his claws, admiring the razor sharp points.
He flew in circles, sometimes flying straight up, then diving for the ground, pulling himself out of the dive a hairs-breath from the earth, occasionally executing mid-air somersaults, or flying in dizzying figure eights. He threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing off the mountains, rolling across the hills.
Flying was sheer joy. He practiced hovering, flying backwards, even flying upside down. It seemed that this body had no limitations. He admired his iridescent bronze scales, learned that they sparkled in the light from his flame. He had very little frame of reference, and he hadn't actually seen his new body, but he felt sure that he was a damn good-looking dragon.
He flew over the harbor, absently noting that some of the pilings showed signs of wear. He'd have to get the dock workers on that as soon as the weather cleared, it could be dangerous.
Iphicles mentally slapped himself. He was a dragon now. Dragons didn't care about harbors or docks. But still, people could get hurt. He sighed, sulfurous smoke drifting from his nose. Obviously, he still needed time to adjust to his new state.
For the moment, though, there were more pressing considerations. Specifically, flying had made him hungry. Ravenous, in fact. It probably didn't help that he hadn't eaten for days, either. This was a perfect opportunity to prove that he truly was a dragon and not a king.
He would eat a cow. That, after all, was what dragons did. Dragons didn't care who their food belonged to, they didn't care about loyal subjects. Dragons didn't have loyal subjects. Scruples be damned, he was going to eat the cow of a loyal Corinthian and he was going to enjoy it.
Iphicles circled, determined, looking for cattle. He had intended to be picky, but he was starving. He landed near the first cow he saw. The animal lowed, a sound of terror, and struggled against its tether, eyes rolling back in its head. He could smell its fear, and the scent was intoxicating. He advanced on the helpless animal, but stopped suddenly, puzzled by the logistics.
He was a big dragon, but still, cows were large themselves. How, exactly, did one go about eating a cow? Should he eat it whole? Could he eat it whole? He tilted his head, considering. It appeared that he could probably fit the whole animal in his mouth, but he wasn't sure that he could swallow it. Should he spit out what he couldn't swallow? Would he be able to chew it properly?
This was so frustrating. He sighed again, choking on the sulfur. He'd have to learn not to do that. Well, this was certainly an embarrassing dilemma. A dragon that didn't know how to eat. Maybe he should bite it in half, eat one half, and then eat the other half? And should he kill it before he bit it in half? He really didn't want the poor animal to suffer.
He was distracted by a scent. A human scent. Looking up, Iphicles saw an elderly man advancing on him, limping heavily, waving an equally elderly and rusted sword, yelling incoherently. Behind the man he could see a thin old woman holding a frying pan. He blew a warning flame at the man, who continued to advance.
"Get away, you monster!" Iphicles was insulted. He wasn't a monster, he was a dragon. There was a difference, after all. The man didn't have to insult him. He breathed another small flame, making sure it stopped well short of the man.
Unfortunately, the old man tripped, falling in the path of the flame. Iphicles watched in horror as the man's wispy white beard caught fire. The man screamed, rolling on the ground, easily putting the fire out, and his wife ran toward him, dropping her frying pan and screaming and crying hysterically. Falling to her knees, she held her husband, both looking at Iphicles in terror.
He could smell their fear, but instead of being pleased, he felt... guilty. He looked around, seeing the small farm for the first time. The house was old and dilapidated, in need of repair. The cow he had been planning to eat was white-muzzled and gaunt. There were a few scraggly fruit trees, but they looked decidedly unhealthy.
Iphicles looked again at the elderly couple, holding each other, determined to face death together, and felt an incredible sadness. He couldn't do it. He couldn't eat this pathetic cow; he couldn't kill this pitiful old couple. He was a failure as a dragon, just as he was a failure as a human. He roared, giving voice to his pain, and accidentally set the fruit trees on fire. Great. Just great. Now he felt even guiltier.
He beat his great wings, fanning the flames, and took to the air, planning another visit to Golgoth. Maybe there were more sandsharks about. At least eating sandsharks didn't make him feel guilty.
Corinth
Ares arrived at the castle in Corinth, cloaked in invisibility, prepared to kill Iphicles slowly and painfully. But he couldn't sense the king in the castle; in fact, he couldn't sense the king at all. He frowned, impatient.
The god looked around, surprised by the near panic of the mortals he saw. Many were running, others were crying, still others seemed quite happy. He listened to various conversations, read various minds, trying to sort out what had happened.
Ah. This was interesting. The king, apparently, was dead. Witnesses had seen him enter his old bed chamber. Soon thereafter, a great bronze dragon had appeared, setting fire to the room and taking flight. A body had been found in the remains of the bed, and the obvious was assumed.
Ares laughed. So, someone had transformed the king back into a dragon. This would be more fun than he had anticipated. As a dragon, the king was a formidable foe. Ares was looking forward to killing the worm, since it had, in a way, started the chain of events that had led here.
Smiling, Ares extended his senses, searching for the dragon.
Cyprus
Pain. The first awareness he had was of pain. He ached, his head pounded, his arms throbbed. Next, he felt nausea and lightheadedness. What had happened? He didn't feel like he was hung over, didn't remember getting drunk. Didn't remember much, in fact.
He opened one eye experimentally, closing it quickly as the light stabbed his eyeball. Not good. Try again. He opened his eye, cautiously this time. Blinked repeatedly. Okay, that was better. Opened the other eye. Blinked both eyes.
This was progress. He was in a pink room. A very pink room. On a pink bed. He closed his eyes, hoping the pinkness was a product of the (not- quite) hangover. When he opened his eyes again, the pink was still there. He looked around blearily, his thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind, unable to grasp where he was or why.
The door opened. Iolaus and Aphrodite stepped in. Aphrodite looked pale and sad, lacking her usual glow. Iolaus seemed to have aged, there were deep lines around his eyes and mouth. Why did they both look so sad? Why couldn't he remember anything?
He reached out, his arm moving clumsily, falling to the pink coverlet. He looked at it. He wasn't wearing his gauntlets. Where were his gauntlets? He moved his arm, twisting it, watching it flop like a boneless tentacle, feeling detached.
Then he saw the wounds. The wounds on his arms. And he remembered. And Hercules ran for that safe corner of his mind, trying to hide where it was safe and warm and nothing could hurt him, trying to ignore the bad things lurking in the shadows, the bad things he was afraid would consume him, destroy him, possess him.
Hercules fell back onto the bed, eyes closed, and slept again, as Iolaus and Aphrodite took up positions on either side of the demigod, guarding him.
Corinth
Iphicles lazed on the beach, his hunger sated by a filling meal of sandshark. Sandsharks, he had discovered, had extremely short memories. Either that or they were incredibly stupid. They had fallen for the same trick he had used before. All he had to do was stand, tapping one claw in the sand, and they came running as if someone had yelled 'chow time'. He had eaten three, then flown to the beach to rest. He was enjoying listening to the sound of the waves breaking on the shore. With his new senses he could hear, see, and experience so much more than as a human.
He smelled the salt in the air, saw colors he had never seen before. The waves sounded musical to his ears, and he could hear the songs of dolphin schools swimming out at sea, the melody somewhat distorted by the waves. He sighed, wriggling, enjoying the sensation of sand scratching his scales.
Closing his eyes, Iphicles drifted off for a moment. He felt as if he were dreaming, and he was afraid he would wake up, alone, in his cold, stark bed chamber. Perhaps he really had lost his mind, maybe that was it. Nothing this good ever happened to him, magic and adventure seemed to be reserved for his brother.
Hercules. Iphicles rolled onto his back, wriggling again, his wings tucked at his side and all four legs in the air. He supposed he looked faintly ridiculous, but right now he didn't care. So, according to Aphrodite, Ares and Hercules had been under a love spell. This stirred emotions that he wasn't sure he wanted to examine.
The hatred toward his brother had returned so easily, he wasn't sure he would be able to banish it. He wasn't sure he *wanted* to banish it. After all, it was just a love spell. How bad could it have been? Hercules still should have helped, somehow. If Hercules had helped and kept his promise, Braxis would be flying free now, Iphicles was sure of it. Besides that, the hatred and resentment were so familiar they were almost comforting. He had felt most alive the past few months when he was thinking of his brother, planning revenge.
Then there was Ares. The god of war didn't love his brother. Iphicles' heart skipped a beat, hope soaring, until the king roughly pushed it back down inside of himself. Just because Ares was available, that didn't mean he'd pay any attention to him. The god was probably humiliated, given his public display of affection with Hercules. Iphicles shuddered. He knew *he* would have been mortified if he'd acted like such a sap in public. Ares probably wouldn't want anything to do with anyone who would remind him of that incident.
His mind wandered back, remembering. The way Ares had thrown his head back, mouth open and cheeks flushed, as their mutual brother had sucked him off. He remembered the scent, the taste of the god's arousal, the fire in his eyes. Iphicles could have sworn that fire was directed at him. No. He refused to think about this any more. He was a dragon. Dragons didn't want company, didn't need anyone. Dragons were alone because they enjoyed it.
The image of the god, naked, intruded again, and the king pushed it away again. He wouldn't think about how it felt to be held, to touch another human. He wouldn't remember the sensation of skin on skin, the taste of sweat, the warmth of a body held close. That was for humans, not dragons. He was a dragon. He was. He didn't need to be held, he didn't want to share this new world with someone else. He was a dragon, and he was going to forget the past and live only for today. It was a new world and a new life, and he was going to let go of his old life, his old existence, and move forward.
Iphicles thought, reviewing the incident with the cow. He felt somewhat better now, and could examine his actions dispassionately. Okay, so he had been unable to eat the cow, and had felt guilty. That didn't make him a failure as a dragon, it just meant that he had a conscience. He could live with that. There was plenty of game he could eat, it wasn't like he *needed* to eat cows. Besides which, he had to admit, it had been rather juvenile of him to decide to eat a cow just to prove he was a dragon. He *was* a dragon. He would just be a friendly dragon, that was all.
His mind made up, he wriggled some more. It was almost as good as having his eye-ridges scratched. This was exactly what he needed: peace. A chance to relax and step back and be someone other than the ever-responsible King of Corinth. For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, his mind felt clear and sharp, the gray mist of depression that had been weighing upon him was lifted.
Iphicles stretched. Stretching felt incredible in this new body, with its musculature and strength. He stood on all fours, arching his back and reaching with his front legs, claws spread and digging into the sand. Then he spread his wings, hearing the crisp snap as they unfurled, reaching straight up with them, the wind and rain tickling the sensitive skin.
One last yawn set some brush on fire, and with a few downward strokes of his wings, he was airborne again. Remembering how much he had previously enjoyed swimming, Iphicles turned in mid-air, gaining speed as he dove under the water, nearly gasping as the water surrounded him, reaching under his scales to caress the tender skin. Dragons, he was finding, were very sensual creatures. It seemed that everything felt good.
He used his long tail for locomotion, lashing it to drive himself forward underwater. It was almost like flying! He laughed as he saw several schools of fish flee in panic, imaging what he must look like. Beating his wings, he found he could force himself upward with greater speed. He broke from the water, wings still beating, flying upward as he spun in circles, the cold air invigorating him.
Once airborne, the question arose - where to go? Iphicles thought as he flew, wondering where he should make his new home. He was hesitant to leave Corinth. Maybe he wasn't the king, but he still felt somehow responsible for the kingdom. Jason had entrusted it to him. But even if he couldn't rule, he could still help. Maybe he could be an unofficial guardian of sorts. Other kingdoms would hesitate to attack if they knew a large dragon protected Corinth.
He nodded to himself, flying toward the mountains. There were caves in the mountains; he could make a home there, and act as a lookout. He wouldn't be letting Jason down, not really. He'd just be doing his duty in a slightly different manner than Jason had hoped.
Cyprus
Aphrodite sat on the bed next to Hercules, elbows resting on her pulled- up knees, idly smoothing his hair back, tucking it behind his ear. Her smooth brow was furrowed as she looked down at the sleeping demigod, her teeth unconsciously biting her pink lower lip.
Iolaus had fallen asleep next to Hercules, his arm protectively encircling his lover. The goddess could see the lines etched around his eyes and mouth, the strain showing in his face, even his posture. He stirred, mouth tightening, as he fought a dream-monster in his head. Even asleep, he couldn't escape.
Hephaestus entered the room, remarkably quietly for someone his size, and walked to Aphrodite, sitting beside her and covering her small hands with his own. He smelled of sweat and soot, and Aphrodite leaned her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling small and lost. He smoothed the hair back from her brow, gently kissing the top of her head, and she felt herself relax, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
She tilted her head, looking at her husband, and gently kissed him on the tip of his nose before returning to her previous position. Hephaestus tightened his arms protectively around his wife, rocking her gently.
"I don't know what to do." Aphrodite's voice was low and muffled, trembling. "I don't know how to fix this." She looked up at her husband again, her eyes pleading. "You're good at fixing things." It was almost a question, but the God of the Forge shook his head.
"I can fix things, but not people." He sighed. "People are a lot harder to fix."
They sat in silence, watching the two men on the bed. Long moments passed before Iolaus twitched, yawning and stretching, looking around in confusion before memory returned to him. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes as he looked down at Hercules, then over at the two gods.
"How long was I asleep?"
Aphrodite managed a smile. She wanted to appear strong, even if she wasn't. "Not nearly long enough."
The hunter didn't smile, his eyes shadowed as he looked at his lover. His voice was low and seemed to echo. "What're we gonna do?"
They were all surprised when Hercules replied. He opened his blue eyes, and they were as flat as his voice. "Kill me."
Corinth
Ares stood in the shadow of the great castle's outer wall, concentrating. He extended his senses, searching again for the dragon- king. He had found something that seemed to have characteristics of both human and dragon, but discarded the trace. It had felt happy, and if there was one thing Ares knew about Iphicles, it was that he wasn't the happy type. The king veered madly between angry, depressed, paranoid and sullen. Happiness didn't appear to be part of his emotional repertoire.
Ares' black-booted foot tapped impatiently as he scanned again. No Iphicles. The damn fool wouldn't have killed himself, would he? The god growled at the thought of being robbed yet again of his opportunity to kill. He found it again, that bundle of happiness that seemed to be both human and dragon. It seemed puzzled now. Ares shook his head, irritated. He was going to find this creature and kill it, as a matter of principle. He didn't like happy creatures. They annoyed him.
Following the trace, Ares found himself in the mountains, in a large clearing in front of a cave. There was an untidy pile of wood in front of the cave mouth, as well as an extremely puzzled looking bronze dragon. Iphicles. Ares grinned wolfishly. This was working out well. He approached the dragon, striding forward confidently, hands clenched into fists.
"How the fuck do you make a nest?" Iphicles' voice rumbled like thunder. Querulous thunder. Ares stopped, momentarily confused, as the dragon continued. "I know wood's involved, and bones and soft stuff like leaves, but how in Tartarus am I supposed to put it all together? All I can make is stacks, and I really don't think that's right." The dragon continued to stare antagonistically at the untidy mound, as if hoping it would be intimidated into making itself into a nest. "I wonder if I could just get a really big bed."
The god of war shook his head, roughly shoving down the urge to laugh. He was here to kill the damn king, not to build nests. He remembered his humiliation, remembered that Iphicles had been a witness, and his rage broke over him, a red wave of anger and fury. Again, his eyes glowed, his power sending sparks shooting from his boots as he strode toward the dragon.
When Ares spoke, his voice was low and thunderous, trembling with suppressed rage. "I'm here to kill you." He waited for the king to try to escape, to beg for his life, but the dragon merely blinked his large amber eyes a few times before returning his attention to the nascent nest.
The sparks grew more intense as Ares clenched his teeth. "I said I'm here to kill you."
Iphicles turned his massive head and again regarded the god. "I heard you the first time." His tone was uninterested, infuriating Ares further. "I was just wondering how you planned to go about doing it."
The god stepped forward, growling, unsheathing his sword, brandishing it with both hands. "Like this." He swung the sword in an efficient arc that should have severed the dragon's head from his body.
Should have, except that Iphicles lashed out with his serpentine tail, hitting Ares solidly in the back of his calves, sending the god to his knees. Dropping his sword, the god desperately reached out to catch himself with his hands before his face smashed into the dirt. Shaking his head to clear it, the god realized the king had acclimatised quickly to his new body and wouldn't be easy prey. Good.
