Disclaimer: The boys belong to PacRen and Universal - for the moment! We are only borrowing them for a bit of fun and will return them more or less unharmed but extremely satisfied at the end of the story!


THE GREATEST OF THESE

by Martine Barratt


There are several things that come to mind when presented with a naked body. One is to inspect said `objet' for lesions, wounds - ill health of any kind. That is to say, a doctor or apothecary may be used to these types of visions in the front rooms of their workshops or houses, even in the midst of battle.

Another use is to wrap it in shrouds, dressed for burial. One assumes then that the person to whom the body belongs happens to be dead before the gutting and stuffing begins. But as the day they were born, so they return for internment.

Often a naked body may be used for experimentation, to further mankind's knowledge of the intimate universe that houses our very essence. It is quite common for the owner of a body used in this way to then *wish* he were dead.

A yet more sinister practice makes use of the naked form as a sacrifice. To succour or placate an ancient god. Innocent flesh a prized commodity.

Sometimes it can be said to be of no use, except in artistic terms. To the sculptor or painter, the body is the highest form of art, lovingly created by the hands of gods to serve many purposes, not least of all to be the vessel for the soul, if one believes in such things. A perfectly presented body is a delight to artist and artisan alike. The curve and pose of every line whose form echoes that of Zeus himself, or more likely fair Ganymede.

Wrestlers strip naked and oil themselves for the grapple, each muscle contour covered with oil through which a strong hand might slip - a grasp uncoupled, the air empty once more. One victor.

There are many more one could mention, but the greatest of all uses for a naked body, and one like the near perfection that stood before Hercules now, was to use it as a shrine for love.

It was his arms that rendered the delicate flesh uncovered preparing for worship. His hand that trapped the lip and pressed it to his mouth, a moist cushion of tantalising softness, the warm breath a wonder - it smelled of honey, berries and the fresh river waters. It was *his* lively tongue that had caressed the ivory teeth, pressing down upon the creature within, gaining access to that prison, suppressing its wilfulness, dominating it, sucking gently upon it until the mouth formed a simple `o' and he had conquered.

Never before had his caress brought fire, the trail of finger tips blazing against cool skin, igniting each pore simply by being there, soft pressure against aching vellum. Beads of sweat deceitfully mapping every touch, cool breath forcing tiny bumps to surface - traitors of pleasure. But nothing compared to those firmer mounds, Gemini rising from muscled breast, eager to be swallowed, bitten; chewed upon until their owner's tiny gasps echoed upon deaf ears and their nubs glistened; red and swollen.

Nothing could give greater delight than to hear the music of sweet love.

The very fact that the naked form that now writhed and undulated against him was male, neither repulsed nor particularly registered with him. All he knew was that he worshipped his lover, the aching and electric need pulsated in perfect time to the rhythm of the heart that beat powerfully against his ribs but was not his. He loved and his love was returned, tenfold.

All the suffering was worth this moment. All the heartache worth the risk. For now he was needed by someone closer to him than his own flesh and blood.

He would consume the nakedness presented to his eye, engulf it with his strength, yet he would mate with a tenderness that belied his power and complimented that of the other, his beautiful, sensual, Iolaus.

The skin was warm against his, yet his was warmer for his passion was that of the gods themselves. Momentarily, his chin rested against the sun-bleached head. It was not true that the hair trapped beneath his stubbled face was softer than spun silk or the burnish of gold, but he thought it anyway. The skin that he caressed beneath his eager hands was not the satin favoured by noblemen for their finery, but he wanted to believe it and so his heart told him it was. In the honest blue eyes that caught his own there was no depth to equal the ocean, nor was the colour that of the sky at dawn - but he saw it there anyway; sparkling 'neath the summer heat.

It *was* true that this uncovered form would have fuelled many a man's dream, enraptured maidens and set sculptors to their chisels. From misshapen toes to calf that was more oft covered with boot leather than air, fine hairs contoured the strong legs. From reasonable knee to thigh there was an expanse of charted territory; a favourite for tongue and teeth. The inner side from thigh to groin knew more divine saliva than water for bathing and quivered exquisitely when tested against the demigod's technique, something he had perfected on this particular naked body.

From there on words were are in risk of failing. The only way, he felt, to truly know that which lay between torso and leg was to partake of it continually. Regular forays nursed his desperate need to taste all that was his, even as his lover groaned with desire, the throaty, irrepressible giggle erupting each time orgasm claimed the pair. Blessed relief.

