Disclaimer: Hercules and Iolaus belong to Renaissance etc and we are only borrowing them for the purposes of this story



RESTORATION

Part two

By Rudy

Demophon blinked back hot tears as he watched Iolaus and Orestes approach the rose quartz altar. A gentle hand touched his shoulder, and he squinted up at Dionysus' grave, tender face. He allowed himself to nestle back into the god's strong arms, his pain slightly eased by the contact.

The watching mortals drew aside to make a path for the sacrificial victims, and the Gods by the altar did the same. Untouched, Iolaus and Orestes mounted the steps to the altar, and turned to face the witnesses.

"Rare beauty, indeed." Dionysus murmured, and Demophon's heart agreed. The cousins were beautifully matched; their nude bodies gleaming like gold and ivory in the apricot beams of the setting sun. Their eyes, as blue as the nearly forgotten summer sky, gazed unflinchingly at Demeter as she detached herself from the small throng of deities and confronted them.

"Do you give yourselves willingly, that others may profit by your suffering?"

"Willingly, Goddess."

"Do you acknowledge that, should you fail to fight your way back to the Land of the Living, the blessings of the Earth shall be forever withdrawn from this land?"

"Yes, Goddess."

"Mortals and Gods, I call you to witness this sacrifice. Hades has taken my daughter by force. I have suffered them to marry, but I have required that Hades openly acknowledge his crime, and pay for it by sacrificing his lover's life. Observe the price, and remember; women are not your chattels. Misuse them at your peril." Demeter beckoned Hades, "Lord Hades, do you willingly surrender Orestes, the lover of your heart, as payment for your wrongdoing?"

Hades, his steps sluggish, approached Orestes.

"Courage, my lord." Orestes whispered, and Hades straightened his shoulders. He turned to face Demeter, the tears streaming unchecked from his eyes.

"Willingly." His eyes belied his vow.

"So be it." Demeter held out her hand, a sickle shaped knife appeared clasped in her fist, "Surrender his life, then."

Hades accepted the blade, stifling a pain-filled oath. He pulled Orestes into his arms and kissed him deeply.

"One day, we'll be together again. I will watch over you, I promise."

"Farewell, my lord. My love." Orestes tilted his head for another kiss, then placed his palm against Hades' chest, over his heart. His blue eyes locked with Hades' despairing gaze, and he offered a glowing smile to his lover, like a victor's laurel, "Strike true, Hades."

Sobbing, Hades drew the blade across Orestes' throat, his tears mingling with the steaming blood that poured over Demeter's altar. He sank to the ground, cradling Orestes against his chest, his black cloak streaming with the scarlet tide of his lover's blood.

"That's twice I've watched you die, Cousin." Iolaus whispered, kneeling at Hades' side and drifting his fingers over Orestes' hair. He turned a concerned, blue gaze on Hades' tragic face, and touched the god's shoulder, gently.

Dionysus released Demophon and strode to Hades' side, gently freeing the knife from the suffering god's trembling fingers. Hades blinked up at him, as if awakening from a dream, and stood, with Orestes' body clasped against his chest. He laid his bloody burden on the altar, reverently. Iolaus remained kneeling, regarding Dionysus squarely.

Dionysus knelt before the golden mortal. Something in his manner requested, and received permission. He gathered Iolaus close, and bent his head for a tender kiss. Lips met, and clung, and an unearthly stillness fell over the witnesses, as they looked upon this painfully rendered allegory of life. Iolaus, golden and supple, locked in a passionate embrace with the God of the Vine. Sensuality screamed from every line of Iolaus' body, his hair and skin seemed to radiate heat, despite the frozen air. Above him lay his cousin's body, already cooling at the cessation of its blood's race against Death. Each line of Orestes' corpse matched that of Iolaus' thriving beauty, stilled into a pale sculpture. The defiance of Death, the defeat of Life.

Dionysus lifted his head.

"Beloved son. Fare you well."

"Do it." Iolaus demanded.

Dionysus lifted the blade, and Iolaus' bright blood streamed from the mortal wound he dealt. He tenderly lifted Iolaus' body, and laid him against Orestes on the altar. Saluting both foreheads with a kiss, he turned to confront Demeter.

"It is done, Demeter." The knife clattered to the tiles.

"Half done," Demeter corrected, coldly, "Now, we wait."

She gazed silently at the sacrifices for a long moment. They lay tumbled together like broken dolls, their skin chalky beneath the dark garnet of the bloodstains. A golden haze appeared around the altar, encasing their corpses in a protective bubble.

"They will remain here, unmolested, until their spirits win free of the Underworld."

Demeter left the courtyard without a backward glance, followed closely by Hades and Persephone. One by one, the gods and goddesses vanished, until only Ares and Dionysus remained. The mortals filed past the altar, paying silent homage to Iolaus and Orestes, wishing them strength in the ordeal still facing them. They then left the courtyard, setting up camps outside the palace walls, awaiting the outcome of the sacrifice with the resignation of the damned.

Demophon approached the altar, staring sightlessly through the golden barrier. He nearly jumped out of his skin at a sweet hail from his right.

"Demophon. Come with me; it is too cold here, and too dark."

He took Dionysus' outstretched hand numbly, and allowed himself to be led into the palace. Ares watched speculatively, a lascivious smile quirking his lush mouth.

