Disclaimer - these characters are the property of MCA/Universal and Renaissance
Pictures and no attempt is made to infringe the copyright thereof. We are
just borrowing them and will give them back at the end of the story!
THE DREAM
By Queenie
It had started as a simple stomach ache.
Both Demigod and Warrior had attributed it to the somewhat suspect stew
in the tavern they had stayed in the day before.
Twenty four hours later, Iolaus was doubled over with agony, a trail of
fire blazing its way through his belly and abdomen, spreading hot tendrils
of agony into every nerve, every muscle.
Hercules had caught him as he swayed and staggered on the rocky path which
led to the hunter's forge. He wrapped his arms around the sick man as they
both went to the ground under the blond's momentum. A moment later, a hot
torrent of green bile spewed forth from Iolaus's bluing lips and he groaned
as the heaving continued, long after his stomach had emptied.
The demigod held tight, bracing the warrior with one powerful arm around
his trembling shoulders; his right hand stroking rhythmically up and down
Iolaus' back.
They had barely made it back to the forge before Iolaus collapsed completely.
The world had started spinning alarmingly and the nausea, which had never
completely receded, despite the vomiting, had returned with a vengeance.
He heaved drily, convulsing in Hercules' arms, feeling the familiar, powerful
arms surround him. Stubbornly, he resisted Morpheus' siren call, but, as
he leaned into the comforting presence of his best friend, his small corner
of the universe gyrated completely out of control and he slid slowly into
insensibility.
Hercules had been alarmed when his friend had shown the first signs of serious
sickness. His alarm had metamorphosed into near panic during the worst of
the attack. Now, supporting the dead weight of his unconscious friend in
his strong arms, he felt the chill of real terror claw her icy fingers around
his heart.
He had lifted the warrior, cradling him tenderly against his chest, and
stepped through the door, making his way toward the bed in the corner. Placing
his precious burden upon it, he had proceeded to divest him of his clothing
- throwing the soiled garments into a corner, to deal with later - and had
covered him with one of the warm blankets which Iolaus kept by the bed for
winter.
Once he had been sure that the warrior at least looked comfortable, the
demigod had set some water to boil, and found some clean cloths. This work
helped to center him, to calm his overwrought nerves, but each quick glance
toward the bed renewed his sense of fear. Iolaus had not moved a muscle
since his collapse. He looked, to all intents and purposes - dead. 'No,
he's not dead,' Hercules told himself, sternly. 'He's just sick. We can
deal with this. I'll look after him, take care of him. Nothing's going to
happen to him. He's going to be all right.' He kept up this mantra whilst
he waited for the water, and crossed the room a few times to lay a shaking
hand on the blond's chest, reassured only slightly by the racing heartbeat
he found there.
Once he had everything he needed, he had bathed the sweat, grime and sickness
from the hunter, and, manoeuvring the smaller man up against his shoulder,
forced some cool water down him, stroking the corded throat to persuade
the liquid down.
*************************
For the next four days, he kept vigil at Iolaus' bedside, only moving to
reheat the water, fetch fresh water from the well, make a rudimentary stew
from the dry ingredients and herbs which Iolaus kept in the back room, and
fed liquids and herbal concoctions to the sick hunter.
Iolaus himself knew nothing of these particular days. He was lost in a spinning
vortex of dreams and distant memories, plagued by nightmares and horrific
visions of the deaths of loved ones. It was all he could do to survive the
onslaught; he would not have been able to contend with the pain rushing
through his system. Nor, in his weakened state, would he have been able
to endure the memories of all the occasions when his body, rebelling against
the parasite which was attacking it, attempted forcibly to eject everything
it could in an attempt to be rid of it.
Hercules continued his ministrations to his friend, cleaning up everything
Iolaus' body rejected, laving a soft, warm cloth over the frequently spasming
form, and crooning to him, unintelligibly, constantly, pleading with him
to get well.