And now Hercules' hands felt the tight buttocks he likened to fruit but were, in fact, full of more juice than the succulent ripe apples of autumn; the valley between them held promise of nirvana. Tiny blond hairs provided the copse from within which lay sensual delight. Iolaus' arse held pleasure beyond comprehension for them both and when he plunged and rocked and thrust into it gratefully, home never felt as safe. Long fingers roamed the hillside, subjugating territories, annexing the hunter's body to his own.

Pulling the small form against his breast and revelling in the feel of those muscles responding to his strength, his needs became simple. The hot, throbbing perfection of Iolaus' cock against the insides of his mouth, the rounded balls, heavy with semen, tantalising his face as he knelt before his object of worship. Eclipsing the sunlight, the undulating hips reeking of leather garments, masculine musk and fight-sweat, pulsed barely inches from his nostrils. He was arousal itself. Hercules' groin ached with a thousand pinpricks of desire, his own sap rising from root to tip, seeking release. Release in this shrine, his lover.

Above the taut abdomen of the man now thrusting hotly into his mouth, the strong chest heaved -extra air forcing its way into the lungs, blood pumping in time with his lovemaking, a small, delicate hand wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, directing this rape of the demigod's mouth. Another hand, the exact opposite of its twin, entwined in the head sucking him, digits wrapped around skeins of hemp-like hair, forcing the skull to remain where directed; crude; base - delicious.

Iolaus' plaything, his toy - and he knew it. But so did Hercules.

The tidal wave approached, and a finger slicked with clear droplets of pre-cum, plunged into the cavern of the celestial craters, pumping rhythmically in time with his exquisite tongue, forcing gravity to work on the reward. The prize for submission and lusty greed. Balancing a hand against one thigh, a Herculean, but familiar task, the last vestiges of self-control were ripped screaming from him as he sucked Iolaus to the brink of spillage, delighting in the way the tanned body jerked and spasmed so close to him.

The blond's cock wasn't the longest, nor the thickest the son of Zeus had drained, but it *was* the most enthusiastic, and incredibly beautiful, and the lactic taste of his come when it slid, pearl-like down the back of his lover's throat was ambrosia. Best of all, it belonged to the half-deity and him alone. Others were continually blessed with the gift of his seed but none could claim it as a sacrament as he could. Iolaus fucked as others breathe - regularly and naturally, but he made `love' with the demigod.

The hunter doubled over, laughing even as the remaining drops of fluid were teased from his aching and reddened tip. His smooth chest cried tears of sweat that chased each other merrily across his skin, racing towards the small, fascinating hole that bisected his belly and transfixed the other man.

Hercules joined the merriment, eliciting another sound entirely when his mouth, still full of white stickiness, formed a bond with the small, dark hole in his partner's child-like stomach and creating a vacuum, filled it with a pool of saliva and semen. When his lips reluctantly gave up their post, kissing every exposed pore, Iolaus simply replaced them with his fingers, seductively easing the ooze clear and bringing it back within his succulent mouth as it trickled down towards his semi-erectness.

He was ready for more.

The demigod rose to his feet, towering over the sated hunter before demanding, and receiving, a kiss that would shame Aphrodite. Hugging the smaller man to him, his own manhood, hard and erect, was digging between them, begging attention and release. Iolaus licked his pink lips, tasting salt, remembering how, seconds before, his heart almost burst with the climax that brought intense joy to them both. In this age-old ritual, he knows what comes next; his sturdy legs move further apart, creating a space for the son of Zeus to stake his claim.

Two hearts hammering in two breasts.

With the tantalising slowness of a whore, the blond's hand reached for Hercules' cock, rising rampant amid the nest of darkness, curls as crispy as autumn leaves. Deliberately he stroked the head, helping the blood flow form an erection that would split him in half, the feel of velvet sliding across the glistening tip building excitement in his lover, the natural lubricant leaking from the slit and sticking to his fingers. He smiled then groaned when, fast as a viper, a sharp tongue flicked across his left nipple, instantaneously it blossomed; not capable of giving milk but with the same degree of sensitivity that a mother would feel with a babe pressed against her. Another lick and the blond's cock throbbed in its own coat.

Iolaus stayed shock still.

Hercules made his move.

Naked body versus naked body. Male flesh against male flesh. The demigod eased slowly behind the blond man, not quite touching but never quite apart. Iolaus closed his eyes, feeling like a mare awaiting the stallion to cover her. The urge to run strong - the urge to fuck, stronger.