"Now, this could be entertaining." He informed the dusty statue beside him, flicking its stony cheek with a careless finger, "I'll give the God of Sots a head start, then I'll have a look at how he chooses to comfort that pretty, young mortal. Knowing my brother's tastes, little Demophon should have a bit of trouble sitting for a few days."

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Dionysus made his way through labyrinthian corridors with the ease of long acquaintance, finally ushering Demophon through a narrow, wooden door. The chamber that lay beyond it was small, and dark, but a quick glance from Dionysus served to kindle the fire and light the clumps of fat, white candles which dotted the room. Mounds of soft, purple cushions lay piled by the blazing hearth and a low, wooden table was drawn up next to them, laden with an elegant flask of wine and a cluster of goblets.

Demophon sank gratefully onto the cushions, staring at the flames while Dionysus filled two golden chalices with rich, red wine.

"Thank you." Demophon flicked a brief, abstracted glance up at Dionysus, and accepted the proffered goblet.

Dionysus smiled wryly, draining his own wine quickly, and refilling his goblet before settling himself opposite the mortal. He sipped slowly at the heady brew, studying Demophon's profile, and musing over the day's events.

Ares, cloaked with invisibility, took up residence in a corner of the room. He nearly snorted aloud with disgust as he took in the scene before him.

Dionysus lay on a sea of pillows, the golden fire light caressing his brown skin, and flickering tenderly over the lush night of his black hair. So far, so good. But, he was a full arm's reach away from the delectable young mortal, and he wasn't doing anything. Other than staring moodily at Demophon and swilling wine, that is.

'I'd have had that boy's legs in the air, by now. What does Dionysus need, a script?' Ares shook his head despairingly, but he perked up when Dionysus abandoned his empty goblet, and reached out to trace Demophon's jaw line with gentle fingers.

"They will survive the challenge, Demophon. You've looked into their eyes, you've seen the strength there."

"Why didn't you stop it?" Demophon lifted darkened eyes to Dionysus', "You're a god. The place was filled with gods. Why didn't anyone stop it?"

"It is not for gods to interfere in one another's works."

"How convenient. Of course, with as much interfering as you do with mortals, I can see how you'd need a break." As soon as the words left his lips, Demophon regretted them. He could feel the anger flooding toward him, as Dionysus' beautiful face twisted with rage. But, even as Demophon braced himself for a killing blow, the god's face softened.

"You are right. And, the rule between the gods is broken as often as it is observed. In fact, I am here with you now because Zeus went against Hera's will, and brought me back from the Darkness before the vines quickened with sap. He thought that Demeter might listen to my words, above all other voices, save that of Persephone. Yet, I understand her rage; women are my chief worshipers. I know their pain, and the anger which it can birth. I cannot go against Demeter's will in this, though
I know that what she has done will not change the lot of women. It might ease her misgivings about the depth of Hades' love for Persephone, but nothing more."

"Then, why allow this to happen? I don't understand."

"One glance at Demeter is enough to show that she will not be turned from her purpose. One glance at Iolaus is enough to show that he is a mortal with the heart of a lion. And, Orestes is a mortal who will surrender himself to duty without question. I've been where they are, now. Each year, my body is torn asunder, and I go down to Death. Each year, I am renewed with the awakening of the vines. This is a journey that they can complete. Demeter will see two mortal males endure the
unendurable for the sake of others. Perhaps, this will give her the hope which she craves so desperately."

Demophon absorbed Dionysus' words in silence. The god rose, with a feline stretch, and refilled their goblets.

"Why do you do that?" Demophon asked.

"Do what?"

"Why don't you pour the wine without moving, like you lit the fire?"

Dionysus laughed delightedly, and saluted Demophon's cheek with a chaste kiss.

"I like pouring wine. Lighting the fire, however, is a pain in the ass."

'Oh, brother. What, when Zeus put Dionysus back together, did he forget his cock? Oooh, things are looking up. Well, I can spare another minute or two.' Ares settled himself more comfortably against the wall, as Dionysus took a mouthful of wine and bent to Demophon's mouth, passing the elixir to the mortal with a tender kiss.

The wine, blessed by Dionysus' mouth, flowed down Demophon's throat and blossomed in his belly into a spreading warmth, firing his heart. He fought for equilibrium, clinging dizzily to Dionysus' shoulders as the god drank deeply, once again spilling the intoxicating elixir from his mouth into Demophon's. Every hair on the mortal's body prickled, every nerve sparked. He gasped as Dionysus threaded elegant fingers through his tangled, brown curls, cupping the back of his head and devouring his mouth hungrily. The god's other hand found purchase at the small of Demophon's back, pulling him close. Flesh to flesh, Dionysus' nipples danced against the mortal's, and Demophon sank both hands into the warm satin of the god's hair, pulling his head back and tasting his brown throat.

The god's weight was bearing him down into the cushions, and his mouth was being taken again, hot slender hands were pulling his clothing aside, pushing his pants to his knees. Nails scraped lightly along his inner thighs, circled his abdomen, teased at his nipples. Dionysus' mouth followed where his hands had been, and Demophon cried out as his cock was engulfed by sucking, wet heat. He thrust upward into Dionysus' mouth, into his throat, and his hands filled with the god's black hair as his body jerked spasmodically, a sudden orgasm thundering through
him, filling Dionysus' mouth with his bitter seed.

Ares was so engrossed in the sudden frenzy of sexual release being played out before him that Dionysus had to call his name a second time before the God of War realized that his cover was blown.