On the fifth day after the sickness had begun, Iolaus regained some semblance
of awareness. Hercules was sitting on the low chair by his bed, one small
hand clutched in his larger one, his head lying upon their joined digits,
long chestnut hair covering his face.
The blond hunter blinked groggily. He remained quiescent for a moment as
he catalogued his afflictions. His head hurt - actually, it felt like a
few hundred men with little hammers were inside of it, banging away on his
temple for all they were worth. His stomach ached with the effect of the
constant sickness - not that he remembered anything about this - it too
felt like there were an army inside it, stretching it taut, past its breaking
point, pulling the skin so tight that he felt like screaming. His mouth
tasted like a tavern floor and there was an all-pervading smell assaulting
his nostrils - something he didn't particularly wish to identify for fear
his queasy belly would rebel and lose whatever remained inside.
"H ... Herc?" Even his throat felt like someone had taken sandpaper
to it, rubbing it over the nerve endings until they were red and raw. "H
...Herc ..."
The demigod came instantly awake. He lifted his head blearily and blinked
several times, then blinked again, almost unable to believe what his eyes
were actually telling him. "I ... Iolaus?"
The warrior nodded, having given up on trying to use his voice. It was far
too painful a process to utilise for the present.
"How - how do you feel?" demanded Hercules, rubbing his fists
over eyes fogged with sleep and gritty with too little of that particular
commodity. "Do you feel better? You look better," he observed,
as his vision cleared and he drank in the sight of his friend - awake and
aware, and finally with some colour back in the too-pronounced cheekbones.
"Feel ... what??? Herc - what happ ...?"
"You've been ill, Iolaus," Hercules told him, gently, laying his
right hand comfortingly on one bare shoulder. "Don't you remember?"
Iolaus merely stared at him as if he had just been informed that a Hydra
had come to live next door.
"It doesn't matter," the demigod said, with a smile. Relief was
flooding through him, banishing the utter terror of the last few days, and
the sun was shining brightly in his world again now that Iolaus was awake
- even if it would take a few more days to get him completely well. "You
rest, my friend. I'm going to get you something to drink. Would you like
some stew?"
The blond shook his head, a little too vehemently as it turned out - the
room started spinning violently out of control. Panting, he lay for a few
moments, trying to get his small part of the universe back within normal
parameters. "No .." he replied, in a dry, rasping voice. "Want
you."
Hercules' smile widened. "You're not well enough yet, Iolaus,"
he said, running a hand tenderly through the soft golden locks, leaning
over the smaller man so that their faces were mere inches apart. "Let's
get you better first, then we'll celebrate our homecoming."
"No ... can't you ... just hold me - please?"
It was a plea from the heart - of a warrior who would never have begged
it of anyone else, and would never normally have begged it of Hercules had
he not been in so fragile a state.
Hercules could not help but accede to this request. Climbing carefully onto
the bed, he manoeuvred himself into as comfortable a position as he could,
and took the blond hunter into his arms, cradling him against his chest
and hugging him as tightly as he dared.
Iolaus sighed and nestled deeper into the warm body next to his, trying
to ignore the pain in his belly; trying to ignore the blistering headache
which wouldn't quit; trying to ignore everything but the feel of being held
tightly in the strong, powerful arms of the person he loved most in the
world.
He slid into sleep with the ease of sliding into a pool of cool, clear crystal
water, and dreamed ...
...He was lying on a grassy knoll beneath a tree. The sky was the colour
of a peacock's feather, the sun a highball of bright orange flame.
He was alone.
Hercules was off on some solo adventure somewhere and he had walked up to
this cool, peaceful green meadow to meditate.
Meditating seemed to be out of the question, however, for all he could think
of; what was uppermost in his mind was ... Hercules.
He missed his friend and lover when they were apart.
He knew Hercules felt the same.
But they had a tacit understanding that they were each entitled to be off
on their own from time to time. And, for the most part, when they were away
from each other, despite the ache of sudden loneliness which burned beneath
the surface, they managed to enjoy themselves - or plunge into some perilous
adventure which kept their minds off each other.