When he looked up, Ares saw the dragon's amused face. "You know, you should've showed up yesterday. Yesterday I would have let you kill me and probably thanked you for it. But today, I'm feeling better."
The god snarled, retrieving his sword and standing, again facing his foe. "Too bad." He could swear the damn worm shrugged at him, and he thrust again at the infuriating beast. This time Iphicles parried with a razor-sharp claw, and Ares was forced to pull his sword back before the claw cut his hand off.
This was *not* what Ares had planned. He advanced again, only to be driven back by a jet of fire from the dragon, whose tail was beginning to lash in a highly agitated fashion. The dragon's amber eyes were taking on rather a predatory glow of their own, one that matched Ares'. Despite his irritation at the beast, the god grinned. He loved a good fight.
The god of war stood back, assessing his opponent. Iphicles watched him warily, the large cat-like eyes following the god's every movement. Dashing forward, Ares threw himself at the dragon, tucking his legs under and rolling as he slashed upwards at the vulnerable front leg. He felt some resistance as his sword pierced the scaly armor and tender flesh behind the knee and smiled. First blood.
Iphicles howled in pain as Ares rolled past him, quickly jumping to his feet and facing the dragon. "Fuck! That hurt!" The dragon turned on the god, roaring in anger, the sound reverberating through the mountains, causing the ground to tremble slightly. Lowering his head and baring his mighty fangs, Iphicles advanced on Ares, who felt a momentary twinge of...fear? No, that wasn't it. He was, after all, a god.
But he still backed away; waiting for a counter-attack that didn't materialize. Ares decided to press his advantage and dove for the wounded leg, hoping to disable the creature. This time, however, Iphicles was ready for him, and Ares was in mid-dive when Iphicles twisted so that the blood from the open wound fountained onto his attacker, burning and eating at exposed flesh.
The god rolled on the ground, cursing. Fuck. Acidic blood, he should have known. Some of the acid was caught between his vest and skin, so he tore off the leather vest, throwing it far away, stepping back and examining the damage. Several small burns, a few open sores, but no major injuries.
Ares briefly considered just conjuring a fireball and frying the damn worm where it stood, but he discarded the idea. He was actually enjoying the fight, and it had been quite some time since he had faced a worthy opponent, one that would fight instead of running away or begging for their life. At the very least, he'd make sure the king died well.
Cyprus
Iolaus closed his eyes, trying to draw strength from reserves deep within himself. Reserves that were rapidly dwindling. Looking at Aphrodite and Hephaestus, he could see his own resignation mirrored in the goddess' eyes, shock and horror in the god's.
"Kill me." Hercules repeated his request, voice still flat.
Iolaus shook his head. "Would you just lay off the dying thing? We're not gonna kill you, we're not gonna let you kill yourself, so would you *please* try to cope?" His voice rose in exasperation as he ran his hand through his untidy hair, noticing for the first time that it was filthy.
Hercules was staring, his eyes still empty. He didn't reply.
Iolaus was suddenly furious. He stared at his lover, willing all of his love and anger to show as he stood, pacing, trying to find the right words, trying to use the anger blazing within him.
Whirling, he found himself leaning over the bed, staring into the demigod's face, feeling Hercules' breath on his cheek. "You fucking selfish piece of shit." His voice sounded different, hoarse and guttural. He was surprised to feel his hands trembling and he clenched them repeatedly, trying to control the shaking, moving away from the bed and pacing again, stalking like a caged animal.
"You act like this is all about you, but you know what? It isn't! Look around you. You're not just drowning yourself here, you're pulling all of us down with you. Is that what you want?" He thought he saw a flicker of guilt in the blue eyes and pressed on, ignoring the shocked looks from Aphrodite and Hephaestus.
"Do you hate us all so much you'd do this to us? Do you?" He lunged toward the bed, nose to nose with his lover. "You told me how you felt the first time I died, remember that?" He could hear his own voice trembling with fury, and it was a relief to finally unleash the emotion. "What do you think you're doing to me here? You're doing the same damn thing, but the difference is you're doing it on purpose! And you're making sure I can't help you, so I'll have to live with the guilt for the rest of my life. Is that what you want?" He was almost yelling, but it felt so good to let all of the anger out.
Hercules struggled to sit, leaning back on his elbows, an expression of incredulity on his face. "No, of course not..."
"Then why are you doing this?" Iolaus finally felt somewhat in control of the situation, and it felt good. From the corner of his eye, he saw Aphrodite surreptitiously giving him a thumbs-up gesture and he smiled.
"I'm trying to protect you, dammit!" Hercules' words sounded angry, but Iolaus could hear the confusion in his voice.
"Protect me. How the fuck will your dying protect me?"
The demigod opened his mouth a few times, glancing uneasily at Aphrodite and Hephaestus. The gods looked at each other and stood, wordlessly leaving the room, Aphrodite nodding to Iolaus as she closed the door behind her.
Once they were alone, Hercules visibly relaxed, reaching for Iolaus' hand. The hunter pulled away, afraid of losing himself in his lover's pain. He had to stay angry if he wanted to help Hercules.
"So, talk."
Hercules clasped his hands, looking down at the bed. "I don't want to hurt you." The broken tone in his voice made Iolaus want to hold and comfort his lover, but he refused to give in to the impulse. He had to keep pushing, had to make Hercules understand, and if that meant denying him comfort, then so be it.
"You're hurting me now." Iolaus looked directly at Hercules, who avoided returning his gaze.
"I... I don't want to become the Sovereign." A shudder rippled through the demigod's body as he spoke the name. "I don't want to enjoy hurting people, hurting you."
Iolaus crossed his arms over his chest, still trying to catch the demigod's eyes. "Right, I forgot. Suddenly, after years of being a hero, you're going to chuck it all and become evil incarnate. Would you listen to yourself? Do you have any idea how fucking ridiculous that sounds?"
Hercules sat up straighter, anger flaring is his eyes. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't know what it's like, knowing there's this...monster inside you."
Rolling his eyes, Iolaus began to laugh. "Would you drop the melodrama? Herc, everyone has a dark side. You, me, Aphrodite. Look at Xena. Now there is someone with a dark side, and you know what? She fights it and she lives with it. How's that for a radical idea?"
The hunter noticed Hercules' hands were clenching, but he felt euphoric, triumphant. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he was starting to get through. When he spoke, Hercules' voice trembled with suppressed anger. "That's different."
"Different how?" Iolaus moved closer, sitting on the bed. "Different because we don't feel sorry for ourselves? Different cause we don't whine about it, we just live with it? Is that it? Is it different because we're not cowards?"
Hercules finally met his eyes, and Iolaus saw the glow of resentment. "That's not it." He visibly struggled for control. "None of you could become what that the Sovereign was."
"Xena could, and she knows it." Iolaus was implacable.
Hercules didn't answer, merely returned to regarding the pink coverlet with his intense gaze. When he finally spoke, his voice was muffled. "I liked it."
"Liked what?" Were they finally reaching the root of the problem?
"I liked what he made me. I liked hurting Ares." When he raised his head, Iolaus saw raw anguish in his lover's eyes. "I loved the power, Iolaus. I loved being able to dominate him, the feeling of control and freedom. I loved it. It felt right."
Iolaus shivered at the desolation in his lover's voice. Reaching out, he took the demigod's hand and squeezed it, but Hercules didn't seem to notice. "That's what's wrong. I want it. I want the power, the control, all of it. But I don't want to want it, and I can't stop myself. And someday, I might just reach out and take it, unless I can stop myself now, before it's too late."
Iolaus squeezed Hercules' hand tighter, unable to reply.
Corinth
Roaring, Iphicles met another charge from the god of war with his claws and tail. Ares' blow glanced off scales, not penetrating, not drawing blood, as the serpentine tail slammed into his back, increasing his forward momentum and throwing him headfirst into the untidy stack of wood.
Iphicles bristled. He finally got something he wanted, and what happened? He had to deal with a homicidal maniac. It was just so fucking typical. He was sure this was Hercules' fault, somehow. People with normal siblings didn't have to put up with this kind of shit. He lashed his tail in anger, accidentally uprooting a tree.
Ares rose to his feet, shaking wood chips off his body, snarling, throwing himself forward. Iphicles inhaled, then blew a steady stream of fire at the god, forcing him to retreat back to the wood pile. Ares shifted his sword from his right hand to his left, then back again, always in motion. He rested on the balls of his feet, bouncing slightly, maintaining eye contact with his opponent, trying to anticipate the dragon's next move.
Iphicles snorted, sulphurous steam rising from his nostrils as he stared at the god. They had been fighting for hours, or so it seemed. Both had been injured, but not critically. He supposed he should be grateful the god didn't just fry his ass with one of his famous fire balls, but this was getting tiring. The outcome was inevitable. Ares was a god, and Iphicles was tired of being a plaything for the gods.
He growled, low in his belly, and the ground trembled. Ares continued to stare, a blatant challenge, hoping to provoke a reaction, hoping to unnerve him. It wasn't going to work; Iphicles had used the same tactic himself in his mercenary days. He returned the stare, his amber eyes unblinking, deliberately provoking the god.
Of course, Iphicles thought, it would be nice if Ares would have the decency to put his vest back on. He stared at the god, noticing yet again the sculpted torso, glistening with a sheen of sweat, the smoothly muscled arms, the aura of power. He smelled the rage, and the blazing joy of combat. It was quite distracting. He kept remembering the fire in the war god's eyes, the flush on his cheeks when he came in their brother's mouth... No. He shook his head, breaking eye contact. He would not think about that. Not now.
Grinning maniacally, Ares threw himself forward in yet another attack. He never seemed to give up. Iphicles gauged the angle of the attack and sidestepped, but Ares changed direction and struck again at the already-injured front leg. Rolling forward, he rose gracefully to his feet, a demonic smile of triumph on his face.
Fuck fuck and fuck. Iphicles backed up, watching the war god, as he tried to determine the extent of his latest injury. He flexed the wounded leg, wincing at the sharp, lancing pain. This wasn't good. Some dim instinct, whether human or dragon he didn't know, prompted him to lick the wound. He hoped acidic blood wouldn't hurt him.
Iphicles crouched, one eye on Ares, as he gently licked his wound, his forked tongue curling around the injured leg, one tip lightly probing the gash in his flesh. The taste was sharp, the sensation of tongue on scales intriguing. The pain lessened, but he continued to lick, alternating long, languid strokes with short, feather-light laps, lost in the unique experience, completely forgetting the world around him.
A new scent distracted him, and he looked up, looked at Ares. The god was watching, apparently mesmerized, the tip of his tongue caressing his full lips as his dark eyes, pupils dilated, followed Iphicles' tongue. The king smiled to himself. Apparently he was beginning to distract Ares. This might just work to his advantage.
Carefully hiding his smile, Iphicles returned his attention to his wounded leg, trying to appear ignorant of the effect he was having on his opponent. He languorously stroked the wound with his tongue, starting at the base of the gash and following it to the top. He repeated this several times, gradually increasing the speed of his strokes. Then, he probed the wound again, this time letting the tip of his forked tongue dip inside the ragged flesh, penetrating it, vibrating and stroking, still using a slow, deliberate rhythm, increasing the tempo over time.
He glanced at Ares, who was still watching, his breathing slightly ragged. Oh yeah. This had potential.
Cyprus
Aphrodite sat on a pink couch, knees pulled to her chin, crying, listening to the rain fall. The sound was soft and rhythmic, somehow soothing, and she sighed, wondering yet again if there would be a happy ending. Aphrodite liked happy endings. They made her feel all tingly inside. She wasn't sure anymore, wasn't sure of anything. She was beginning to feel as if the Fates were weaving a new tapestry, one that captured gods as well as mortals, and she was helpless to change the pattern. She felt the raw pain still radiating from Hercules, the anguish from Iolaus, the miasma of vulnerability and desolation that seemed to permeate her temple.
Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead on her knees, silently praying to the Fates to spare those she cared about, wondering if this was how mortals existed, knowing they were nothing more than pawns to larger, uncaring forces. She didn't like it. She didn't like feeling as if she was a piece of flotsam, bobbing in a storm, unable to change her course, unable to see her destination.
There was a flash of light, perceived even behind closed eyelids, and the scent of smoke, of sweat, the solid presence of Hephaestus, her anchor. His strong arms encircled her, holding her close, and she leaned against him, letting him take some of her pain. His fingers smoothed hair back from her forehead, stroking her cheek, and she raised her head and looked at him.
"Things any better?" He was whispering, concern etched plainly on his face, a dim hope shining in his eyes.
"I don't know." She whispered back, somehow afraid of breaking the silence, the cocoon it formed around them. "They're still in there, but..." She shook her head, a curl dropping into her left eye, and smiled a little as Hephaestus brushed it back. "I'm not getting very good vibrations from them."
He pulled her close, resting her head against his collarbone as he continued to stroke her hair, her face, her arms. She sighed, snuggling closer, pressing a kiss into the palm of his hand, ignoring the trace of soot left above her upper lip.
"What about Ares?" Aphrodite looked up again, seeing concern in her husband's eyes. She reached out with her senses, following trails of anger and pain, until she reached the god of war. She stopped, assessing the situation, before withdrawing and opening her eyes.
"I think maybe he's gonna be okay." She smiled, just a little, refusing to let herself hope that there might be a happy ending.
Hephaestus nodded. "Good." He ruffled her hair, smiling, tilting her face up for a kiss. "My little brother's a pain sometimes, but I don't want anything to happen to him."
Aphrodite smiled in reply. "He hates it when you call him that."
"I know." He gently rubbed the tips of their noses together, leaving a smudge on hers. They sat together in a companionable silence, lost in each others' eyes, gently touching and kissing, when they were interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing. Looking up, Aphrodite saw Iolaus standing in front of them, holding his hands together, looking at the ground, bouncing slightly.
Her eyebrows drawn together in concern, Aphrodite reluctantly uncurled herself from the safe harbor of Hephaestos' embrace, stretching elegantly as she looked at the hunter. Although he looked pale and tired, she though she saw something in his eyes, a spark that had been absent and sorely missed of late.
"So, how'd it go, Sweet Cheeks?" She smiled, teasing, the familiar nickname rolling off her tongue.
"We have an idea." She whirled, facing the voice behind her. She saw Hercules, leaning against a column, looking at the ground, his face half-hidden in the shadows. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes for only a fraction of a second before dropping them to the ground. But in that brief glance, in the new lines etched around his mouth and in his forehead, she saw determination, and a flash of his familiar strength.
"What is it?" She held her breath, hope fluttering within her as he slowly walked out of the shadows, head still down, standing beside Iolaus, taking his lover's hand and holding it like a lifeline.
Hercules looked up, meeting her eyes. "Make me forget. Make me forget all of it. If I forget it, I can... control it."
Corinth
Ares balanced on the balls of his heels, watching his opponent, a wild and primitive joy surging through him like a wave of fire through his veins. He could hear his heartbeat echo in his head, for once free of the damnable chorus that had been haunting him for weeks. He shifted his sword from one hand to the other, feeling the warm weight tug at his arms, the metal an extension of his body. He felt energy radiating from himself, and was unable to suppress a grin. He loved fighting; it made him feel alive, powerful, untouchable.
Fighting mortals was usually a waste of time - they tended to either scream and run away or beg for their lives. Those that had the temerity to stand against him rarely lasted more than a few minutes, even when he restrained himself with self-imposed rules, such as fighting one-handed, or not using fireballs. Hercules and Xena were among the only decent opponents he had found for decades. Now, it appeared, he had another to add to his list.
As a dragon, Iphicles was a worthy foe. He had the intelligence and experience of a trained soldier combined with a body designed for killing. For the first time in several months, Ares was enjoying himself. Combat with the dragon was exhilarating; burning off the fugue which had swallowed him of late, leaving him feeling somehow cleansed and alive.
The god examined his opponent critically. He was an impressive creature, there was no doubt about that. Bronze scales shading to copper and amber nearly glowed, covering a body made up of smooth muscle. Claws gleamed razor-sharp; the large amber eyes were lit from within by some unknown fire. A large mouth full of teeth, each as large and sharp as a dagger, and sleek wings completed the picture. Even wounded, the dragon was magnificent.