A gentle touch as a hand swept the tousled curls away from the nape of his neck. Head inclined to one side as the son of Zeus, lips only pressed against the fleshy muscle, brought tiny red marks to the surface, possessing. Pain - slight, muscular, nothing. Nothing compared to what he could feel when filled with his lover's unyielding shaft.

The demigod was panting now, breath coming in short gasps as arousal overwhelmed his senses and the barbarian smell and touch and taste of Iolaus was all that he craved. Sex; rough, uncomplicated, loving and exquisitely fulfilling. Warm air escaped from between his parted lips and caressed the back of Iolaus' neck, making the blond hackles rise as the smaller man unconsciously rocked back on his heels towards his lover, eager for brutal entry.

He was immobilised as an arm swung around the curve of his shoulder and crushed him to Hercules' chest, the thatch of dark hair brushing his back and sending a shiver down his notched spine. A rough hand covered a budded nipple and squeezed. Now he felt the possession, the raw heat of desire that singed his mind and his body. Past the point of no return, past all decorum or sense, Iolaus was almost lifted from the earth as a dagger-like cock pierced his parted thighs and shoved roughly against the very root of his own shaft sending a shock-wave of desire shooting through both men. Hercules covered him, enfolding the smaller man as their breath and sweat poured freely and mingled. He thrust forward, pushing at the tenderness of Iolaus' buttocks, keeping him off balance - *making* him rely on the demigod's strength, something that Hercules relished. He licked his lips lasciviously, nuzzling further into the golden head under him and pushed his penis through the soft walls of Iolaus' inner thighs. The veins of his straining erection pulsed against the aegis of flesh and left a snail-like trail of clear pre-come that painted the hunter's scrotum leaving it slick and sticky.

Iolaus clenched his buttocks and reached beneath him for his own penis as it stood to attention, demanding a hand, a mouth, *anything*. Fingers forming the familiar ring he started pumping himself, head thrown back against the adamantine shoulder behind him as he pulled the tight skin over the effulgent head of his penis. As he reached the base, his hand inadvertently stroked the invader only to be rewarded by a crushing grip as Hercules grit his teeth against his incipient orgasm and thrust faster, his hirsute and plum-like balls, full to bursting with sperm, smacked softly against Iolaus' cheeks. The constant friction against his erection from his ravisher's own moist cock was agonising and soon the animal pleasure proved too much. The
heady cocktail of his lover's powerful thrusts and his wet jerking caused his spill.

Hercules felt the change in his lover as Iolaus' body tightened and braced itself against the climax. The demigod continued his assault, knowing that his own orgasm would follow soon after. The blond lost control, groaning loudly as his emission raced towards the head of his cock and discharged in a rill of milk against his firm brown chest. Squeezing the last few drops and teasing himself, he laughed and turned his full attention to Hercules, reaching behind him to grasp the lithe hips firmly, his words calculated to bring his divine lover over the edge, urging him on, pleading, encouraging until finally the abrasion ceased and the gaping slit leaked semen in an arc that splattered not only the blond's legs, but the ground beneath.

Denied the feeling of his lover's essence penetrating his body, Iolaus was nevertheless sated and crumpled to his hands and knees, taking Hercules with him, the son of Zeus lying across his strong back as his erection wilted to nothing to melt as it lay, nestled still against the hunter's crack. As the demigod rolled off the slick form, they kissed passionately, touching each other still, fondling and arousing, building the heat for the next cycle to begin before capitulating to their mutual exhaustion, to lie sleeping within each other's embrace.

During sex, few words were ever required to fuel their lust - one gave and one received, but who was the giver and who the receiver? Iolaus spreads his legs to receive Hercules' seed but it was Hercules who cried after their joining, it was he who was reluctant, even when soft, to slide out of the hunter's luscious body, it was he who, more often than not, would suck Iolaus' cock into his mouth to bring the blond to orgasm and he who swallowed like a man dying of thirst, wasting not one precious drop of the thick juice. Who then can say?

How many times had they basked in the aftermath of sex? Never enough times. The pang of regret a bitter taste in each mouth. Too long without admission, too busy helping others to help themselves. Nevertheless the sheer intensity of each fuck brought a freshness to their relationship that no mortal could match.

This then is what the naked form is for. What Iolaus' body was for and Hercules' too. On the field, the demigod respected the hero beside him as an equal, maybe not in strength but in guts, compassion, bravery and strength of character, but in bed they were never equals; the hunter needed only stand, unclothed before him to render the demigod speechless - willing to submit. It was an unspoken truth - where Iolaus' cock lead - Hercules would follow.

There had been many lovers in Hercules' life - but the greatest of these - was fair Iolaus.

FINIS




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