"Ares! Are you going to join us, or have you given up this sort of thing?" Dionysus' eyes danced, purple-blue in the firelight as he beckoned Ares with a slim finger, his other hand resting on Demophon's heaving chest, as the mortal fought to catch his breath. Demophon had never come so much, so fast. Never. He tried to make some sense of Dionysus' words, but he didn't try too hard. He didn't want to talk.
He just wanted to fuck.

Ares stumbled over to the cushions, leaving a trail of leather clothing in his wake and sinking onto silken pillows and slick flesh with an anticipatory growl.

"How'd you know I was here?" He asked, following the query with the tip of his tongue, dipping into Dionysus' ear.

"Ooooh, yeah. Can we discuss it later?"

Ares ran his tongue down the length of Dionysus' spine, stopping when he reached the purple cloth still clasping his brother's hips.

"How annoying." He complained, peevishly.

Dionysus grinned, then bent to the task of tasting Ares' rampant cock, from root to crown. At the muffled sound of a needy moan, Ares dragged his gaze from the intoxicating sight of Dionysus' dark head bobbing between his legs, to discover that Demophon was also watching as Dionysus circled the head of Ares' cock with an eager tongue. The mortal surprised Ares with a drunken grin, then his curly, brown head joined Dionysus' sleek, dark head at Ares' groin. They battled companionably for a while, each trying to swallow the greatest length of Ares' thick cock, then Dionysus left Demophon to it, gulping a draught of wine and arranging himself between Demophon's thighs He nipped his way along the mortal's taut buttocks, holding the pale cheeks apart and nuzzling along the cleft, his tongue dipping teasingly into Demophon's anus, then darting away. He licked, nibbled, blew cool air across the yearning opening, reached between the straining thighs to fondle the mortal's dripping cock - it was a sweeter torment than Demophon had ever
dreamed possible.

"Show some pity, Dionysus! You're driving both of us crazy, here!" Ares protested, when Demophon's rhythm became increasingly erratic in response to Dionysus' ministrations.

"What's the matter, big brother?" Dionysus laughed throatily when Ares dropped his head back onto the cushions, moaning pitifully, "Okay, okay."

He caressed Demophon's tangled hair, rewarding the mortal with a tender kiss when he looked up, questioningly. Sinking to his knees, he lifted the purple cloth covering his groin, guiding Demophon's mouth to his cock.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's so good. Oh, that's good," he murmured, as Demophon ran his tongue down his swollen shaft, lapping at the head and slowly swallowing the length of his cock. Ares pushed himself to his elbows, and took his brother's mouth in an eager kiss. Dionysus gathered Ares' temporarily abandoned erection into his warm, talented grasp, pumping it roughly.

"Enough. Enough, baby." Dionysus guided Demophon's mouth back to Ares' shaft, then positioned himself between the young man's muscular thighs and placed the slick head of his cock against the mortal's anus.

Slowly, he breached Demophon's body, and the mortal gasped around Ares' cock, which greatly pleased the God of War. Dionysus began thrusting steadily, each stroke sending him deeper into Demophon, until his entire length was readily accepted by the clinging heat of the mortal's eager body. Ares rearranged his weight on the pillows, which allowed each of Dionysus' thrusts to plunge Ares' cock into the mortal's throat.

Demophon's muscular body formed a gleaming bridge of flesh between the two gods, Dionysus' cock heating him from behind, and Ares' cock plundering his mouth. When Ares extended an indulgent hand to pump the mortal's needy shaft, his seed immediately jetted over the god's strong hand, decorating the pillows, and Ares thighs, with milky pearls. He moaned hungrily around Ares' shaft, sending the god over the edge into a maddening orgasm of his own.

Ares was caressing Demophon's flushed face and soft hair with a lazy hand when Dionysus cried out wildly, his hands clutching at the young mortal's slim flanks, his hair flying as he threw his head back in ecstasy.

"Damn. You're beautiful when you come, Dionysus." Ares murmured, his eyes fixed on his brother's glittering eyes, and trembling body.

Dionysus eased regretfully out of Demophon's anus, pulling the mortal into a sweet, sloppy embrace, and kissing him deeply.

"You always say that, Ares." He grinned, stealing a few kisses from Ares.

"Well, it's always true." Ares retorted.

Limbs tangled contentedly, the three lovers shared thrilling draughts of Dionysus' wine, sweetened by the god's lips, and gradually caught their breath.

"So. How'd you know?" Ares asked, presently.

Dionysus blinked at him languorously, then smiled and traded a wine fragrant kiss with him.

"These are my chambers, set aside for my use by Demeter. You can't hide from me within my own walls, Ares."

"Apparently not. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Have I ever told you that you're my favorite brother, Dionysus?"

"Yeah, lots of times. Only when we're both naked, though."

"You're not naked!" Ares protested, indicating the damp, wrinkled cloth still gracing his brother's hips.

"Come to think of it, neither am I." Demophon pointed out.

Sure enough, his pants were bunched around his booted feet, and his tunic hung from one muscular shoulder.

Dionysus filled his mouth with wine, and passed it to Demophon in a loving kiss, then he gently stripped the mortal, and himself. "Well," he murmured, his mouth wandering over the blushing terrain of Demophon's chest, and his hand reaching out to draw Ares closer, "I guess we'll just have to start all over again."