The dragon glanced warily at him, examining the tear in his foreleg. Ares stood back, watching, not willing to take advantage of this brief lull in the combat. It was somehow important that the fight be fair and honorable. He didn't want to use subterfuge or his powers to destroy his opponent. It just felt wrong; it would belittle the battle.
And so Ares stood still, waiting for the worm to make the next move. He watched as the reptilian head descended, sniffing the wound, making loud snuffling noises. After a brief moment, the dragon's great forked tongue snaked out, wrapping sinuously around the foreleg, stroking the gash from bottom to top, one pointed end gently probing within the torn skin.
The god of war observed, mesmerised, as the dragon seemed to forget the world around him, continuing to stroke and probe, almost as if he were touching a lover. Ares swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, as he remembered watching the dragon making love to their brother with that tongue. Remembered the sensations as he had been licked, the hot, wet, smooth flesh on his skin.
As Ares watched, the dragon continued to lick and probe, the motions suddenly delicate and languid, almost deliberate. The god briefly closed his eyes, wondering how the tongue felt against the scales and torn flesh, almost wishing it were his own flesh being probed and stroked. Shaking his head, he opened his eyes. This wasn't a path he wanted to take. It had obviously been way too long since he'd been laid, thanks yet again to the God of Love.
Trying to control his breathing, Ares continued to regard the dragon, which appeared to be lost in the sensation of tongue on skin. The god shivered, wondering if all dragons were such sensualists, or if it was merely Iphicles himself. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, despite the fact that his leathers were suddenly too tight. He couldn't believe a dragon, of all things was turning him on.
Of course, this dragon was incredibly beautiful, not to mention a worthy adversary. It would be a waste to just kill him, after all. Maybe they could declare a temporary truce of some sort. The creature was injured, and it wouldn't be fair to take advantage of that. The rather more rational part of Ares' mind pointed out that they had been fighting, and injuries were a natural result of fighting, but the god told the rational voice in his head to take a flying leap.
While he was arguing with himself, Iphicles had finally ceased licking himself, a fact that Ares only noticed when he looked up into a pair of glowing amber eyes. The dragon had moved closer, and appeared to be grinning at him. The god stepped backward, only to find himself standing with his back against a tree, his emotions still veering wildly between wanting to fight and wanting to fuck.
Iphicles stepped closer, and Ares felt hot breath against his skin. As the dragon opened his mouth, the god raised his sword, prepared to defend himself, but was again thrown off balance as the reptilian tongue darted out, licking his chest. It was smooth, but had a slightly rough texture, as if small grains of sand were dropped at irregular intervals onto a piece of glass. It was hot and moist, but not unpleasantly so. And it vibrated, flicking repeatedly at his nipples like a pair of tiny whips, rapidly striking him, causing pleasure that teetered on the edge of pain.
Then he stopped. Ares nearly growled in frustration, but he wasn't willing to give Iphicles the satisfaction. Looking again into the amber eyes, he found himself being drawn in by the fire inside, somehow losing himself, but not quite understanding how or why.
"How about a truce?" Iphicles' voice was low and rough, pitched so that the ground under their feet rumbled, but the sound itself was quiet. "I can think of things I'd rather be doing than fighting. How about you?" He raised one eye ridge in a gesture that looked eerily human.
The god inhaled sharply. His first instinct was to agree, but part of him held back. What if it was a trap? The dragon could bite him in half easily, and while he would be able to recover from the damage, it wouldn't be pleasant. Iphicles moved closer, and the god could feel warm air on his face, a sharp counterpoint to the cold breeze blowing in the mountains.
"I remember you watching me and Herc. You got off on it." Iphicles' voice was teasing, bringing back memories, making the god gasp. "You want to know how it felt, don't you?" The dragon's breath was slightly sulphurous, but not unpleasant, and when he exhaled again, Ares' entire body was wrapped in tendrils of warmth. He closed his eyes, felt himself relaxing into the heat, aware that he had already agreed without ever deciding to do so.
The god opened his eyes slowly, nodding fractionally to the dragon, which stepped even closer, the reptilian nose gently moving against his chest. The scales were sharp, but didn't cut. It was like having the edges of several knives run over his chest, and the knowledge that blood could be drawn with just the slightest pressure excited Ares, prompting him to move forward and lean into the caress, welcoming the slight bite as two of the scales pierced his skin, leaving light ruby welts in their wake.
Iphicles' tongue darted out again, flicking at the god's nipples, stinging, leaving small red scratches, making his knees go weak. Suddenly Ares was grateful for the tree behind him, and he leaned back, letting it support his weight. Iphicles snorted, a cloud of sulfur enveloping them.
"You know, this would be easier if you didn't have any clothes on."
Ares had to agree. Making his clothes disappear with a thought, the god stood naked before the dragon, his muscles tense with a combination of anticipation and apprehension. Iphicles' eyes slowly wandered up and down the god's body, quickly followed by his tongue. The warm, wet, slightly rough texture scraped lightly, leaving trails of damp heat over his skin. The dragon stroked Ares' chest; licking from his stomach to the base of his neck, apparently in no hurry, leaving the god shivering from the sensation coupled with the cold wind blowing against his damp skin.
Iphicles purred, a low rumbling sound from deep within his belly that made the ground tremble slightly, and his tongue began to vibrate, sending waves of pleasure through the god. He wanted more than licking, he wanted to feel the wet heat wrapped around his cock, squeezing him until he screamed, he wanted to feel it inside of his body, filling him, the rough texture scraping, giving pain as well as delight. He spread his legs wider, the back of his head striking the tree trunk, the coarse bark grating his scalp as he moaned.
Iphicles stopped licking, reaching forward with his front right leg as Ares tensed, wondering if this was an attack, if the dragon had merely been toying with its prey. His eyes followed the motion, watching as the razor-like talon approached, slowly and deliberately, the tip touching his skin, barely piercing, pulling down in a diagonal from his shoulder to the opposite hip. Blood flowed, but it was merely a flesh wound, and Ares relaxed somewhat as Iphicles' tongue snaked toward him, gently licking and probing. The rough texture irritated the wound, beginning to send delicate frissons of ecstasy through the god.
Ares wished that Iphicles was in his human form; he didn't want to just take this maddening mixture of pleasure and pain, he wanted to reciprocate. He wanted to bite and suck, to hit and cut, to feel the king's flesh, to pound into his body. But there was little he could do while the king was a dragon; he didn't even know what was an erogenous zone for the damn creature. Leaning back, bracing himself against the tree, he vowed to take the king while he was in his human form. Later.
"Are you always such a tease?" Ares' voice trembled, and Iphicles chuckled in response, small flames emerging from his mouth, close enough to singe the god, but not strong enough to hurt.
"You want more?" The dragon's voice was low and seductive, still rumbling and powerful. His tongue wrapped itself loosely around the god's hard cock, pulling for a brief instant, long enough to leave Ares gasping for more, then unwound itself and returned to stroking his chest.
The god replied with an affirmative grunt, spreading his legs further and bending his knees, bracing himself against the tree, feeling the bark gouge the flesh of his back, trying to stay upright. Looking into Iphicles' eyes, the flame he saw there drew him in, leaving him dizzy and bewildered. He wanted to kiss the dragon, but it was physically impossible. He wanted to hold the king, run his hands over the mortal's flesh, but that was also not an option.
He stopped thinking and wishing when Iphicles wrapped his tongue around his cock again, this time squeezing hard and pulling, the tongue vibrating against his entire length, the rough texture scraping slightly, the sensation almost painful but not quite so. Ares' breath grew more ragged, stars appearing in front of his eyes at the unique stimulation. His knees buckled, and the dazed god droped to the ground, whimpering as the tongue withdrew, desperate for it to return. Ares recoiled as he landed on cold, wet leaves, a sharp contrast the the heat emanating from the dragon. Ignoring the sensation, he laid back, spreading his legs, knees bent in invitation, needing the pleasure and pain.
Iphicles approached and again wrapped his tongue around the god's cock, increasing the tempo of the vibrations. Ares groaned, overwhelmed, as he felt one tip of the forked tongue caressing his scrotum, lightly scraping and weighing, rubbing and teasing. The tongue moved lower, between his cheeks, fluttering insistently against the entrance to his body, pressing slightly, teasing him, drawing more moans and gasps from the god.
Ares was drenched in sweat, the cold air sensitizing his skin further, making him shiver as much from the chill as from passion. Iphicles continued to tease, one tip of the forked tongue moving slowly and gently over the round head of his cock, stroking and rubbing in slow circles, refusing to move faster, despite Ares' repeated thrusting of his hips. The other tip teased at the entrance to his body, pushing in shallowly, barely penetrating, then pulling back out, then barely in again. The god pushed back, trying to impale himself, but Iphicles refused to allow him, slowing even further when Ares tried to take control.
The god growled in frustration, further provoked when he heard a deep chuckle from the dragon. He tossed his head from side to side, seeking some form of relief as the pressure inside him built with agonizing slowness, and Iphicles continued his maddening teasing. Ares wanted release, he wanted the dragon to move, fast and hard, but he refused to ask for it. He wouldn't show weakness, he would merely bide his time, waiting until he had a chance to pay Iphicles back for this delicious torture.
Iphicles tightened his grip on Ares' cock, suddenly stroking faster as the tip thrust deep into the god's body, striking that spot deep within him and then vibrating against it, sending waves of pleasure crashing through his lover. Screaming, Ares came, the world suddenly black except for the stars dancing in front of his eyes.
Cyprus
Iolaus sprawled across a wide pink sofa, contemplating the domed ceiling above him as golden sparkles and pulsing pink hearts occasionally drifted downward, floating on air currents, coming to rest on the pink marble floor before fading to nothingness. He was sure they were a perfect metaphor, but he was too tired to figure out exactly what they were a metaphor for.
He squirmed uncomfortably on the overly soft cushions, trying to force strained muscles to relax, trying to make his brain quit churning like a whirlpool. But he failed. Looking up, he could see Hercules and Aphrodite across the room, speaking animatedly, arms waving in the air. Hercules actually looked hopeful, while Aphrodite merely looked exasperated.
"They could keep arguing all night. 'Dite should be the Goddess of Arguments." Hephaestus' voice was pitched low, and Iolaus twisted his neck to try to look at the god, who lay on the floor, his head pillowed on his hands. "I think Herc's making progress, though."
Iolaus punched the back of the sofa in exasperation, feeling the soft stuffing absorb and cushion the blows as he tried in vain to get settled. He kicked at an armrest, but that merely earned him a glare from Aphrodite, so he quit.
"How the fuck are you supposed to get comfortable on these damn things?" The hunter craned his neck, feeling tired muscles protest as he addressed the God of the Forge.
A slow smile crept across the god's face. "They're not really designed for sleeping in." He winked at Iolaus, who inexplicably found himself blushing. "I just lie on the floor otherwise."
Seeing the wisdom of this advice, Iolaus pulled two cushions off the sofa and laid them on the warm marble floor, happily sinking into the softness, feeling the underlying rigidity supporting him, snuggling down in preparation for a good nap. He was beginning to drift off when he was rudely interrupted.
"Curly! Would you tell this big lunk I'm right?"
"She's right, Herc." The hunter mumbled, burrowing determinedly into his new bed. But try as he might, he couldn't quite shut out the rest of the world.
"See! I told you so!" Aphrodite's voice, triumphant.
"He's asleep! He doesn't even know what you said!" Hercules, sounding somewhat whiny.
"Can I help it if he knows I'm right, even when he's asleep?" Aphrodite again.
Footsteps, followed by shaking. "Iolaus, wake up." Great. Now Hephaestus was involved. He sat, blinking tiredly, ignoring the pull of the soft cushions below him, beckoning him to return to slumber.
Hercules, his face drawn, eyes shadowed, was standing, arms crossed across his chest, his lower lip protruding in what Iolaus recognized as a particularly bullheaded expression. Aphrodite, hands on her hips, glared up at him, looking as if she was contemplating slapping some sense into the demigod. Hephaestus sat to the side, observing, much like Iolaus.
"The problem is, he's too damn pig headed! Tell him, Iolaus!"
"Tell him what?" Iolaus had no clue what they were arguing about and wasn't quite sure he wanted to be the referee.
"I can't just erase his memories. He'll have a blank spot." Aphrodite's pink-shod foot was tapping against the marble floor, but no sound emerged.
"Okay. And what's wrong with a blank spot?" Iolaus asked, feeling it was a reasonable question.
"See? That's what I said!" Hercules agreed.
The Goddess of Love continued to glare. "Like, duh! He'll know something happened, then he'll keep digging until he finds out what it was, and the next thing you know we'll all be back here again."
Iolaus thought for a few moments. "You're right."
"See?" The goddess poked Hercules, her index finger striking his ribs repeatedly, stopping as she saw the haunted look return to the demigod's face. "Whoa, don't get bummed yet. I just said I couldn't just wipe your memory, I didn't say I couldn't help."
"What do you have in mind?" Iolaus asked, suddenly anxious, afraid that a setback would send his lover tumbling back into the dark pit that lurked inside his mind.
Aphrodite glided to the nearest sofa, sniffing as she retrieved the cushions from the floor and fluffed them, placing them in their intended positions before sitting and crossing her legs, face intent.
"Okay, what I'm thinking is, we need a cover story."
"Cover story?" Hephaestus said, settling himself on the floor again, looking up at his wife.
"Yeah. Like, we need to figure out something else for Herc to have been doing these past few months. That way we fill in his memory with something new, instead of leaving a blank spot that'll clue him in that something's wrong."
"Can you do that?" Hercules sounded uneasy. In fact, upon further reflection, Iolaus realized that the idea gave him the creeps. The gods could do anything they wanted, then erase the memories and replace them with...something else. Something that never happened. And there'd be no clue, no hint, no way of knowing what was real and what was manufactured by the whims of the gods. No, he really didn't want to dwell on that one.
Aphrodite tapped her finger against her pursed pink lips. "It's hard, especially filling in the details. But we can do it."
"Maybe if there was a reason for him not to remember details?" Hephaestus spoke up hopefully. "Maybe a head injury or an illness."
Clapping her hands, the Goddess of Love leaned forward and kissed her husband. "Great idea! Okay, we can say he was rescuing someone, maybe an entire village, and a princess too, and he fell and hit his head... No, no, wait - he was attacked by a monster and fought and killed it, but with its dying blow it hit him on the head and he spent the past few months drifting in and out." Aphrodite finished in a rush, wiggling in excitement.
Hercules smiled wryly. "How about I slipped and fell and hit my head and got some sort of infection?"
Aphrodite sighed her best long-suffering sigh, rolling her eyes. "Fine. No problem. Just cause I wanted to make it interesting..."
"But your story's *too* interesting." Iolaus spoke softly, trying not to hurt her feelings. "He'd remember more details about it, and there'd be lots more people involved."
"Besides," Hephaestus interrupted, "with Herc's version, we just need to get a healer to play along, not an entire village and various monsters."
"Fine." Aphrodite leaned back, arms crossed defensively, pouting. "See if I try to be helpful again."
They sat in silence, until Aphrodite's face lit with a smile as she leaned forward. "This is so gonna work! I can't believe we're gonna pull it off! I *love* happy endings!" She clapped, standing and twirling. "We just need to take care of a few details, then we can start!"
"What kind of details?" Hercules sounded wary.
"Mainly there's witnesses. We need to make sure that if you don't remember what happened, no one else will. Like Auto and Cupie. I'll talk to Cupie, have him erase all of Autolycus' memories about what happened."
Hercules stared, his brow furrowed. "I don't know. It's one thing to take away my memories because I asked you to, but to take his without his knowledge? That's not right."
Sighing, Aphrodite threw her hands in the air. "It's not that big of a deal, Herc! We'll have him remember lots and lots of great sex or something! He'll love it!"
"But it's wrong."
"Okay. Be that way." Aphrodite's foot was tapping again. "We'll just tell Cupid to tell him to pretend it never happened, all right? Will that make you happy?" She sounded exasperated.
Hercules smiled. "Yes, it will. It's wrong to just mess with people's minds."
Aphrodite rolled her eyes, and Iolaus had a strong suspicion that she planned to erase Auto's memories anyway.
Hercules looked up, face neutral. "What about Ares?"
Iolaus gulped as memories rose to the surface of his mind, like oil on water. Or, he mused, in this particular instance, like scum drifting to cover a pond. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to erase the image of Hercules and Ares in bed, making love, touching each other, gazing deep into each other's eyes. He shuddered. If he was still having nightmares about it, what must Ares be dealing with?