Iolaus sighed and wondered when his lover would be back.
He pictured their reunion. Ah, the passion, the joy, the sweet intoxication
of their lovemaking, which would remove once again the bitter sting of solitude.
He could almost picture that moment now ...
Without volition, his right hand found its way beneath his jerkin, sliding
over one brown, upraised nipple, tweaking it back and forth between nimble,
practised fingers. He raised that hand to his lips and his pink tongue peeked
out to moisten it, before he slipped it back to play with the sensitising,
upraised protuberance.
He imagined that it was Hercules' hand ...
His left arm snaked down toward his leather pants, wandering over one slim
leg to rest on the already straining codpiece. With an ease borne of long
practice, he unfastened the bulging material and slid his hand deep inside
to cup his balls, allowing it to re-emerge with his stiffening penis grasped
lightly in his fist.
His breathing quickened as he ran his fingertip over the already leaking
head, investigating more deeply the slit from where the pre-cum was exuding.
A soft gasp escaped his lips and he ran his tongue around them, moistening
them in a mirror image of what his finger was doing to his engorged shaft.
He closed his eyes and pretended that this was Hercules' finger.
Hercules, playing with his nipple, squeezing, probing, rolling around between
finger and thumb.
Hercules, running one hand up and down his bulging cock, sliding a finger
along the slit in the purpling, bulbous head, moistening the entire length
with the seepage.
His eyes were closed and thus he missed the sudden appearance of a pair
of baleful green and blue iridescent eyes in the sky; did not see the dark
shadow looming in the distance. He was intent on his task, concentrating
on what his lover was doing to him ..
Or would have been had he been there.
The pace of the hand sliding up and down the slick shaft was increasing
in tempo now. He allowed one finger to search out the tight sac beneath
and squeeze. His breath was one long wheezing gasp. Oh gods. Oh gods ...
The tightness in his balls heralded the arrival of his orgasm and he climaxed
with a shout, a jet of pure white streaming out of his cock and covering
his tight abdomen; running down his side to pool on the ground beneath him,
covering it with his pearly essence.
The shadow drew closer.
It was death.
Death was coming for him.
No!
It could not have him yet.
Not before he had welcomed back his friend, his lover, his life.
What would Hercules think, finding him here - like this?
Gods, he would miss that big lug.
No!
"No!"
Hercules awoke with a start as Iolaus shot up out of his protective embrace
and sat straight up in the bed.
"Iolaus?"
A few anxious moments passed. Finally Iolaus blinked and turned to him.
"H..Herc? You're ... you're here."
He sounded surprised. No, amended Hercules to himself, Iolaus sounded astonished
and - there was another emotion present. One he had never thought to identify
with his best and dearest friend and lover. Fear .
"Iolaus, are you okay?"
Hercules rose up in the bed and slung a comforting arm around the blond's
shoulders. The golden hunter was shaking.
"Iolaus?"
His lover turned to him with a watery grin, reached out one hand and gently
touched the demigod's unshaven face. "You're really here," he
marvelled.
"Yes," replied Hercules, totally confused. That must have been
one hell of a dream he surmised that Iolaus had been having. "Come
on, Iolaus. Lie down. That's it. Just hold on to me and it'll be all right.
You were just dreaming. It's all right."
Iolaus' smile widened. So Herc had guessed that he'd had a dream? He would
never know what it had been about, though.
As he snuggled further into the warm circle of the demigod's embrace, inhaling
the musky scent which rose from the broad chest which pillowed his throbbing
head, he relaxed, and decided that what Hercules didn't know wouldn't hurt
him.
'Hera watching me pleasure myself and death coming to get me,' he thought,
laughing to himself at the very idea. "Yeah - right."
Outside the forge, in the sapphire sky, a pair of malevolent blue/green
eyes snapped open, the malicious glare seeming to penetrate the very roof
of the forge...
FINIS
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