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Dawn was purpling the sky as Hercules made his way through the campsites dotting the perimeter of Demeter's walls. Wan faces peered up at him as he passed, and there was an occasional cry of his name. But, no one met his eyes; they turned their faces away when he caught them gazing at him. What he saw in those brief moments froze his blood. Sorrow. Resignation. Pity. Pity for Hercules.

When he saw the golden bubble surrounding the altar at the center of Demeter's courtyard, his fear mounted, but it died away as he stood beside Iolaus' body. He felt as though all fear and all love drained from him in a burning moment, leaving him as lifeless as Iolaus. Distantly, he was surprised to realize how easy it was to distinguish which of the blue-white forms was Iolaus, though the two men were nearly identical. He puzzled briefly over who the other man might have been,
but dismissed the question as irrelevant.

It seemed to be the final irony that he should find Iolaus like this - laid out on an altar of stone, just as his friend's body had lain in the days after his passing, with Hercules raging, weeping, mourning at his side. When he'd finally given in to the demands that he surrender Iolaus' body to the flames, he had bathed the beloved limbs himself, cleansing Iolaus with rosewater and tears. He had laid a longing kiss
on the hard, cold lips, then consigned his body to the palace servants to wrap him for his journey to the Underworld.

And, now, Iolaus lay dead on an altar, once again. How had his poor body been moved to this place, and why? But ... There was no sign of the killing blow that had transfixed his great heart. His body was pale, but perfect beneath the bloodstains that marred its smooth surface. His quiet face was composed, unlined, his limbs were strong and rounded, his hair a bright cloud tumbling to his shoulders. This was Iolaus as he had been years ago, before the lines of care and pain had etched themselves on his features.

With an effort, Hercules turned from the altar, and sought Demeter within her palace. He found her in a huge, airy chamber, attended by Persephone and an ashen Hades.

"What has happened, Demeter? Why did I return to Greece to find it a wasteland, why is Iolaus' body lying on your altar?" Hercules' voice blazed with anger.

"It's my fault, Hercules."

Hercules moved to Hades' side, and folded his arms, waiting for an explanation.

Hades did explain, briefly, painfully, and Hercules' anger mounted with every word the God of the Underworld spoke. When Hades' strained voice ground to a halt, Hercules towered over Demeter, his face stony with rage.

"Why? You had Orestes. Why did you take Iolaus, too? Do you realize how he died? He was killed by Dahok. He threw himself in front of a knife intended for Nebula - a woman, Demeter. He died for her. He died at the hand of a god. In fact, he has now died five times, three times as the result of Hera's games, once by Dahok's knife, and now to satisfy your whim. Don't you think that this is a bit much, even for a man to suffer? Do you really think that this will change anything? Even if Iolaus and Orestes manage to find their way back, and you deign to allow the earth to thrive, again, how will that change what is? Will men look on women more kindly because of this? Will understanding and respect suddenly blossom between the sexes, because Iolaus died?"

"Hercules, you are grieving, and I will excuse your anger. But, hear my words." Demeter faced Hercules squarely, her eyes commanding his attention, "Iolaus tried to deceive me, and I have taken his life as payment. But, he now has what he did not possess, before; a chance. A chance to live again. It is done, Hercules, and it cannot be changed."

'A chance to live again'. Hercules cast a final, burning look at Demeter, and left the chamber.

The sun was high in the sky as he entered the courtyard, and stood by the altar. His face was tearstained, but his fury had been blunted somewhat by an unheralded emotion. Hope. Hope was rising within him promising him life, warmth, love. He wanted to resist it, sure to his core that he would die if his hopes failed him. But, he wanted this, with all of his being. Wanted Iolaus' irrepressible spirit to bring him over the brink of Death, once again, to return him to Hercules' side.

Ares joined him, a mocking smile lighting his handsome face. Hercules gazed at him numbly, unable to summon the energy to care about Ares, and his endless games.

"Well, well, brother. You look like hammered out dog shit. What's the matter; your bed been a bit too cold these last few months?" Ares tapped at the glowing barrier, shuddering with pleasure as the resulting shock of pain writhed through his arm, "Mmm. Nice toy. Speaking of nice toys; Iolaus is a pretty little thing, I'll grant you that. I can't imagine why I never paid that much attention to his looks when he was alive. Could be because he was so fucking annoying. Or, could be because he always had clothes on. Well, except that one time, but that hardly counts. Why the long face, though? I mean, how rare could he be - there's two of him right here! Just pick yourself out a new armful of mortal, and get on with your life, already."

"Not now, Ares. I am not in the mood." Hercules growled.

"The mood? Hey, you've got me all wrong, brother. I'm not offering to hop into bed with you." Ares laughed at the glare Hercules sent him, but the laughter caught in his throat as Hercules' hand locked in the leather of his tunic, lifting Ares above his head, his other hand knotting into a fist, preparing to pound the lingering smile off of Ares' face. Permanently.

A slim, dark hand was laid gently over Hercules clenched fingers, and the demigod dropped his erstwhile victim unceremoniously, turning to confront the man who had interrupted him.

"Who are you?" Hercules knew that he was facing a god, but ...

"Dionysus. Your half brother. Another half brother, that is." Dionysus' eyes glowed with the smile that quirked the corner of his mouth, and Hercules found himself smiling in response. Dionysus wrapped his arm around the beautiful, young man accompanying him, and introduced him to Hercules as Demophon. Hercules took in the mortal's kiss-swollen mouth, and heavy lidded eyes, along with the sweet smile which Dionysus turned on the pretty youth, and drew his own conclusions. His heart ached at the sensual cloud surrounding their lazily entwined bodies. A god and his mortal lover.