Hephaestus spoke slowly, his eyes determined. "I'll take care of Ares. He won't want anyone remembering this any more than you do."
Hercules nodded, still pale, and Iolaus found himself wondering if maybe this plan wasn't for the best after all. But he still had his doubts. Several of them.
"Now that we have that settled," Hephaestus looked uncomfortable, "maybe we should just get on with it."
"Okay." Hercules sounded eager, even excited. Iolaus shook his head, worry bubbling in his mind.
"Before we get started, there's a few things we need to work out." Crossing to Hercules, he took his lover's hands in his own, looking up into the shadowed eyes. "Herc, I know this has been really hard for you, but just forgetting everything that's happened won't make the problem go away. It's still there, and you need to deal with it."
Hercules refused to meet his eyes. "I can't, Iolaus. This is the only way out."
"You're running away."
"Yeah, I know." Hercules continued to contemplate his feet. "But I can't face this part of myself. If I can forget, everything will be the way it was before. All the bad things inside me will be locked in that box again."
Iolaus hated seeing the agony on Hercules' face, and part of him just wanted to let go, to do whatever it took to keep the demigod happy. But another part of him knew this wasn't a solution, it was just bandaging someone with internal injuries.
"What happens the next time that box gets opened? You have to face it sometime."
"No." Hercules' voice was flat again. "I can't."
Choking back a sigh and curbing his desire to smash his head into the nearest pillar, Iolaus decided to continue. "Maybe we should try to just go back to the world, get back to normal, live for a while, and if it doesn't work out, then we'll have Aphrodite take the memories from you."
"No." The demigod turned, his back to Iolaus, his shoulders stooped. "What if I won't let her? What if I manage to fool you? It's too dangerous."
"And losing months out of your life isn't?"
"Iolaus, would you just shut up and let me do this?" The roar in Hercules' voice was so reminiscent of the Sovereign that Iolaus stepped back instinctively, his pulse quickening as he finally understood how little separated his lover from the dark side of himself.
"I'm sorry. I just want to do what's right for you." He looked up, holding out an arm in apology. Hercules took it, pulled him close and held him, and Iolaus could feel the trembling in the other man, like a small trapped field mouse or bird, the terror lurking beneath the surface of his skin, a living thing. "I'm sorry." The hunter rubbed his hand in circles against the small of the demigod's back, trying to reassure, hearing his lover's breathing slow, the trembling subside.
Hercules stiffened, pulling away. "Fuck!"
"What?" Iolaus was left clasping air, disoriented.
"Iphicles. Aphrodite, what about Iphicles?"
"What *about* Iphicles?" Iolaus tried to hide the exasperation in his voice, hoping he hadn't whined. Iphicles whined. While Iolaus tried to understand the bond between the brothers, he didn't much like the king and certainly didn't see why he was so important just now.
"We split up, remember? You were going to see Xena and Gabrielle; I was going to visit Iph. I never made it."
It seemed like another lifetime, but Iolaus remembered. Hercules wanted to see his brother; Iolaus wanted to avoid him. The memories of Ajax's death were still too fresh, still haunting him, his anger at Iphicles still simmering. So they had gone their separate ways, agreeing to meet when they were finished.
"Herc, Iph's an adult. I'm sure he's fine." The hunter felt an irrational surge of anger at the look on his lover's face.
"He's not fine. Rena and the baby died, then Mother, and he hasn't been the same since. He seems fine on the outside, but he's shattered on the inside. I promised I'd be there, and I wasn't." Iolaus could see Hercules flagellating himself, this guilt added to the already sizable mountain of self-perceived transgressions and failures in the demigod's head.
"He's fine." Both looked at Aphrodite, her face less expressive than usual. "I talked to him recently and he was fine."
"You checked up on him while I was here?" Relief was writ large on Hercules' face.
The goddess looked at her feet, scrawling invisible designs on the floor with her shoes. "Yeah. We had some interesting talks."
"I want to see him. Before we do this. I need to apologize, to explain this to him. I don't want him to be mad at me." The demigod looked intent, anxious.
Aphrodite gnawed her lower lip, still looking at the floor. "He's real busy, you know. Doing whatever it is kings do."
"Please."
The goddess sighed. "I'll go and ask him, but that's the best I can do, okay?"
Hercules enveloped her in a hug, easily dwarfing the tiny figure.
"Thanks 'Dite. For everything."
Corinth
Iphicles gazed down at the figure sprawled before him. The god was beautiful; his face flushed, hair touseled, black eyes burning, and this time Iphicles knew that the flames within were for him, and him alone. Ares looked up at him, licking those full, lush lips, and smiled. It was a predatory smile, and Iphicles shivered in fear and lust.
He wanted to touch Ares. Wanted to feel hot flesh under his hands, wanted to feel hands gripping his skin, bruising, marking, holding. The need burned within him, pulsing, demanding, he could feel it with every beat of his heart. He wanted to be touched, to be held. He needed to feel a connection with another person, to not be alone anymore.
Throwing his head back, Iphicles roared, twin columns of flame licking into the sky, as he tried to understand. Why did he need this? Dragons didn't need anyone. Dragons were solitary creatures. Dragons enjoyed being alone. And he was a dragon. So why did he feel this pain, this desire? Why did he want to be held by Ares, why would he willingly die if only for one more chance to be with someone else?
Lowering his head, he again looked at Ares. The god was sitting up; his expression was indecipherable, but Iphicles could smell the fear, the uncertainty, the confusion. And below that, something else. Something he couldn't identify. Lust, perhaps, or satiation. He didn't know, didn't care, nothing mattered anymore.
He wasn't a dragon, not in the sense that counted. He was no more a dragon than Braxis had been a human. His form had changed, but on the inside he was still the same pathetic, needy person he'd always been. He trembled, caught in a cyclone of emotions. Anger at Aphrodite for making him believe he could have what he wanted. Anger at himself for being weak and needy, for being a failure. Lust. Hope. Despair. Self-pity. Desire. Pain. Loneliness.
Ares continued to stare, his black eyes unblinking, as Iphicles trembled, shattered into small pieces, confused and afraid. He wanted to be held, but he didn't want to want it. How could he purge himself of emotion? And if he did, what would he be? Would he truly be a dragon, or would he be a monster?
Perhaps this was what made humans different from dragons. What Braxis had thought of as a herd mentality was really just a need for each other, a need to reach out and connect with others. If that were true, what happened to those cut off from the herd, isolated and alone? Was he doomed to become one of those shattered souls who wandered the streets, wandered the country, muttering to themselves, always looking for something and never finding it?
Iphicles watched as the god stretched, each muscle sharply defined. He was beautiful, in a dangerous, menacing sort of way, like a wild creature, untamed and unpredictable. The king almost laughed as he realized: Ares was probably more of a dragon than he was; yet the god appeared in a human form, while Iphicles, who was human, was in the shape of a dragon. The irony choked him, strangling his laughter, and all that emerged was a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan.
Ares stood, a flash of blue light surrounding his form, and he was fully clothed, his expression completely impassive. It was as if nothing had happened, there was no sign of sweat or exertion, his bruises, cuts and burns were healed, the smooth skin flawless and unmarked. Iphicles stepped back, his senses overwhelmed by new scents, new information that he was unable to process. With another flash of blue light, the god disappeared, leaving the king alone. Again.
Iphicles lowered his body to the ground, feeling the myriad aches and pains, but they didn't concern him, not like the pain within. Resting his head on his front legs, he closed his eyes, listening to the wind screaming through the mountains. It sounded desolate, desperate even, abandoned and primal. It was a sound of anger and fury and pain, a sound of loneliness.
It took him several minutes to realise that the sound wasn't the wind. It was him.
The Halls of War
Ares materialized in his throne room in his trademark blaze of blue light, looking around in disgust at the filth, his nose wrinkling at the stench of old blood and burned flesh. Even he had to admit that it was rather excessive. The soles of his boots stuck to the floor, making a sucking sound with each step as he made his way to the onyx throne, where he sprawled, one leg thrown carelessly over an armrest as he stared into the darkness.
A wave of his hand and the room was clean, the air fresh, the odor banished. A glance, and the fire and torches were lit, making the room, if not precisely welcoming, less stygian than it had been. The god sighed, resting his chin on one fist, pondering.
He had planned to kill Iphicles, not have mind-blowing sex with him. This was completely unplanned. It was unacceptable. It was all the God of Love's fault. He'd been celibate far too long and jumped into the sack with the first person...creature...whatever, to come along.
While Ares would be the first to admit that he was easily distracted, this incident had unnerved him. He had allowed himself to lose focus, to let the dragon manipulate him, to give in to his lust. It should never have happened. Worse, he merely felt confused and vaguely dissatisfied; the rage within him had vanished. Something about that damn dragon, the look in its eyes, had done something to him, made him feel... something. Something strange and unknown, something that had caused him to return to the safety of his temple, to the familiar surroundings, away from those amber eyes that burned, threatening to draw him into their depths, never releasing him.
The god attempted to summon that hot, red, pulsing rage, closed his eyes and remembered flying in the skies, screaming his love to Hercules. But instead of rage, what he felt was extreme humiliation. Embarrassment. He suddenly wanted a bath, stifled the urge to wash himself, scraping skin raw in the need to cleanse himself. The anger still simmered below the surface, but it refused to boil, refused to bubble, refused to possess him completely.
The fingers of one hand tapped erratically on the armrest of his throne as the god continued to ponder. He generally avoided introspection, preferring action and violence instead, but his usual solutions hadn't worked. Not only that, but they had left him in a more precarious state than before. No, he needed to think about this latest incident, needed to examine it so he could defeat it.
Ares stared into the flames writhing in the fireplace, watched the fire jump and twist, reaching greedily for more, more to consume, more to assimilate. He felt like the flames, searching, jumping, reaching for something that was out of his reach, something he couldn't even identify. Fire was powerful. It cleansed, it destroyed; it brought warmth and light, but it also brought death and destruction. And it was contained within a stone enclosure, unable to achieve its goal, appearing domesticated, but able to turn on those that would forget its power.
Mortals didn't realize that fire had a form of consciousness. It was primitive, basic, it had no sense of individual identity, but it had a nascent form of self-awareness, a need for self-preservation, a need to conquer. Fire was an element, one of many. It was single-minded. It wanted freedom, it wanted to consume, that was all.
Ares sighed, dimly remembering a time when the gods had been similar beings. They wanted freedom, wanted power. But as they grew stronger, they had become individuals, and with individuality came personality. And with personality came confusion, came wanting, came needing. They learned of pleasure, pain, subtlety. They patterned themselves on mortals, on humans, and developed human-like traits.
And therein lay his problem. The part of him that was human-like was clouding his judgement, causing this strange ache within him. The solution, however, wasn't quite so clear. Could he excise that part of himself? Could he retreat, become nothing but War, nothing but savagery and bloodlust? And was that really what he wanted? While these human- like emotions were an annoyance, they still brought satisfaction and pleasure. He enjoyed plotting and manipulating, enjoyed sex and lust. And if he were to retreat to a more primitive form of being, it would still be a retreat. The God of Love would win this battle, and Ares refused to allow that.
He continued to stare at the flames, his eyes unfocused, as his mind drifted back to the dragon. He had planned to kill it, but the creature had been so magnificent. A shudder rippled through his body as he remembered the dragon's skillful tongue, the sleek scaled body, the graceful wings. Despite what others said, Ares appreciated beauty, and the king's dragon form was beauty given shape. It was lethal and elegant, a killing machine, perfection in combat. It was worthy of admiration and respect. It was like the fire.
Perhaps the problem was that he had attacked Iphicles in his dragon form. Ares frowned, trying to remember what he knew of the King of Corinth. It was very little, which irritated the god. He knew Iphicles had been offered the crown after Hercules had refused it. He knew the king was known for being moody and sullen, and he had a bad temper and a tendency to whine. What else?
The god of war was distracted by the soft sound of a throat being cleared. Looking up, he saw Discord, standing a safe distance from his throne, eyes downcast, hands clasped behind her back. His eyes narrowed as the god realized he had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed her arrival.
"What?" He stood, and Eris stepped backward, looking at him, but avoiding his eyes.
"I thought you should know...." She trailed off, glancing at the floor, rubbing her palms on her skirt.
"Know what?"
"I heard Apollo talking about you. Talking about, um, you know, the, um, the thing. The thing that didn't happen."
Gritting his teeth, Ares stepped forward, listening in satisfaction to his twin's squeak of panic, smiling as she scurried backwards, her eyes darting to the dark corners, seeking refuge. "And?" He pitched his voice low, menacing.
"I was, I mean I tried to tell him it didn't happen, but then Cupid beat me to it. Said he'd started the rumor as a joke. He said it didn't happen, and told Apollo if he tried to pass it on he'd look like an idiot. And I told him he better not cause you'd kick his ass."
The god of war stood still, fingers caressing the hilt of his sword as he thought about this latest development. Apparently Cupid, and probably Aphrodite too, was trying to take care of damage control. Yes, they had witnessed his weakness, but still, this could be used to his advantage. The God of Love had proven himself to be much more intelligent and cunning than he let on. Perhaps the same held true for his own world's love gods. And they wouldn't want anyone to know, wouldn't want anyone to suspect that they were actually capable of planning, that they were potentially formidable enemies.
Ares' smile grew wider. He now had information, and information was power. Perhaps there was an up side to this disaster after all. He'd have to pay more attention to Aphrodite and Cupid in the future. In the past he had dismissed them as fluffy idiots, but recent events were showing him that a pair of tricksters had deceived him, like all the rest.
Shaking his head, Ares chuckled. He had to admit, the two of them were consummate professionals. Now, they had to protect him to cover their own asses. It was a brilliant plan, but it left them at his mercy. Of course, he could be benevolent. Until they crossed him. Then the real fun would begin.
Eris raised her eyes to her brother, gnawing anxiously at her lower lip, her expression incredulous. "So, everything's okay?"
Ares continued to chuckle as he returned to his throne. "Oh, yeah. Everything's ducky. Just ducky." He had no intention of sharing this new information with his pest of a sister, but he couldn't stop his smile. Life was turning around; he would land on his feet, as usual.
"About Leuctra..." Eris' voice was still hesitant, although she appeared more confident.
"What about Leuctra? Those two mercenaries, Agathon and Pelios, are supposed to attack. It'll fall. Then I'll put my puppet on the throne." He shrugged. It was a good plan, and the two warlords were actually capable of pulling it off. The god of war straightened, frowning, as Eris shook her head. "What?"
"Agathon and Pelios, they're, well..." The Goddess of Discord grimaced, drawing one sharp black fingernail across her throat.
"Damn." Now that she mentioned it, he did vaguely recall killing them. It had been an incredibly stupid move, in retrospect. "Fuck."
"I found a replacement," Eris said, standing taller, licking her lips.
"Good." Ares waved his hand. While Leuctra held long-term strategic value, he had to finish cleaning up this mess before he moved on. Moreover, he *did* owe Eris some reparations for kicking her ass. "You take care of it."
Eris smiled, her face lit with feral glee. "Really?"
"Really. But don't screw it up."
"I won't. I swear." The goddess nodded eagerly, disappearing in a flash of yellow light.
The god of war reclined in his throne, picking up the threads of his thoughts where they had fallen. Iphicles. The problem was obviously with the king's dragon form. In human form he'd be much easier to kill from an emotional point of view. The man had been a widower for over a year, and had taken no lover since his wife's death. Even Ares had heard that on the grapevine.
So, he mused, the king was probably a much better-looking dragon than human. His human form was probably short and fat, a balding bureaucrat. Kings usually were, after all. Too much wine, too much power, too much good living made them slow and self-absorbed. While he might hesitate before destroying a creature as beautiful and majestic as the dragon, an unattractive human would present no problems.
He'd just wait a few days, give the king time to return to the castle and let down his guard, then he'd kill him.
Corinth
Iphicles continued to stare, blankly, at the ground, his head pillowed on his front legs as he absently tugged at a few loose scales. Too many thoughts, too many emotions. He wasn't usually the introspective type, preferring to yell and strike out, preferring actions to words. He had always avoided examining his own feelings, not to mention his motivations, too closely. Of course, maybe that was why he was in this state. Even he had to admit that ignoring a problem just made it worse, and he had let far too many black thoughts and emotions run wild in the dark recesses of his mind for far too long. Now, the time had come to face them and conquer them.
Of course, he mused, that was easier said than done. It was one thing to announce that you were going to win a battle, but quite another to accomplish the task. The idea of ignoring those ugly parts of his psyche was tempting; it would be so easy to continue to forget them, continue to ignore and deny them. But they would resurface again, stronger, and one could only run for so long. Better to make a stand now. He should have faced his inner demons years ago, when he had Rena by his side to lend him her strength, but he had been trying so hard to be perfect for her that he hadn't allowed any but the quickest glimpses into the corrupted part of his soul. Despite what she said, he was always terrified she would grow to hate him, to look at him with contempt, and he couldn't bear that thought. Another demon he had to deal with; his own insecurity.
He was sure Hercules could deal easily with this sort of thing. Everything in life seemed to be so easy for his brother. Not that he had to, of course. His brother was perfect, open, warm, and good. There were no trolls lurking under the dark bridges of his mind. In addition, even if one were to get lost and stumble in, Hercules would probably dispatch it without breaking a sweat. Either that or feed it and give it a lecture on good versus evil, which would make it change its ways and roam around doing good deeds. However, for the normal humans in the family, this was a challenge.
This thought provoked a chuckle, small flames caressing his claws. Here he was, a giant dragon, and he was still thinking of himself as the normal human in the family? It was time to face reality; he wasn't normal. He had been, long ago, but no more. He was a king, responsible for an entire kingdom. And he was now a shape shifter, capable of transforming into a flying reptile that breathed fire and had sex with the god of war. No, definitely not normal, not by any stretch of the imagination. Perhaps not even quite human.
Iphicles sighed. At the same time, he was altogether too human, and he needed to face that fact before dealing with anything else. He was human. He wanted to be around other humans. He needed companionship, friendship and love. He'd been running from his own desires, letting his fear of abandonment and pain propel him headlong into self-imposed isolation. Instead of running from his loneliness, he needed to face it and defeat it. Try talking to people, getting to know them, making friends.
Inside, Iphicles cringed. He wasn't proud of it, but the truth of the matter was that he didn't know how to relate to others. He always seemed to trip over his own tongue, say the wrong thing, laugh at the wrong time. It was easy when he pretended, played a role, made believe he was someone other than just plain Iphicles. He could wear the mask of the King and be polite, charming, and diplomatic. He could wear the mask of Warrior and fight with the best, trade battle stories around a dying fire, brag of his own exploits. He just wasn't sure how to go about being Iphicles. He wasn't even sure he knew who Iphicles was anymore.
Time to learn. Rising to his feet, the king stretched, idly shaking the sleep from his wings, flexing his claws, rolling his head to work the kinks out of his neck. He'd fly back, land near the castle, then change back into a human and walk back in. Not much of a plan, but he could always blame it on the gods again. They'd been meddling in his life so often of late that they owed him. Once back in the castle, he'd just have to work on taking things one step at a time, starting with making reparations to the elderly couple whose fruit trees he had immolated.
Iphicles began to beat his wings; again marveling as he felt muscles stretch deliciously, the wind blowing against his skin, the nearly dizzying sensation of power. He wasn't going to give this up. He refused to walk away from the joy of flying, the ability to soar above the clouds, the feeling of freedom. He'd be human most of the time, but he would also make time for being a dragon. It would be his reward for putting up with some of his council members.
As he began to rise, Iphicles' nose was assaulted by a strange new scent. It was a mixture of roses, jasmine, musk, freesia and other strong floral scents he couldn't identify. It was sweet, heavy and cloying. Golden sparkles and pink hearts filled the air, a shower of pink glitter floated from the skies, sprinkling his head, surrounding him like a pastel fog.
He sneezed, accidentally setting a tree on fire. He'd really have to work on that.
"Hello, Aphrodite." He somehow sensed her before she materialized; not that a person had to be Socrates to figure out whose arrival was heralded by the excessive display.
"Hey there!" Aphrodite crinkled her nose at him, her voice as perky as her cleavage. "Whoa, dude, you are one gorgeous hunk of dragon meat. I can see why Ares has the hots for you."
"He does?" It slipped out, the pathetically needy note in his voice making Iphicles cringe.
"Oh, totally." The goddess waved her hand negligently. "He just hasn't figured it out yet. He can be kinda slow like that. Anyhow, I'm here cause Herc wants to see you."
"He does?" What was it about Hercules, that he could reduce the gods to his personal staff? "So you just came to fetch me?"
"Hey, don't get all defensive, babe. He's been through a lot lately, you know." The Goddess of Love placed her hands on her hips, thrusting out her cleavage as well as her lower lip.
"Uh huh." Sure he had. Lots and lots of sex with Ares, most likely more sex with Iolaus, the poor hero was probably exhausted. Iphicles shook his head. This was wrong; he just decided to try and break out of his old patterns, but at the first chance to do so, he slipped easily back into the old familiar rut. This didn't bode well.
Aphrodite crossed her arms over her chest and glared, but the overall effect was hampered by the way her forearms pushed her breasts even further up and out. Iphicles thought somewhat absurdly that she could put someone's eye out with those things.
"Look, dude, he's in bad shape, you know? He wants to talk to you cause he's *worried* about you. Give him a break, okay?"
This gave Iphicles pause. Herc was worried about him? This was unexpected, especially considering the fact that his brother hadn't bothered to contact him in months, had abandoned him in favor of Ares and had helped to fuck up his life in general. The image of Hercules and Ares, making love in the air as he was left behind, alone and forgotten, rose in his mind, searing and burning, the pain still sharp, ripping and tearing. And now, suddenly, Hercules was concerned. Iphicles shook his head; as usual, Hercules left him wondering what was going on and unsure how to react. He couldn't even be bad without doing it in a fundamentally good way.
Hercules was always so perfect, always so caring and thoughtful, strong and confident. It left Iphicles feeling small and inferior, weak and frustrated, and more often than not that frustration mutated into anger, then self-loathing.
He tried to be a good brother to Hercules, he honestly did, but being near the demigod just somehow made him feel as if he were under attack. No matter how hard he tried, Hercules' words and gestures, his looks and body language were always filtered through a lens of resentment, leaving Iphicles looking for hidden meanings, double entendres and subtle criticisms. Even when they were in bed, he found himself wondering about his brother's motivations, his underlying emotions. Hercules always kept himself under control, never allowing anything to get under his skin, further frustrating Iphicles as he struggled to understand him.
It was just like Herc to summon him when he was down, and to be caring and magnanimous about it. Couldn't his brother just once be selfish, or angry, or depressed like a normal person? Sometimes Iphicles yearned more than anything for a glimpse of a younger brother who was even slightly weak and imperfect, who would lean on him for once, let him lend a shoulder or an ear, instead of always being the strong one. It would be nice to feel needed every once in a while.
Aphrodite tapped her foot, clearing her throat in an obvious bid for attention. "Hello? Let's get a move on here, okay?" She looked at him expectantly as Iphicles returned her stare, confused. Was he supposed to fly them there, wherever 'there' was?
The goddess threw her arms in the air. "Human! You need to be *human*! I'm not letting you into my temple looking like this! You're all muddy and bloody and wet and yucky, and you're way too big. You'd, like, trample the furniture or something." She waved a hand in the air exasperatedly. "So change already! Let's go!"
Iphicles blinked, listening to Aphrodite muttering to herself about men, furniture and messes. Based on his limited experience, he was beginning to believe that all of the gods were completely insane. Not that he had much room to talk, of course, but it was an incredibly disconcerting thought.
Nevertheless, Aphrodite was right, in her own fashion. It was time for him to be human again, and not just because of her furniture. Changing back into his human body would be the first step toward facing and conquering his inner voices and trying to become a better person. It would be symbolic. Plus, he had to admit, he didn't want to explain the mess he'd made of the past several months to Hercules. If he looked and acted normal, maybe his brother wouldn't notice anything.
He found the knowledge of how to return to human form lurking in the back of his mind, as if it had always been there. Where changing into a dragon had been almost painful, changing into a human was much more anticlimactic. There was a sensation of dropping, as if he had unbuckled heavy armor and let it fall to the ground, and the cold wind suddenly wrapped around his skin, embracing and chilling him, and he realized that his feet were mired in icy mud which squished between his toes.
Iphicles was dizzy, weak and awkward, keenly missing his wings and scales. He felt off balance, as if he were in a completely alien body. It was strange to think that the dragon's form was more comfortable and familiar than the one he had worn his entire life. When he opened his eyes he found that the world looked much flatter and dimmer, as if several colors had been leached out of it. His ears felt as if they were plugged with cotton, and he sniffed, trying to understand where all of the fascinating scents had disappeared.
He was distracted from his new view of reality by sheer physical discomfort. He was naked, wet and cold, shivering uncontrollably as his jaw clenched painfully, trying to force his teeth not to chatter. He wrapped his arms around his chest, hunching his back, hoping to contain what little warmth remained in his body, sharp pain from from his torn forearm shooting through him, turning the edges of the world a fuzzy shade of black. He was cut and bruised, bleeding sluggishly in the cold from several wounds, courtesy of Ares. Looking around, he saw Aphrodite, clad in her pink lace, unaffected by the temperature, gazing hungrily at him and licking her lips.
The king amended his earlier opinion of the gods. Not only were they all completely insane, they were also perpetually horny. And self- absorbed to a degree that he suspected a mere human was unable to grasp. He straightened himself, the muscles in his back and shoulders spasming as he tried to stop the shaking, tried to look as if he were in control.
"Some clothes would be nice," he said, trying not to clench his teeth, the strain audible in his voice.
Aphrodite looked startled, the wind barely stirring the pink gauze she wore. "Oh. Okay. But you look so much better this way..." Her voice trailed off as she raked her eyes over his body one last time. Normally Iphicles would have been flattered at the attention, but right now he really didn't want much of anything to do with any gods. Unless, of course, it meant getting warm.
Iphicles heard a noise, a musical sound almost out of the range of his hearing, and he was surrounded with floral scents, golden glitter and translucent hearts. As the cloud surrounded him, he felt his wounds close, bruises heal. More important, he was dressed in warm, heavy clothing, a thick blue wool cloak around his shoulders. He pulled it tight, feeling his cramped muscles relax, and watched as a solitary fuschia heart drifted slowly past his face, riding an air current.
He held out his hand, catching the heart; it sat, resting on his palm. It tingled slightly, and he could feel it pulse, beating as if it were a real heart. The pulses grew weaker, spaced further apart, and with each pulse some of the color seemed to drain from the small object, until it ceased beating at all and faded away to nothingness. The experience left him feeling sad, and he pulled his hand back inside the cloak, holding it shut against the wind's groping claws.
"So, ready to go now?" Based on the look in Aphrodite's eyes, Iphicles felt that saying yes was the only appropriate response. Even as he nodded his assent he felt a sickening lurch, a sensation of motion, as if he were being dragged quickly by his innards, and the world disappeared in a pink haze.
Cyprus
Iolaus paced. He really had no choice; the nervous energy flowing through his body demanded he move, refused to allow him to stay still. When he tried, he twitched, as if his bones and muscles wanted to leap out of his skin and continue moving without him.
He paced under Aphrodite's pink and gold dome, paced in the majestic serenity of her temple, paced as he was showered with icons of love. His mind screamed at him that this was wrong; this plan wouldn't work, that it would just make everything worse. But he couldn't see any other way out, despite his thoughts chasing themselves in circles trying to find another solution. Nothing else would work. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, wincing as he tried to stop the whirling ideas, trying to stop the pounding in his head, trying to stop the premonition of doom that shouted wordlessly in his mind.
No one else seemed to notice Iolaus' apprehension. If they did, they didn't comment on it. Hephaestus was quietly polishing a golden crown, his rough fingers caressing the delicate metal lacework as he buffed it until it seemed to radiate light. Hercules sat on one of the sofas, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared into the ether. His breathing was even, his face expressionless.
Iolaus knew what Hercules was doing; he was composing himself, shutting everything out so he could focus on the task at hand, namely Iphicles. When his brother arrived, he would see no sign of the turmoil in his mind. Iolaus had watched this more than once. Before he visited Iphicles, Hercules appeared to draw in upon himself, making himself change for his brother's sake. He seemed to do what Hephaestus was doing: he took his soul out and polished it until it shone, the bright light hiding any flaws.
"Hercules," Iolaus said, standing in front of his lover, trying not to fidget too much, "Would you snap out of it? I'm losing my mind here. Say something." He ran one hand through his hair, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"What do you want me to say?" For the first time in recent memory Hercules' voice sounded strong and confident.
"I don't know. Anything. Just distract me." He paused. "How about the weather?"
The demigod looked up and quirked an eyebrow. "It looks like it's raining pink hearts."
"Yeah, well, that's pretty normal around here."
Iolaus perched on the sofa arm next to Hercules, his legs swinging in the air, skimming the floor as he rocked himself slightly.
"Why do you do this?" Iolaus said, staring into Hercules' clear blue eyes, the shadows hidden as if they had never existed.
"Do what?"
"This whole thing where you act so perfect for Iphicles."
Hercules sighed. "Iolaus, I don't want to fight over Iph again. Not now, okay?"
"Hey, I don't wanna fight either." Iolaus raised his hands in a gesture of supplication. "I'm just curious. You don't do this for anyone else."
"Iphicles has a lot of problems." Iolaus snorted at that. Even Hercules jumped on the 'poor, pitiful Iphicles' bandwagon. Hercules glared. "I don't want to burden him with my problems on top of his own. He has enough to deal with, and a lot of it's my fault." He paused, his face softening. "Besides, I like helping him. He makes me feel needed, and if helping him and being strong for him is the only way to be part of his life, that's what I'm gonna do."
The silence between them stretched into long minutes, the only sound that of Hephaestus' cloth whispering over the gold he polished. Hercules returned to staring at the walls, while Iolaus resumed his restless pacing.
Erasing Hercules' memory wouldn't help in the end, although it was an acceptable short-term solution. The question was, what happened the next time the hero had to deal with his dark side? He couldn't keep denying it existed, couldn't keep desperately shoving it into a box in an abandoned corner of his mind. If he did that, he just gave it strength, and someday it would break free.
Iolaus stopped pacing briefly to rest his head against a column, resisting the urge to repeatedly bang his skull against it. The column was smooth and warm, radiating heat evenly, and he could see glittering gold energy racing along the marble's veins, like blood within a body. He closed his eyes, trying to order his thoughts, trying to tame them, make sense of them.
Maybe the key was to get Hercules to face himself gradually, not in one climactic confrontation. Baby steps instead of giant leaps. It would be up to him to act as a gatekeeper of sorts, devising ways to force Hercules to look at the darkness within, and evaluating when to stop and rest. It would be difficult, but having lived through the past few months, Iolaus knew it was necessary. The pressure inside Hercules could be bled off slowly and safely, or it could explode.
The scent of roses and jasmine distracted Iolaus from his churning thoughts, and he opened his eyes to see Aphrodite arrive in her usual blaze of light and hearts, Iphicles at her side. He wore a thick blue wool cloak that he held tightly closed, his hair was damp and plastered to his head, and his cheeks were red, as if from the wind. Iolaus wondered if it were winter outside, in the world. They had been in Aphrodite's temple so long that there was no sense of time, no change in temperature or season. It was a place free of time and space, suspended in the ether for all he knew. He didn't even know if it was day or night.
Iphicles looked pale, somewhat thinner than the last time Iolaus had seen him. He reluctantly let go of the cloak, letting the material swing free as he looked around, eyes wide with wonder. A cloud of gold dust settled upon him and he sneezed, then looked startled and laughed.
"What?" Aphrodite was looking at the king as if he were insane.
"Nothing's on fire. It's different." Iphicles continued to chuckle, and this time Aphrodite threw her head back and laughed. Iolaus shrugged. He should know better than to try to understand any of Hercules' family. Still giggling, Aphrodite wandered to the far side of the room to sit next to Hephaestus, kissing him on the lips, running her fingers through his hair. Iolaus let his back slide down the marble column, feeling its smooth coolness as he sank to the floor.
"Iph." Hercules sounded confident, normal. He stood, holding out one arm to clasp his brother's hand, looking just like he always had, before the events of the past several months. Iphicles turned toward his brother, his expression blank, and began walking hesitantly across the room. His gait was slow and unsteady, that of a man unsure how to walk. Iolaus wondered if the king was drunk; better men than Iphicles had succumbed to the lure of the bottle.