Dionysus saw the longing in Hercules' eyes.

"He will return to you, my brother. I've met him, and seen his strength. He will return to your side; such a one would never fail his lover."

"He's not ... wasn't," Hercules' words trailed off, Dionysus' wise eyes boring into his soul.

Iolaus should have been his lover. Would be his lover.

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Iolaus was falling. He'd been falling for a long, long time. Finally, he landed. He lay for a moment, stunned, gasping for breath, then forced himself to one elbow, squinting around dazedly. The ground protested, however, heaving and cursing beneath him, and he looked down to find that he'd planted his elbow in Orestes' midsection, which didn't appear to be making his cousin very happy.

"Uh, sorry," he shifted, rolling off of Orestes' body and scrambling to his feet, extending a hand to help Orestes rise, "Great. Every time I come here, it's gloomier looking than the time before."

Orestes looked around. They were in a dim cavern, eerily lit by tallow candles glowing inside the human skulls that dotted the slimy walls at uneven intervals. The Styx wound before them, and a straggly line of the Dead waited numbly for Charon to ferry them across the treacherous water.

"I don't know. It seems very much the same as it was the last time I arrived. Although, I believe that the skulls are new. Didn't the lighting used to be provided by torches clutched in fleshless hands?" Orestes grinned.

"Beats me. Good, there's Charon. Let's get on our way."

Although a few of the gory soldiers waiting their turn grumbled loudly about line jumpers, Iolaus and Orestes pushed their way to Charon's ferry, and hopped aboard unceremoniously.

"Oh, wonderful. What, is there a factory up there, turning out buff, little, blond guys? Seems like I'm haulin 'em over the river every other day! Now, I get two at a time? I don't suppose either of you has a coin for me, eh? Figures." Charon groused and spat, turning the ferry and poling his way to the opposite bank of the river, "You know what? You both look just like Hades' mainsqueeze. Cute little guy, good manners. Now he had two gold coins for me, when his turn came. Which, by the way, he waited for, instead of elbowing everybody else outta his way and getting in my ferry without so much as a by-your-leave. Not to mention, he had clothes on. He didn't show up naked as the day he was born, like you two. Let me guess: you were screwing, right? One of your wives caught you screwing each other, and cut your throats. Right? Yeah, I'm right. I'm always right. I got an instinct for these things."

"Oh, really? Do I look like I care, Charon? So, how do we get out of this place, anyway?" Iolaus asked, peering intently toward their destination.

"'Out of this place'? How do you 'get out of this place'? You don't get out of this place, genius. Yer dead! This is where the dead guys stay!" Charon shook his head with disbelief, and brought the ferry up against the dock, "Here's where you get off. Try not to think, Blondie - sounds like you're not cut out for it."

Orestes laid a restraining hand on Iolaus' shoulder when his cousin began to splutter a retort, and motioned for Iolaus to follow him ashore. Charon tossed them a wink, spat in their general direction, and headed back across the black water.

"Follow me; Hades showed me the way out a long time ago."

"Why'd he show you the way out of the Underworld?" Iolaus asked, as they loped along the narrow path.

"I think he just wanted to show me around. He's very proud of this place."

"Yeah. What's not to be proud of, right?" Iolaus eyed the slimy rocks and gloomy atmosphere with distaste, then skidded to a halt at the sound of a blood-curdling howl, "What the fuck was that?"

"Oh, that's just Cereberus. Don't worry."

"The three-headed, flesh eating, rip your guts out and play jump rope with them Cereberus?"

"Yes, but he's really quite a nice dog, once you get to know him. He likes me." Orestes rounded the last bend with a brisk stride.

"Gods!" Iolaus yelped, "That's the ugliest ..."

"Shhhhh! He's sensitive." admonished Orestes.

He stepped forward, calling Cereberus' name in a sweet, soothing tone, and all three of the dog's slavering, howling heads turned toward him. Amazingly, the ear-splitting racket ceased, replaced by joyous little barks, and, when Orestes drew close enough to pet the reeking beast, slobbering licks.

"Come on, Iolaus." Orestes urged, "Say 'hi'."

Iolaus joined him, reluctantly. Cereberus acknowledged his introduction to Iolaus by wrapping two dripping tongues around Iolaus' neck and shoulders, while his third head yipped happily. The cousins dedicated themselves to some serious petting, then played a game of dodge with the excited watchdog, until he flopped down onto the black sand, tongues lolling.

"Bye, boy. Be good. Protect Hades for me, okay?" Orestes scratched behind all six ears, then led Iolaus through the creaking gates that guarded the entrance to the Underworld, "See? He's a good dog, isn't he?"

Iolaus cocked a saliva-caked eyebrow at him.

"So. Where to now, cousin?"

"There," Orestes pointed, "We have to climb that cliff to reach the land of the Living."

The monolith that loomed before them was unlike anything Iolaus had ever seen. Its sides were smooth, and black, as though the entire, gargantuan structure had been formed from a single piece of obsidian. Occasional ledges jutted out from the slick surface at sickening angles. He couldn't see the crest of the cliff; it was lost far above in the darkness.

"Climb that? How?"

"Carefully?" Orestes offered.

"Was that a joke, Orestes? You're cracking a joke? You've been hanging out with me for too long." Iolaus grinned, and clapped Orestes on the back.

"Not nearly long enough, cousin. Listen; Hades told me something when he showed me this place, something that you need to know. As impossible as it looks, this cliff can be climbed. It will be unbelievably difficult, but the physical effort will the least of our problems. Emotionally ... it will be torture. This structure is designed to delve into a mortal's deepest fears, his sharpest sorrows, and bring them to the surface. Quite simply, it will do everything it can to make you long to give up, to surrender, and let yourself fall."

Iolaus regarded Orestes' grave face, then gave him a cocky grin.

"Piece of cake. Ready?"

Orestes pulled him into a bone-cracking hug.

"Ready."

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It was agony.

Endless, screaming agony.

Upon closer inspection, Iolaus found that the seemingly smooth surface of the cliff was pitted with razor sharp cracks, and deep holes. They offered foot-and-handholds, but tore at the climber's flesh like whetted steel. The cliff itself was icy, so excruciatingly cold that it burned against their shrinking flesh like white-hot metal.

At first, the cousins spoke to one another, joking, telling stories, trying to keep their spirits up. Eventually, they had to stop - they could no longer spare the breath for talking. Their arms trembled, the air burned in their wheezing lungs, every muscle in their bodies shrieked in protest of the effort being expended to climb, climb, always climbing, and still the top of the cliff was nowhere in sight. The foot of the monolith was lost from view, in the mists far below, and had been lost, for hours, for days, for years. But, where was the summit?

Iolaus paused in his climb, bracing himself carefully to free one hand, wiping the stinging sweat from his eyes. His limbs obeyed him sluggishly, painfully pulling him toward the brutal, pitiless light. He longed to turn from it, to loosen his hold and allow himself to fall backward, away from the dreadful future. He would have to see Hercules again. He knew it. Even if the Fates didn't lead him to his former partner's side, he would seek it himself, driven to Hercules' presence like a moth recklessly dancing into the blazing heart of a torch.

Scenes from his past tormented him as the climb wore on. Hercules, bending to kiss Serena to seal their wedding vows. The glow in Hercules' eyes, and Serena's happy blushes during their honeymoon. The devastation in Hercules' eyes as he held her bloody corpse in their bridal bed. All of the times Hercules had loved, and the agony it had always caused Iolaus. He would curse himself for not rejoicing in his friend's happiness, but he could never purge the awful longing from his heart, his loins. Though Iolaus had taken lover after lover, and even convinced himself that he loved a few of them, he'd never been able to give his heart fully, joyfully to anyone. He belonged to Hercules, and he knew it. Nebula had known it, as well. She'd spoken of it to him, openly. She possessed such courage, such strength, such beauty. She was a warrior without peer, just like ... just like Hercules.

He strained upward, his eyes streaming. Death's one boon to him had been enough to justify the boredom, the restlessness, the frustration of watching helplessly as Hercules struggled and suffered, eventually defeating Dahok. The agony of seeing Hercules mourn, and eventually get on with his life. Death had finally granted Iolaus precious distance. He would be able to watch Hercules love, and he would even take joy in Hercules' good fortune.

No longer. Once he re-entered the land of the Living, he would burn with every glance Hercules bestowed on another. Imagine every caress, and shudder under it, aflame with hopeless need.

He struggled on, finding the top of the cliff unexpectedly, and heaving himself over the lip, the blinding light searing every fiber of his exhausted frame.

Orestes saw Iolaus reach the summit, high above, watched as Iolaus' sweat-drenched, trembling arms pulled his depleted, nude form into the light.

Dimly, he was aware of the bleeding abrasions marring his hands, knees, and toes; sometimes he slipped in his own blood, hanging perilously over the yawning depths of the Underworld. The pain in his aching digits and limbs was nothing, the pulling of abused shoulder muscles, the screaming of lacerated flesh against rock. Nothing. He would have continued his upward journey though he'd been transfixed by dozens of spears; what could be greater than the agony impaling his heart, the heart that longed to return to Death, to the overwhelming glory of the only love he'd ever known?

Hades' flesh against his own. Clasped together, winding sinuously around one another in a dance at once fevered, and languid. The sweet, tender rod of Hades' desire, rising against him, hardening, yearning against his own burning cock. The spill of candle light limning Hades' hair, catching green fire in his endless, green gaze. To taste and touch and tease and torment until body, blood and soul rebelled, demanding fulfillment, demanding to be joined, thrusting, pounding, striving against one another until their cries reached from the Styx to the turrets of Olympus.

Duty; the burden of royalty. How familiar he had become with its bitter flavor. Duty forced him onward, away from his heart's desire. Duty pushed him over the top of the cliff, to sprawl next to Iolaus in the dehumanizing glare of the light. Duty. He lay bleeding at the summit, peering through dazed eyes at the golden glow enclosing him and Iolaus.

He supposed that he must be alive, now. His duty was done.

He closed his eyes.

Nothing to do now but wait to die.

********************************************************************************************

Hercules sat up groggily, wondering what had awakened him.

A moment later, a triumphant cry rang through the frigid air.

"Alive! They've returned!"

The courtyard erupted into a hubbub of shouts and exclamations, as the waiting mortals rushed to crowd around the altar. The sounds of excitement filtered beyond the palace walls, and those waiting outside ran to squeeze through the doorway, to witness the culmination of the sacrifice.