Iphicles took his brother's hand, a fleeting smile racing across his face before vanishing as he was pulled into a hug. It looked awkward; Iphicles' body stiffened, and he pulled back as if he had been burned. Hercules pretended not to notice, merely motioned to a nearby couch as if everything were perfectly normal.
They sat, and Iolaus noticed that Iphicles sat at the very edge of the pink sofa, as far from Hercules as possible, his back straight, legs stretched out rigidly. Hercules, meanwhile, sat in the center of the sofa, reaching out to touch his brother's shoulder, his blue eyes full of concern. He said something that Iolaus couldn't hear, and Iphicles shrugged, looking down at his hands, which twitched in his lap as if the king wasn't quite sure what to do with them. He raised one hand to his face and turned it, clenching the fingers into a fist, an expression of amazement on his face.
A shadow flitted across Hercules' face, prompting Iolaus to step forward, unsure of how his lover would deal with this bizarre behaviour from Iphicles. But the shadow quickly vanished, replaced with a cheerful smile as Hercules took his brother's hand in his own, speaking quietly and earnestly.
Iolaus could only hear scattered words, but he could see that Iphicles was becoming upset by what Hercules was saying. He frowned, shaking his head, his face set in its characteristic sullen expression. Hercules' smile became brighter, but his eyes glittered with the manic edge that Iolaus had become used to as he leaned forward, and Iphicles shrank back further against the arm of the sofa, pulling his hand from his brother's grip.
Hercules leaned back, taking several deep breaths, and Iolaus had to restrain himself from running forward and punching Iphicles. Hercules was using strength he didn't have to project confidence and strength for his brother, and Iphicles plainly didn't give a damn. He just looked bitter and angry, his mouth twisted into a surly scowl as he gestured wildly at Hercules, his face becoming flushed.
"Iolaus!" Iphicles' voice rang with authority, and Iolaus found himself standing, rushing toward the brothers before he even realized what he was doing. He deliberately slowed his gait and sauntered to the sofa, unwilling to be summoned by Hercules' spoiled brother, even if the man was a king.
"Iolaus, I can't believe you'd go along with this...this boneheaded plan of his! You're smarter than Herc, why don't you smack some sense into him?" Iphicles' face was flushed, and he looked like he wanted to do just that. Iolaus suddenly revised his previous opinion of the king. Maybe Iph was brighter than he had given him credit for.
"I've tried, but he won't listen to me," Iolaus said, standing behind Iphicles so both men could present a united front, glaring at Hercules.
"It's my life. My decision." Hercules was almost growling, forcing the words through clenched teeth, a tic at the side of his mouth the only sign he was losing control.
Iphicles leaned forward, clasping his brother's hands in his own, his thumbs gently massaging the demigod's wrists. "I know it's hard, believe me," he said, his voice low and hesitant. "We all have things we'd rather not deal with, but ignoring them doesn't help, it just makes them worse." He shrugged his shoulders, staring at his hands. "I mean, look at everything I've screwed up in my life. I tried to run from who I was, even tried pretending to be you, but it didn't help."
He gripped Hercules' hands tighter, looking into his brother's eyes, his face surprisingly open and hopeful. Iolaus began to feel badly about his previous treatment of the king; maybe there was more to Iphicles than he had been willing to see before. Maybe the two of them could work together to help Hercules.
"Herc, listen to him." Iolaus leaned forward, one hand squeezing Iphicles' shoulder in support as the king glanced at him in surprise. "Just give us a chance."
Hercules looked down at his lap, refusing to meet their eyes. "No."
Iphicles scooted closer, still holding his brother's hands in his own. "Let me help you, just this once. Please." His voice trembled as he whispered the words, and Iolaus heard something in those words, an unspoken plea he couldn't understand.
Hercules looked up, his blue eyes like a frozen pond, and he laughed. It was a brittle sound, devoid of anything even vaguely resembling humor. Iphicles wrenched his hands back, wiping them deliberately on his cloak as he stood. His face, like his brother's, was tightly shuttered, cold and contained, but his eyes burned with a furious flame and his cheeks were flushed as he turned away.
Hercules remained on the sofa, staring at his hands, one covering the other, his thumb rubbing his wrist, exactly as Iphicles had done, as he continued to laugh softly, the sound finally trailing off. Iolaus reached out and touched him, hesitantly, taking a large hand into his own and holding tight.
"I want to go home." Iolaus looked up to see Iphicles standing in front of Aphrodite and Hephaestus, hands clenched into fists, shoulders squared as he looked down at the two gods sitting on the sofa. Aphrodite stood, kissing Hephaestus on the tip of his nose, and nodded solemnly.
"Where to?" She sounded quiet, even apologetic.
"Back to the castle."
There was a tinkling sound, a shower of hearts and flower petals, and they vanished.
"Guess I screwed that up, huh?" Iolaus turned to find Hercules standing, staring at the floor again. "He actually offers to help and I just laugh at him. That was pretty lousy."
"Yeah." Iolaus stood, letting the silence grow as Hercules continued to stare at his feet.
"I just... all I could think of was how could he possibly understand? How do you tell your brother you're a monster?" He paused, taking a deep breath, speaking in a much smaller voice. "Besides, no matter how hard I try, no matter how good I try to be, I'm never good enough for him. He's always mad at me, and I always manage to screw things up when I'm around him. If he knew what I'm really like, he'd hate me forever, and I don't think I could take that."
"Herc, you're not a monster," Iolaus said, sighing. "And I may not be Iph's biggest fan, but maybe he could help. Like he said, he's got lots of experience with screwing things up." He tried to make it a joke, but he could feel it fall flat on its face. Self-conscious, he cleared his throat. "And he probably knows more about recovering from it too."
Hercules shook his head and sat down, leaning his head back against the sofa, exposing his throat, closing his eyes in exhaustion. "I'm just so tired of holding it all in. I want this all to be over, to get back to normal."
"Me too." Iolaus meant it, with all of his heart. While he didn't agree with Hercules' solution, he was glad to finally be able to move forward, or backward, or even sideways. Anything to get them out of the emotional bog which they had been mired in far too long. "Why don't we go lie down while we wait for Aphrodite? Sleep couldn't hurt."
Opening his eyes, Hercules sat up, nodding. "Yeah. I could use the rest."
Iolaus led him down the familiar hallways, following a pink stripe in the floor that helpfully provided a path, Hercules following listlessly like a tired puppy. When they reached their room, the demigod all but collapsed onto the bed, and Iolaus lay down beside him, holding his lover close, stroking his hair, kissing his temple. "It'll be over soon."
He continued to murmur nonsense into Hercules' ear until he felt the bigger man's breathing smooth out, growing deeper, and the lines disappeared from his face. It was only than that he laid back, closing his eyes to rest them, just for a moment.
The next thing he felt was a soft touch, delicate fingers running through his hair. Aphrodite's voice whispering in his ear, "It's over." He struggled up from the depths of his dream, trying to understand. The voice continued to whisper to him, and he felt warm breath tickling his ear. "Herc won't remember anything."
He knew this was both good and bad, but sleep clung to him, dragging him back, refusing to let him go. He felt smooth lips graze his cheek, a chaste kiss. "I'm sorry this all made you so sad. You should both be happy. I'm gonna take care of it for you, so you can both have a happy ending, okay?"
Iolaus understood, but understanding came too late; he felt himself being pulled into the void, unable to tell what was real and what was a dream, unable to remember why he had been so worried. And the comforting darkness claimed him as he felt something being stolen from him, something he vaguely understood to be incredibly important.
Two Weeks Later
Corinth
Iphicles nodded at the two young guards flanking the door as he entered his bed chamber. One stared straight ahead at the gray wall in front of him, but the other nodded fractionally, with the hint of a smile. It was an improvement, Iphicles thought, as he closed the door behind him.
It had been two weeks since Aphrodite had deposited him in the center of the castle's courtyard, a scene of complete and utter chaos. People were panicking at rumors of a king-eating dragon, a curse on Corinth, the wrath of the gods, and other far-fetched tales run amuck. Aphrodite had stood in the midst of the turbulence, untouched as always, and placed two fingers in her mouth, emitting an ear-piercing whistle that had caused all activity to cease. She then escorted him to the chambers where his Council met and waved him a cheerful goodbye as his advisors looked on with expressions ranging from relief to fear to outright unhappiness.
The past few weeks had been interesting, to say the least. The return of the king had coincided with the end of the rain, the first sign of the sun in months, and many had taken this as a sign. The ground was drying, becoming solid once more instead of the sodden bog it had been for what seemed to be forever. People were venturing outside, blinking, reveling in the newfound warmth and light. Color was returning to the world, and life was returning to Corinth.
The king walked to the fireplace, watching the cheerful flames jumping, their light reflecting warmly off the gold pieces he had arranged decoratively through the room. He no longer thought of it as a hoard, of course. He just happened to like the way it glowed in the firelight. Nevertheless, it was difficult sometimes to keep his more dragon-like traits reined in. For dinner he had eaten roast chicken in the dining room, surrounded by courtiers and visiting dignitaries, and he had wished desperately for a nice, bloody sandshark steak. He had drifted off, remembering the taste of fresh, salty blood, the liquid exploding in his mouth as he severed an artery, the crunch of bones, and as he remembered, he felt his form beginning to shift, and it had taken a deliberate act of will to reverse the process. Luckily the room hadn't been very well lit and no one noticed.
Picking up a long sliver of wood, Iphicles walked through the room, carefully lighting every candle, every lamp. While he wanted nothing more than to lie on his bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling, he had made a ritual of forcing himself to stay in the well-lit room and read or write, to do anything but sit and brood. Brooding and dreaming hadn't helped him in the recent past; in fact, it had just made him wallow in self-pity, made him do nothing but react to the shit thrown at him by the Fates and the gods.
The gods. Damn. He didn't want to think about the gods, about their meddling and interfering. Thinking about the gods made him think of his last encounter with Hercules, which had left him shaking with rage, choking on his anger, furious at this final rejection. It made him remember his last encounter with Ares, which invariably led to more pressing matters.
Shit. It was too late. He couldn't help but close his eyes, remembering the god's flushed face, the way his eyes had glazed over, the scent of his arousal. Shaking his head, Iphicles opened his eyes. He refused to think about Ares any more. The god was a lousy lay, which was probably why Hercules wanted to forget their fling. He looked good, but he wasn't exactly into the reciprocity thing in bed.
Iphicles sighed. No, rationalization wasn't going to work tonight. His cock was hard and throbbing, and his mind insisted on showing him images of a naked Ares. Better to take care of the matter, instead of trying to convince himself that he wasn't desperately horny when he obviously was. He really needed to find a lover, someone to talk to, someone to hold, someone to spend long nights in bed with. Someone who wasn't Hercules or Ares. He wondered, with a quick grin, if Iolaus would be willing.
Of course, willing or not, Iolaus wasn't here. No one was here, no one but himself.
Iphicles crossed the room, opening a battered chest that sat at the foot of his bed. He lifted a worn and faded yellow blanket from the top, woven long ago by his mother, and set it aside. Under it lay his old and battered sword, the one he had used for years as a mercenary, the first decent sword he had been able to afford. The sword was placed on top of the blanket, its leather scabbard nicked and gouged, but still supple and clean from regular care. In the bottom corner of the chest was a small, plain wooden box, a long ago gift from a long ago lover.
The king opened the box slowly, removing the smooth wooden phallus that lay within. He had been shocked when his lover gave it to him, but the shock had quickly passed as he learned what could be done with his new toy. Setting the phallus on the small table next to his bed, Iphicles carefully removed his clothes, deliberately taking his time, folding them precisely and setting them on a chair. He had plenty of time.
Iphicles turned back the covers of his bed, lying on the clean silk sheets. They were new, one of the luxuries he now allowed himself. He was discovering a newfound sensuality, and he didn't know if it was part of his dual nature, part of his dragon half, or a part of himself that had been repressed in the past.
It didn't matter. What mattered was the way the smooth, cool silk slid against his skin, the material soft and pliant, caressing his body like water, like waves rippling against his back, his legs, his shoulders. He trembled in anticipation, but sternly reminded himself that there was no reason to rush. The past few weeks had shown him that his senses, even in human form, were heightened and changed, and there was so much yet to discover, so many intriguing possibilities to explore.
Closing his eyes, Iphicles began to stroke his body slowly, languorously. He ran the very tips of his fingers over his skin lightly as a breeze, caressing his chest, his abdomen, his inner thighs, teasing himself, feeling his breath deepen, his heart beat faster. He imagined a lover in the room with him. His lover would lie on the bed, sprawled between Iphicles' spread legs, looking up at him with burning black eyes.
Iphicles extended his tongue and licked his index finger, wetting it thoroughly before reaching down and running it gently along the underside of his aching cock. With his eyes closed, he could pretend it was the tip of his lover's tongue, licking him, teasing him deliberately, trying to drive him into a frenzy.
He squirmed, the liquid silk allowing him to slide effortlessly on the bed as he spread his legs further. This time he sucked two fingers into his mouth and ran them along his hard shaft, imagining it was the swipe of a hot, wet tongue. Without opening his eyes, Iphicles reached for the table beside the bed, quickly finding and uncorking the small bottle sitting on the edge. He slowly trickled some of the oil onto his cock, gasping as the cold liquid left trails on his hot skin. He swept the oil around the head with one finger, then firmly grasped the base and stroked upward, coating the shaft with slippery oil, his hips thrusting upward into the warmth and tightness of his fist.
Iphicles' breathing became ragged as he thrust faster, tightening his fingers, rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock with each upward stroke as he moaned, tossing his head as he imagined thrusting into his dream lover. But he could still tell it was his hand, he still needed more stimulation before he could come. His hands were trembling as he fought for control, reaching for the bottle and the phallus. He poured oil onto the smooth, dark wood, rubbing it slightly as he lifted his hips, then desperately shoved a pillow under himself before he reached down and pressed the tip of the phallus against the opening to his body.
He moved the phallus in slow, lazy circles, sometimes pushing enough for the tip to barely penetrate, other times just teasing the sensitive skin under his balls. He bit his lower lip, suppressing a whimper, the silk sheets beginning to cling to his body as he sweated, providing friction against his oversensitive skin. He mentally begged his dream lover to fuck him, and heard a mocking, teasing laugh in his mind, a laugh that sounded like it could belong to Ares. But he pressed harder, this time pushing the smooth wood further inside, gasping at the bright stab of pain that quickly faded to pleasure.
Iphicles grew more desperate, arching his back as he slowly pushed the phallus all the way inside his body, pulling it out and shoving it quickly back in, setting a demanding pace, writhing against it, imagining Ares on top of him, inside him, pretending that dark face was above his, the full lips open as the god gasped his own arousal. He impaled himself faster, in a near frenzy, his other hand wrapping itself around his painfully hard cock as he thrust into his fist, the world lost to him. All he knew was his desperate need to come, and he increased the tempo of his thrusts, up into his fingers, down onto the phallus, thighs trembling and aching, finally losing the rhythm as he came, his cock pulsing in his hand, liquid spilling over his fingers and dripping slowly onto his stomach.
Sighing in contentment, Iphicles relaxed into the sticky silk, finally opening his eyes and letting the phallus drop to the floor. The room looked somehow different, dimmer than it had been. He sat up slightly, looking around, trying to pinpoint what was wrong, his muscles tensing again.
There was a sound. Clapping. And Ares stepped out of the shadows, a sardonic smile on his face.
"Quite a show you put on there. When's the next performance? And do you always do a solo act or is audience participation allowed?"
Iphicles swallowed. He'd fantasized about the god, but to be facing him, especially in such a vulnerable position, well, this wasn't quite what he'd had in mind. He felt his face grow red as he looked at the dark god, with his mocking smile, one large hand suggestively caressing the hilt of his sword.
Fuck him. The heat in his face quickly melted from humiliation into fury. This was his private chamber, and he was sick and tired of the overgrown children who called themselves gods insinuating themselves into his private life without an invitation, without any warning, and without his fucking permission. He stood, trying to gather his dignity as he stared at the arrogant god.
"What the fuck do you want?"