Hercules pushed his way through the crowd to the altar, forgetting, for once, his massive strength, heedless of nothing except his goal. His heart leapt into his throat, and his voice broke as he cried out through the sudden obstruction.

"Iolaus!"

Iolaus was sitting up, looking around him with a bemused expression, then bending over Orestes, who finally sat up after what appeared to be a great deal of urging on Iolaus' part. No sound escaped the bubble, and Hercules could tell by Iolaus' expression that neither sound nor sight reached him from the outside world.

The crowd around him grew larger and noisier, then suddenly hushed. He spared a glance away from Iolaus to find Demeter standing on the opposite side of the altar, flanked by Hades and Persephone. Hades' eyes were riveted to the sight of his beloved with a mixture of pride and pain.

"They live. I am satisfied." Demeter announced.

A warm breeze flowed through the courtyard as she spoke, and the shield surrounding Iolaus and Orestes disappeared.

"Iolaus!"

"Herc? When did you ..." Iolaus' voice rang with startled joy.

Hercules pulled Iolaus into his arms and kissed him. He didn't plan it. He didn't even think about it. His arms reached out, his head lowered, his lips clung to Iolaus' tempting mouth, and he just went along for the ride.

"Herc? Are you feeling all ..." Iolaus pulled away slightly, studying Hercules' face with worried, blue eyes, but another kiss stilled his question.

"Herc? Are you sure that you ..."

This time, Iolaus gave himself over to the kiss, his mouth opening under Hercules' searching lips, his arms slipping around Hercules' waist. He was warm and pliant in Hercules' arms; his mouth was firm and sweet. This was the kiss that Hercules had been born to share. The soul that was twin to his burned in this precious body. The heart that encompassed his own beat in the perfect chest. He heard a soft voice, chanting, and realized that he had broken the kiss, that he was murmuring Iolaus' name over and over again, crushing the hunter against him.

"Get a room."

Hercules met Ares' amused stare over Iolaus' tousled, golden head, but he didn't respond to the goad. He looked down, assessing Iolaus' condition. There was no trace of blood, no sign of the wound that had taken Iolaus' life. He looked a question at Demeter.

"They are healed. Past illnesses, past injuries - all healed. Those were the scars of their former lives; they have been reborn."

Orestes shivered, despite the warmth of Hades' protective embrace, and that of the soft, spring air caressing his face. Demeter smiled at him.

"You will find clothing in the bathing chamber." She turned to address the crowd. "Return to your villages, to your farms, and to your vineyards. Spring has come. Remember the names Orestes and Iolaus, and tell your families, your friends, your neighbors what you witnessed, here."

"And, that's it? You're satisfied? After what Orestes has suffered, and what we both will continue to suffer, you think that some clothes and a brand new body will suffice?" Hades' voice shook with rage, and he left Orestes' side to confront Demeter.

"I am satisfied. The terms of the sacrifice have been met. I know that you are suffering, and that you continue to do so. Remember me, when the tears threaten to fall. Remember what you have taken from me." Demeter was implacable, but her voice was not unkind.

"What of Orestes' suffering?" Hades pursued.

"It is unfortunate." Demeter stroked Orestes' cheek, and leaned to whisper softly in his ear, then she straightened and addressed Hades once again, "He will be clothed, and find provisions for his journey. As to his suffering ... add it to your account, Lord Hades. You have borne yourself bravely, but he has eclipsed you. Learn from him. After all, you are the Lord of the Dead; he will return to your arms, eventually."

"I can speak for myself, if you don't mind." Orestes rebuked, gently, "Hades. I will miss you, with every breath I take. But, I will always love you; remember that, as you face Demeter's harsh terms. Let me go."

He kissed Hades' hand, and the Lord of the Underworld turned away, with Persephone at his side.

Iolaus took Orestes' arm, and led him into the chamber where Hades and Dionysus had bathed them, a lifetime ago. He helped Orestes to dress in a soft, woven tunic and trousers, kneeling to lace his cousin's boots. Orestes didn't hinder the process, but he didn't help, either. To Iolaus' surprise, once they were both clothed Orestes kissed him sweetly on the mouth.

"Farewell, cousin."

"Wait!" Iolaus grabbed Orestes as he turned to leave, "Where will you go?"

"Don't worry about me, cousin. I will see you again. Do one thing for me; love Hercules. Hold him against your heart, this night and every night. Promise me."

"I ... sure. I mean, I promise. But, Orestes ..."

Orestes shook his head and left hurriedly, making his silent way around the perimeter of the nearly-deserted courtyard. Hades stopped him at the gate.

"No, Hades. I can't. I can't say goodbye to you again. Just let me go. Return to your home ... our home. I need to know that you're there. That you're home, and safe. That you're waiting for me. Please."

Hades held him, stormed at him, fought with him, finally breaking down and weeping. Then, he kissed him softly, and obeyed, disappearing in a flash of lightning. He didn't see Orestes slipping into the woods by the palace.

But, Ares did.

Orestes threaded his way through the dense undergrowth for a few miles, then settled on a fallen tree, staring at his toes. He couldn't find a safe resting place for his thoughts; they leapt from one agony to another, ceaselessly.

Where to go?

Attica was out. Even if he wanted to resume the mantle of kingship, Niobe was sure to have a problem with that.

So, somewhere else, then.

What to do?