Ares lifted one eyebrow. "Oh, I came here to kill you. But the floor show gave me some other ideas." He slowly ran one thumb in circles over the very tip of the hilt of his sword, his grin widening as his eyes roamed over Iphicles' body, the gaze bordering on possessive, making Iphicles suddenly feel like a slave on the auction block. Anger surged again, nearly choking him, his pulse pounding in his ears, fury making him reckless.
"I'm done being a toy for you gods." He stared into the black eyes, blatantly challenging Ares.
Ares merely chuckled, casually approaching and standing in front of the king. "I think I like you. You've got balls, little half-dragon." His eyes dipped suggestively as he leered. One hand reached out and stroked Iphicles' face, slowly travelling from temple to chin, the action proprietary, insolent. Iphicles leaned into the caress, waiting. Ares smoothed his thumb over the king's lower lip, and Iphicles reached out with his tongue, lapping at the tip, and Ares smiled in triumph, stepping closer, pushing his thumb into Iphicles' mouth.
Iphicles bit him, tasted the hot blood for a moment as Ares stared in shock, ripping his hand away, shaking it, scarlet droplets flying through the air, and Iphicles laughed. The irony of the situation was exquisite. He wanted Ares, fantasized about him, longed for him. But he refused to be a plaything, to be used by the gods ever again. He wanted Ares to want him for himself, not because he was a momentary distraction.
Ares stared blankly at his wounded hand, then looked back at Iphicles, a predatory smile creeping over his face.
"I forgot. You're carnivorous." The god chuckled. "My mistake." He reached out, pulling Iphicles into a kiss that sucked all of the oxygen from his lungs, the hot wet tongue plundering his mouth making his knees turn to liquid, his skin tingling as he felt the supple leather and cold metal studs against his naked body. When Ares finally broke the kiss, Iphicles had to blink to clear the fog from his eyes, to focus on the smirking face just inches from his, close enough that he could feel the god's breath on his face. "And I never make the same mistake twice," Ares whispered in his ear, tongue darting out to lick his neck before he stepped back quickly, out of striking range.
"Good." Iphicles felt the response was inadequate at best, but how was he supposed to think, when the god's lips had seemingly been branded onto his own? Ares' eyes were devouring him again, and Iphicles felt his resolve weakening. What did Ares' motivations matter? What was important was that the god wanted him, and it seemed like a lifetime since Iphicles had felt wanted.
Ares glided closer, eyes fixed upon Iphicles', and the king leaned forward, mesmerized, wanting to feel the god's flesh against his own, wanting another kiss to steal his breath away, wanting to feel wanted, needed. Reaching out with his wounded hand, Ares again traced Iphicles' face from temple to chin, avoiding the mouth, this time leaving a sticky trail of blood to mark the path. His other hand curled around Iphicles' waist, pulling him closer, until Iphicles could feel hard, leather-clad thighs against his own, feel the heat emanating from the god, feel the hardness pressed against his own stiffening cock.
Raising his eyes again to the god's, Iphicles felt even more defenses dissolve. He could see fire in Ares' eyes, a hunger that called out to him, overwhelming him, and he wanted nothing more than to drown in this desire.
Ares moved both arms so that his fingers interlaced with Iphicles', and the king closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the callused palms against his own, the grip that almost hurt, the circle formed by their two bodies. Ares raised their twined arms until they were held straight out, pressing forward until they were chest to chest, and Iphicles opened his eyes to find Ares' intent gaze fixed upon him as he licked his lips, and Iphicles could feel the god's heart beating through the leather of his vest, an answering echo from within himself.
Gazing into the god's face, Iphicles could see the black eyes were dilated with lust, could feel the rapid, warm breath against his cheek, could see the tongue licking the full lower lip as Ares looked at him, making him shiver with anticipation. The god smiled at him, raising their arms above their heads, moving forward to kiss Iphicles. And as the god's tongue snaked into his mouth, sucking his own, Iphicles barely registered the sensation of fingers being released and leather tightly binding his wrists, not until the god pulled back and smirked at him. It was only then that a dazed Iphicles lowered his arms, staring without comprehension for a heartbeat at the thick strip of seamless black leather holding him captive.
Chuckling, Ares stepped back as Iphicles regained enough presence of mind to glare at him, trying to control his breathing, trying to control his body's reactions. But he couldn't control the lust surging through him, couldn't control the fire within his veins that wanted Ares, wanted to feel the god's body against his again, wanted to know how it would feel when Ares pushed into him, filling him, taking him.
"You know," Ares said conversationally, "you're not quite what I expected. I anticipated finding someone much more," he paused, tilting his head to one side, "domesticated. I really had no idea..." He trailed off, approaching and running one hand firmly across Iphicles' chest, stopping to tweak one nipple, his smile growing at the king's indrawn breath.
"Fuck you." Oh, now that was a brilliant riposte. Unfortunately, it was the best Iphicles was able to come up with at the moment. He was too confused, too many emotions churning within him to be able to settle upon one, to decide exactly how he felt about the situation. He shivered, caught between anger and lust, unable to determine where one ended and the other began.
The leather binding him was warm, smooth and supple, and he flexed his wrists, tried to twist them, but the strip of material held firm. He could, of course, just change into his dragon form, which would destroy the binding, but at the same time he'd probably destroy his own bed chamber. And he'd have to explain the dragon's presence to the guards. And Ares would probably want to fight again, which would mean knocking out a wall to escape and fly someplace where he had room to maneuver, and he really didn't want to have to keep repairing the castle.
Iphicles sighed, closing his eyes against the truth. Excuses and rationalizations aside, he was very turned on by the situation. This really wasn't good. He didn't want to have anything to do with the damn gods, just wanted them to leave him alone, but he needed Ares like he needed air to breathe. He was losing control of circumstances, losing the anger that had anchored him so tightly to reality, and he was drifting free on an unknown sea.
Opening his eyes, Iphicles looked at Ares, who was standing close, so close, but not quite touching, their bodies separated by only a hair's breadth. The god, perhaps recognizing his acquiescence, perhaps not really caring, reached out, running his fingers across Iphicles' forehead, tracing the ridges of his eyebrows, stroking cheekbones. This time the contact sent sparks through the king's body, sparks that raced straight to his groin, and he felt himself responding to Ares' touch, welcoming it, not caring about the consequences.
Ares' hand moved down, down Iphicles' neck, the roughened palm caressing his jugular, the fingers momentarily tightening around his neck, a brief reminder that the god was both willing and able to kill him with as little thought as stepping on an ant. The danger excited Iphicles, and he felt himself trembling, although he wasn't sure if the trembling was caused by fear or arousal, or some heady mixture of the two.
The god's hand continued to move down Iphicles' body at a slow, deliberate pace as it was joined by a second hand. Fingers spread, both pressed firmly against the king's pectorals, moving in lazy circles but refusing to touch his aching nipples, even as Iphicles arched into the touch, squirming, trying to make the god touch the hard, tingling nubs, desperate for more.
Ares' hands left Iphicles' chest, but he could still feel the phantom fingers continuing to burn their caresses into his skin, leaving a mark that couldn't be seen. He felt motion, as Ares quickly moved behind him, and he felt the god's leather-encased erection pressing into his ass, the cold metal studs on Ares' vest imprinting themselves on his back. The god's arms surrounded him, pulled him into an embrace, and he leaned back, relaxing, sighing softly, feeling safe and cherished, briefly imagining that he was being held by someone who truly cared, who loved him, who would be there for him.
The thought sent another surge of red fury through Iphicles, fire tearing through the haze of warm softness that threatened to pull him down into its comforting embrace. The anger, like a bolt of lightning, was illuminating, revealing. The warmth, the comfort, wasn't real. It was never real. Ares was here for sex, that was all, and Iphicles wouldn't deceive himself ever again.
Rage cleared his mind, and Iphicles pushed backward, against the god, his teeth clenched, muscles tense, as if before a battle, voice rough with lust and bitterness.
"So, are you here to fuck or to cuddle?"
The arms tightened, squeezing, almost painful, as the metal studs began to press into bare skin, tearing slightly, warm drops of blood leaving delicate, meandering trails on flesh.
"I don't do cuddling." Ares' voice was low and menacing.
"Then let's get with the fucking," Iphicles said, needing something hard and violent, something to chase away the warm comfort that still threatened to drown him in its embrace.
The god shoved him roughly, a blow to the small of his back sending Iphicles stumbling forward. Reaching out to break his fall, he remembered his bound hands too late, and twisted frantically, his shoulder striking the chilled stone as he landed on the ground. Shaking his head, Iphicles saw Ares advancing on him, clothing dissolving into a black mist that hovered for a moment before dissipating, leaving the god naked before him.
"Let's do," Ares whispered, reaching down and grabbing Iphicles' bruised shoulder, hauling him to his knees. "Start sucking, little dragon. Let's see if you're as good with this tongue as you are with your other one."
Iphicles kneeled, cold stone chilling his knees and calves, his shoulder throbbing, as he stared at the god's cock in front of his face. Moving forward, he was a hair's breadth away from it when Ares grabbed his chin, tilting his head upward at an angle that sent pain shooting through the base of his skull.
"You even think about biting me and I'll rip out your entrails and feed them to you, understand?"
Blinking back tears of pain, Iphicles tried to nod. The god appeared satisfied, relaxing the hold on the king and staring down, expressionless, waiting.
Leaning forward again, eyes on Ares' face, Iphicles reached out with his tongue, delicately touching the tip of the god's hard cock, tasting the bitter salty musk, the scent filling his nose. Growing bolder, he shuffled closer on his knees, scraping one on the irregular floor, hot scarlet blood oozing onto the frigid gray stone. Reaching up with his bound hands, Iphicles found he was able to caress the god's muscled thighs, first the left, then the right, and he rubbed the leather binding against the wiry black hair on Ares' legs, moving closer and gently following his hands with his tongue. The god sighed and shifted his weight, moving closer to Iphicles, who continued to tease, anger still burning within him, overwhelming even the lust, and especially the sucking black hole of need within his heart.
Looking up, Iphicles saw that Ares' head was thrown back, throat exposed, eyes closed. He was incredibly beautiful, but even so, the aura of danger and menace was almost visible, pulsing below the surface of the god's skin, and part of the king wanted that danger with an intensity that frightened him. He needed to provoke the god, needed to do something, but he wasn't quite sure what yet.
Iphicles gently ran his tongue along the underside of Ares' cock, tasting leather and sweat, salt and musk. Opening his mouth, he began to swallow the large erection, lightly alternating soft suction with short swipes of his tongue, listening to the god above him breathing faster, reveling in the knowledge of his power to evoke a response.
Closing his eyes, Iphicles was lost in sensation. He felt the thick, hard cock sliding sensuously past his lips, felt its smoothness with his tongue, tasted the god's skin, the tangy liquid, listening to the god's ragged breaths, his own heart beating faster and faster. It felt so familiar, so right...
Iphicles' eyes opened as he was slammed back to reality. How many times had he sucked his brother's cock, listening to Hercules' labored breathing above him, watched his brother's length slide past his lips? How many times had he listened to the whispered words of endearment, the lies that fell so easily from Hercules' mouth? How many times had he lapped up the scraps of affection like he lapped the cum from his brother's cock?
This would be different. No memories, no games, no deception. With Hercules, making love had always been intense; warm, loving, gentle. His brother loved to whisper sweet words, to caress, to look deeply into his eyes as they made love slowly, softly. It was full of smiles, touches and glances, strong emotions and feelings of warmth and safety. Illusion and artifice. Lies and manipulations. And Iphicles had had enough of all of them. This was about sex, and he wouldn't forget it.
Looking up at the god above him, the face that looked so much like his own, Iphicles wondered if Hercules had pretended, all those times they had been together, that he was kissing Ares, touching Ares, making love to Ares. And as for the god, whose eyes were still closed, was he imagining that Hercules was sucking his cock, running his tongue along its length? Was he imagining that Hercules was on his knees pleasuring him?
Slowly, deliberately, Iphicles drew back, letting the god's cock slide out of his mouth, hearing the almost silent moan of protest when the tip barely rested on his lower lip, tongue lightly flicking over it. And Iphicles smiled, carefully noting Ares' still-closed eyes, and he turned his head and quickly bit into a fleshy thigh, teeth breaking skin, hot blood flooding his mouth as Ares jumped back, growling, his eyes blazing as he looked down.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Iphicles continued to smile, licking his lips, blood trickling down his chin. "I wanted to make sure you weren't drifting off on me," he said, trying to look innocent. "Besides, I figured you'd like it a little rough."
Ares stared, nonplussed, before his mouth settled into a snarl. Stepping forward, he stood in front of Iphicles, looking down at the king.
"I say when it gets rough, mortal, and don't forget it."
Iphicles shrugged. "Whatever."
He moved forward, reaching again for the god's cock with his tongue, when Ares grabbed his hair, holding it tightly, close to the base of the skull, and the pain made Iphicles' eyes water, but he was glad of it. This would be completely different from sex with their brother. The god began to fuck his mouth roughly, using him, and Iphicles relaxed his jaw, settling back onto his buttocks, trying to make himself comfortable, until Ares released him and stepped back, a strangled whimper escaping him. The god looked as if he had seen something frightening, and Iphicles quickly scanned the room, eyes narrowed, wondering what could shock the god of war. But he saw nothing, and his eyes returned to the god.
Ares was pale, looking at his hands, turning them over as if they had been burned, although there were no visible wounds.
"What?" Iphicles' gaze continued to dart around the room as he peered into dark corners, wondering if they had an invisible audience. At this point he wouldn't be surprised to find that half of Olympus was watching them. Voyeurism appeared to be a god thing.
Ares' breathing was harsh, his chest rising and falling much too quickly, and Iphicles began to worry that the god might be hyperventilating. Assuming, of course, that it was even possible for a god to hyperventilate. But the god remained silent, his eyes focused on something deep within himself.
"Ares?" Iphicles kept his voice pitched low and even, as if he were trying to calm a skittish animal. Which, upon reflection, was exactly what he was trying to do. Ares wasn't human; he was also powerful, dangerous and mercurial. For all he knew this was some sort of test, or even part of a plan on the god's part.
Wincing, Iphicles struggled to his feet, hampered by his bound hands and minor wounds. One foot was numb, tingling from lack of circulation, and straightening his injured knee tore the scab that had been forming, pain blossoming through his leg. He limped toward the god, again twisting his wrists, hoping to free them but succeeding only in rubbing them raw.
As he approached, Iphicles sensed a gathering of power, a vibration of sorts, saw a blurring at the edges of Ares' form, and he somehow knew that the god was about to pull another one of his disappearing acts. The idea filled him with anger and dread; dammit, he wanted Ares so badly, he had been so close, and now the war god was just going to disappear in a blaze of light, leaving him alone with nothing. Again.
Not if he could help it. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Iphicles threw himself at Ares, his shoulder hitting the god's abdomen and sending them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Below him, Ares looked up, snarling, glaring, and Iphicles could feel the rapid heartbeat in the god's chest, could smell a scent like ozone and see blue energy coalescing around Ares' form.
"Are you insane?" Ares didn't so much speak the words as growl them, and Iphicles felt oddly pleased at the question. It was one he had asked himself repeatedly, and he could tell that others wondered the same thing; it was nice to have someone spit it out for once instead of tiptoeing around the subject.
"Maybe. I don't really know," Iphicles replied cheerfully, grinning at the god's puzzled expression. "Does it matter?"
Ares continued to stare up at him, eyebrows drawn down in confusion, the slightest hint of perplexity in his eyes making Iphicles' heart pound faster. God or not, he had managed to surprise Ares, something he thought few mortals were capable of doing.
"I suppose not." Ares sounded calmer, and Iphicles could feel the god's breathing becoming more even, slowly returning to normal, his face relaxing, but simultaneously becoming more shuttered. "Why'd you do that?"
Iphicles wanted to desperately to say something meaningful, or perhaps something witty, but he couldn't think of anything but the truth. "I want you," he said, simply. "I want you to fuck me. I want to taste you. I want to feel you, inside me. I want..." he paused, choking on the words that had almost tumbled out of his mouth, the words 'I want you to love me', which surely would have sent Ares far away, or, even worse, caused him to burst out laughing. He settled for lowering his eyes, swallowing around the lump of neediness in his throat, and finishing quietly. "I want you."
Ares merely looked at him, the mere hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. He appeared to approve of the sentiments, and Iphicles relaxed fractionally, satisfied that the god wasn't going anywhere soon.
His weight rested completely upon Ares, and the sensation of skin upon skin, heat against heat, hard muscle pressed to hard muscle, was reminding the king of exactly what they had been doing when the god decided to put on his bizarre performance. It wasn't love, or friendship, or anything even vaguely warm and safe and comforting. But it was good, and hot and powerful, and it was what Iphicles wanted and needed right now.
Looking deliberately into Ares' eyes, Iphicles licked his lips and slowly began to move one leg, caressing the thigh below him. When Ares made no sound of protest, he lowered his head and began sucking at the god's neck, nibbling gently, as he tasted the coppery blood rising to the surface of the skin. He was rewarded with a low moan, as Ares shifted below him, rubbing their hard cocks together for a brief moment, sending sparks of pleasure through Iphicles. He closed his eyes, choking back a whimper, and heard a low chuckle from below him.
"You're full of surprises, little dragon."
Iphicles' eyes flew open as Ares flipped him onto his back, straddling him, one knee on either side of his shoulders. The god's cock was close, so close, and Iphicles stretched, reaching with his tongue, finally lapping the liquid from the engorged tip. Ares smiled a predatory smile and moved fractionally closer. "Do you want this?" he whispered, and Iphicles nodded desperately, reaching again, this time able to fit the head of Ares' cock in his mouth as he sucked hard, refusing to let it go again.
Ares shifted his weight, slowly feeding his cock into Iphicles' willing mouth. The king sucked and licked, caressing with his tongue, occasionally scraping lightly with his teeth, his gaze never leaving the dark face above him. He wanted, no, needed to remember every detail, every nuance, in case this never happened again. He needed something to hold on to, something that wasn't soft and sweet, but still held this strange intensity.
Ares gazed down at him, their eyes locked together, but Iphicles was unable to interpret the expression on the god's face. He seemed intent, calm, controlled, but Iphicles sensed turbulent emotions behind the bland facade. As he watched, Ares deliberately closed his eyes, shutting Iphicles out, leaving him with a feeling of loss, as if he had missed something important.
The sense of loss grew as Ares withdrew his cock from Iphicles' mouth, rising to his feet and roughly pulling Iphicles up by his bound wrists, standing close enough that Iphicles could feel the heat radiating from his body, like standing next to a blazing fire. The god reached out with both hands, grabbing his head, and pulling him close for another kiss, his hot tongue invading Iphicles' mouth, roughly pushing in and out, setting a rhythm that spoke volumes to Iphicles' cock. He managed a strangled whimper, not sure if he was protesting or asking for more, but Ares continued his assault, giving no quarter, only pulling away when the edges of Iphicles' vision wavered and his lungs begged for air.
Gasping, Iphicles blinked at Ares, noting the smug smirk on the god's face. It provoked a surge of irrational anger, and he leaned forward and returned Ares' kiss, stroking his tongue against Ares', biting gently on the god's lower lip until blood began to ooze, then delicately licking it away with short swipes of his tongue. Ares pulled him closer, the wet tip of his cock leaving a trail of moisture on Iphicles' skin, his hands grasping Iphicles' ass, hard, bruising, making Iphicles moan in need.
Iphicles continued to lick Ares' lip, then his throat, shuddering as one finger thrust between his cheeks and slid inside him, twisting and probing, and he pushed back against it, needing more, moaning when it was withdrawn. Ares' eyes mocked him as the god pushed him backward, sending him stumbling blindly, fighting to keep his balance, until his calves collided with an obstacle and he fell backwards across his bed.
"Much better," Ares purred, "Unless you'd prefer to do this on the floor?"
Iphicles shook his head mutely, allowing the god to position him on the rumpled silk sheets, not protesting as his bound hands were tied to the headboard, moving quickly onto his knees with only a whisper to encourage him. He spread his legs, trembling with a need that was more than physical; it felt like a lifetime since anyone had touched him, had wanted him, and the need for contact overwhelmed even his need for release.
Ares ran his hand possessively down Iphicles' back, tracing the curve of his spine, and Iphicles arched into the touch, wordlessly begging for more. A second hand joined the first, rough skin pressing against the backs of his knees, his inner thighs, moving slowly and deliberately, as if assessing him, searching for flaws.
"You should see yourself." Iphicles jumped as he heard the whisper in his ear, turning his head to find Ares on the bed beside him, watching him, one hand continuing to stroke his body as the other reached for the bottle of oil left standing on the bedside table. "The King of Corinth, brother of the mighty Hercules. And here you are, on your knees, trembling, ready to beg me to fuck you." Anger, which had been smoldering within Iphicles, began to flare again, embers which had been banked bursting into bright, hot flames, and Ares seemed to sense it, his smile growing wider as he continued. He slowly spilled some of the oil onto his cock, caressing himself in long, smooth strokes until his skin glistened angry red and gold in the firelight, and moved behind Iphicles, whispering still.
"You love it, don't you, Iphicles? You like it rough and hard and fast, you like the pain and the anger, the blood and sweat..." He trailed off, and there was a soft grunt, a burning as Iphicles felt the god's cock sliding into his ass. There was pain, and it was good, and there was anger, and it was good. He needed it, the pain, the blood and sweat, the lust and fury. He wanted it, needed it to burn away the weakness within him, the neediness and loneliness that had consumed him, taking over his life.
Ares continued to slide in slowly, burning pain transforming into bright, molten pleasure, the two fusing until Iphicles could no longer tell the difference. He knew only that he burned, hot flames of anger and lust, pleasure and pain all mingling into one bright conflagration. Ares' chest rested against his back, and he could almost feel the god's heart beating, drumming at a furious pace, beads of sweat dripping from Ares onto Iphicles, mingling with his own sweat, both gasping for air, no way of telling who was moaning, who was whimpering, inarticulate noises twisting together into a symphony of desire.
Ares was completely still above him, but Iphicles felt the god's body quiver, small seismic shocks amplified through hot wet flesh. Iphicles gulped air like a drowning man, felt Ares taking slow, careful, measured breaths, the god's chest pressing against his back, sealed skin to skin by sweat and heat.
"Can't believe how hot you are," Ares whispered, breath hot against Iphicles' ear, "you have a gorgeous ass, you know that?" The trembling stopped, and the god began to pull out, leaving Iphicles empty, and he thrust back, hard, as Ares pushed forward, and they found a rhythm somehow, hard and primitive and powerful. Iphicles met each of Ares' thrusts, impaling himself, fighting for supremacy, and it was unclear anymore who was taking and who was being taken.
Sparks danced in front of Iphicles' eyes, and his world narrowed to pure sensation: the sound of Ares' heart beating, his gasps for breath and occasional moans, the droplets of sweat sliding down his hot skin, the hard, hot cock moving inside of him, almost a part of him, and it was simultaneously too much stimulation yet not enough. Until Ares' hand reached around his body, closing around his cock, rough calluses caressing sensitive flesh, and he went flying over the precipice, screaming as he came in Ares' hand. The world almost went dark, but he felt Ares thrust again, then once more, before moaning, choking back a scream and flooding Iphicles with his hot semen.
Sprawled bonelessly on the bed, Iphicles barely noticed when Ares released his bonds. Absently rubbing his wrists, lying on his side facing away from the god, he felt Ares lying behind him, almost close enough to touch, yet not touching. As he drifted off into sleep, he wondered why the god hadn't left yet.
Outside Amphipolis
Iolaus didn't want to wake up. He hated morning. The entire world was slow and languid in the morning, making it a time of gentle awakenings and soft movements. Except, of course, for Hercules. Hercules awoke before the sun, jumping from bed like there were springs in his ass, able to transition from deep sleep to wide awake with no steps in between. It was disgusting.
But this morning, Iolaus felt a warm body snuggled next to his own, and wondered sleepily why he was awake and Hercules was asleep. Blinking, he raised his head slightly, trying to force bleary eyes to focus.
They were in an average sized room, gray walls messily chinked, sunlight filtering through small holes. Several rough-hewn shelves held bottles and bags, bunches of drying herbs hung from the rafters. The window next to the bed showed the sun high in the sky, countless dust motes dancing in the bright light. Iolaus blinked again, fatalistically rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up, bracing his back against the bed's headboard, which creaked ominously.
The door to the left of the bed opened with a matching creak, and a gray haired man entered. Iolaus shook his head, sweeping away the last of the cobwebs spun by his dreams. He yawned and grinned brightly at the man.
"Morning, Argeus."
"Humph." It was Argeus' customary response. The man looked like he had a lemon stuck in his mouth. His expressions ran the gamut from displeased to aggravated to exasperated, but he was always a sourpuss. Of course, having to deal with Iphicles on a regular basis would give anyone a permanent headache, as far as Iolaus was concerned.
Hercules stirred, and Iolaus turned to watch as the demigod woke up, more slowly than usual. His blue eyes swept the room, resting on Iolaus' face as his mouth turned upward into a smile. Lazily reaching up, Hercules stretched, then his arms swept around Iolaus, bringing his head down for a kiss.
The kiss was broken almost before it began as Argeus cleared his throat. Hercules' head snapped up as he turned bright red, leaving Iolaus to point and laugh at his lover's shyness. Hercules hated public displays of affection, which left him blushing furiously and stammering helplessly.
Argeus made more unhappy noises as he handed Hercules his customary mug of medicine mixed with tea, mumbling and grumbling to himself as he shuffled out the door. Hercules obediently gulped the medicine, making a face as it went down.
"I really, really hate that stuff."
"Yeah, well, it'll make you grow up big and strong."
"Shut up, Iolaus."
Iolaus shrugged and bounced out of bed. He was up, so he might as well start moving.
"You know what today is, don't you?"
Hercules brightened. "Of course I know what it is. I've been counting down the days..." He swung his legs onto the floor, wincing slightly as he stood, trying to avoid putting too much weight on his almost-healed leg. Iolaus had to make a conscious effort not to rush to the demigod's side, knowing it would only make Hercules uncomfortable.
But still, he knew he'd have nightmares for the rest of his life, remembering the day he'd found Hercules, injured and feverish, barely able to recognize him.
Iolaus remembered waiting for Hercules, beginning to worry when his lover hadn't met him at the inn outside of Amphipolis. After waiting for two days, he had begun backtracking, fully expecting to find that Hercules had been delayed while saving an entire village from a monster, or repairing the house of an elderly widow. Instead, he had found that Hercules had fallen, breaking one leg and severely gashing the other, and infection had set in. He had been huddled in a roadside shelter, eyes bright as fever consumed him, shaking and incoherent.
After sending word to Iphicles, Iolaus had been angry when the sullen king hadn't bothered to come help his injured brother, but he was somewhat mollified when Iphicles sent Argeus. While the man lacked any semblance of bedside manner, he was a capable healer, and he had brought Hercules back from the brink. Hercules was slowly regaining his health, and today they were finally going to get back on the road, leaving Argeus and this small crumbling cottage forever.
Hercules was finishing dressing, and Iolaus was carefully packing their belongings into well-worn rucksacks, when the air filled with the scent of flowers and golden sparkles, pink hearts drifting to the floor as Aphrodite appeared in the middle of the room.
"Ewww! What a dump!" She placed her hands on her hips and wrinkled her nose as she surveyed the dusty room. Iolaus tried not to laugh as Hercules gave his sister a patient look.
"Good morning, Aphrodite."
"Hiya Herkie!" Aphrodite continued to stand, wearing a huge grin and very little else.
"Um, was there something you wanted?" Hercules tried again.
"Me? No, I was just, you know, passing through." Aphrodite waved one hand unconvincingly. "Thought I'd drop in and see how you were. Heard you got messed up saving a princess from a monster or something."
Hercules looked at his feet, blushing, as Iolaus tried not to laugh. Once he got past the fear, this would make a great story. Hercules would never live it down.
"No, I just fell and gashed open one leg and broke the other, then I got this infection," he trailed off, shrugging, "it's no big deal."
"Yeah, well, saving a princess woulda been better, but no one listens to me," Aphrodite mumbled, looking peeved.
Iolaus and Hercules exchanged confused looks before giving up. Sometimes Aphrodite just lived in a world of her own.
"So, Aphrodite, how's Hephaestus?" Iolaus broke the awkward silence with the first thing that came to mind. Small talk with the gods wasn't exactly standard for him.
A dreamy look swept across Aphrodite's face, leaving the goddess looking even more vacuous than usual, much to Iolaus' amazement. "Heph's fine. He sends his love, hopes you guys stay out of trouble, the usual stuff."
The silence continued as both men regarded the silent goddess in frank confusion. She looked at both of them strangely, her gaze lingering for a moment on Iolaus' face, and she looked slightly disappointed, although he had no idea why.
"Well," Aphrodite started, "I guess I should go. Later, dudes!" She disappeared with her usual ostentatious show, but Iolaus thought she looked somehow small and sad.
"I wonder what that was all about?" Hercules also looked perplexed, and Iolaus just shrugged his shoulders, trying to shake the feeling that he had let Aphrodite down. It was probably the remnant of a strange dream or something.
"Who knows? No offense Herc, I mean, I know she's your sister and all, but sometimes I think there's just not a whole lot going on upstairs, if you know what I mean."
Hercules smiled. "I know. She may not be the smartest member of my family, but she's the sweetest. I'd take Aphrodite over Ares any day of the week."
"Who wouldn't?" Iolaus paused, lost in thought. "You know, maybe it's a love god thing. You know, like the other Ares."
"You mean the God of Looove?" Hercules managed to do an uncanny impersonation of the alternate Ares' voice, leaving Iolaus shaking with laughter.
"Yeah, him. He's not real bright either. Maybe love gods spend too much time in bed to actually engage their brains, if you know what I mean."
"Maybe." Hercules was still chuckling, and Iolaus had to admit that he'd take the alternate Ares over their own version. Maybe they could work out some sort of a trade. The love god, like Aphrodite, was at least friendly and helpful and...sweet. Thinking of Ares as sweet was strange, but the word fit the love god like a glove.
"You know, maybe we should go visit him, see how he's doing. He's kinda helpless, you know."
Hercules started out the door, sunlight turning his hair bright gold. "That's a good idea. But after I get a little better, okay?"
"Okay." Iolaus picked up the rucksacks and started after Hercules. It was a new day, full of new beginning and new possibilities.
Corinth
Ares continued to lie in bed, next to his king, watching as the mortal slept. In sleep, his face was unlined and pure, lips softly parted and inviting, cheeks flushed slightly, hair tousled, a few stray copper curls spilling over golden flesh. He had watched, all night, trying to understand why he wanted to stay and watch. It was puzzling, his fascination with this mortal, and it made him uncomfortable, as if he were losing control.
Absently running his fingers through Iphicles' hair, Ares continued to study the king's face. The similarity was striking, and the god was frankly ticked that no one had thought to mention it to him. But the similarity was deeper than just skin and bones, it was more than physical. Something in the king pulled Ares to him. He was like a flame, burning pure and bright, wild and primitive. Ares could feel the anger and lust, pain and resentment within the man, the same emotions that ruled him.
Settling back and running one hand lightly down Iphicles' arm, Ares nodded to himself. He was staying for a while yet, and he would be back. The king would make a powerful ally. His shape shifting abilities, his army, his experience as a soldier, all would make him nearly unbeatable in battle. Who would be fool enough to oppose an army headed by a dragon?
And the simmering anger and resentment would make him a powerful tool to use against Hercules. With a few small pushes, Iphicles could be used easily and willingly. He could wound Hercules in places that Ares could never hope to touch.
Of course, the fact that the mortal was physically beautiful didn't hurt either. It wasn't just that they looked alike, it was more than that. It was more than the smooth muscles and golden skin. He looked like a fire elemental in human form, almost inhuman when possessed by anger and rage. He burned hot and bright, not willing to be passive or to be taken. Iphicles was willing to stand up to the gods, facing them fearlessly. He was strong, stronger than he believed. Yes, his dragon- king would make a powerful ally.
And, as Ares finally laid his head on his pillow, one arm thrown possessively across his lover's chest, he nodded to himself. He was staying because he saw intellectual and strategic advantages in staying and continuing to see Iphicles. It had nothing to do with wanting, nothing to do with needing. It was purely about using.
He didn't realize that he smiled as Iphicles turned over, burrowing his head into his shoulder, returning his embrace.