He mulled over his talents. Resolving petty disputes. Schmoozing with testy royal personages. Drinking. Screwing.

Maybe he could get a job as a footman at a palace.

A streetwalker?

Maybe he should sign up as a soldier. He sucked at swordplay, he was a worse archer, and he had almost no experience at hand to hand combat. He was sure to get killed in the first skirmish, if not before.

He brightened.

Perfect! A soldier, it was!

"Tell Hades he owes me. Big."

Orestes leapt to his feet in surprise.

Ares stood before him, sword upraised. Orestes had just enough time to realize that Ares' eyes were suspiciously bright, when the god's mighty arm flexed, and he brought the sword whistling down in a killing blow.

************************************************************************************************

The courtyard was silent. Demeter and Persephone were in the palace; the last of the witnesses had filed away. Dionysus, after a brief, private talk with Iolaus, had whisked Demophon away, with the mortal mumbling something about craving a sip of wine. Iolaus and Hercules were the last to leave, with Iolaus casting a final glance at the altar.

He shifted his bulky pack from one broad shoulder to the other, and Hercules slanted a questioning look at him.

"What have you got there, Iolaus?"

"You'll find out soon enough, Herc," Iolaus grinned, "Come on; there's a killer camping spot at the base of the mountain that I want to reach before sunset."

The two companions didn't speak much during the journey. Iolaus noted the strain shadowing Hercules' face, and sighed inwardly. Poor Herc; he was at odds with himself once again. Hoping to calm the demigod, Iolaus began singing a lilting harvest song, changing and adding verses indiscriminately. He was rewarded by a gradual softening of Hercules' expression, and by the deep, steady counterpoint of Hercules' voice occasionally embroidering the melody.

Iolaus laughed aloud with joy when they reached their destination. The little glade, bordered by tumbled boulders and wild fig trees, was as beautiful as he remembered. A bubbling spring spoke sweetly, and the amber warmth of the sinking sun kissed his face tenderly.

"What's so funny?" Hercules asked.

"What? Oh, it's not funny. It's wonderful! It's so beautiful, isn't it?" Iolaus' smile outshone the sun.

"Yes. Beautiful." Hercules managed, his heart bursting at the sight of Iolaus' joyful eyes. Iolaus. Strong, healthy, golden, and gloriously alive. He almost reached out to pull the smaller man into his arms, but hesitated out of long habit, and the moment passed; Iolaus dumped his pack and began gathering firewood.

"Put together some leaves, would you?" Iolaus threw the words over one shoulder as he built the fire, and Hercules bent to his assigned chore so assiduously that a crackling, fragrant bed of wide fig leaves was awaiting Iolaus when he turned away from the dancing flames.

"Cool. Now ..." Iolaus winked up at Hercules, scrounging in his bag with grinning enthusiasm.

First, he pulled out a blanket, woven in mingled yellow and blue, bordered with an intricate pattern. This he spread over the leaves, and Hercules settled himself on it absently, watching as Iolaus dove into the bag again, this time emerging with a brown loaf of crusty bread, and a round of creamy, white cheese. A wineskin followed, and Iolaus plopped it and himself next to Hercules with a gusty sigh of contentment.

"Where'd you get all this stuff, Iolaus?" Hercules asked around a mouthful of bread.

"Hey, I've got friends in high places now, you know?" Iolaus savored a mouthful of wine, giggling at Hercules' glare, "Okay, okay. Uh, Persephone gave me the blanket. The bread and cheese were in the room with the clothes, along with two bags - guess Demeter wanted to give me and Orestes provisions for the road."

"And, the wine?" Hercules accepted the skin from Iolaus, and washed the bread down with a healthy swig. He blinked happily - strong stuff.

"Dionysus, of course." Iolaus snorted.

"Oh, of course. Dionysus. Silly of me to even ask."

"Yeah, it was silly. That's you, in a nutshell."

"Silly? You're saying that I'm silly?"

"Hey, Herc - you said it first. I was just agreeing with you, like a good little sidekick." Iolaus burst into laughter, "Hey, I did it! You're speechless!"

Hercules chortled, then guffawed, then gave in and joined Iolaus in gales of side-splitting laughter. He felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his soul. This was real. Iolaus was by his side, alive. Annoying. Adorable.

And Iolaus was leaning over him, their lips were together, and the strong wine was passing from Iolaus' mouth into his own.

"This is a little trick Dionysus showed me, when he gave me the wine." Iolaus murmured, as be broke the kiss and lifted the skin for another sip of wine.

Hercules caught his hand, and retrieved the skin. He filled his mouth with wine, and Iolaus bent to suck the nectar from his lips.

"Hercules. I love you." The words grazed Hercules' ear, as Iolaus' lips sought the demigod's throat, kissing along the vein throbbing hotly beneath the satin skin. Those words, the words he'd never though to hear uttered by that voice, in that tone ... Hercules arched his neck into Iolaus' kisses, his hands finding purchase on Iolaus' slim hips.

Iolaus lifted his head, gazing hotly down at Hercules. The demigod's eyes shone with need, the icy blue of the winter sky. His mobile lips were slightly parted, inviting kisses. Iolaus tasted them, his tongue grazing along Hercules' teeth, then slipping further into the welcoming warmth and teasing at the roof of his mouth. Hercules' hands slipped up Iolaus' back, and Iolaus arched into Hercules' chest, savoring the warm strength beneath him as he had savored the bouquet of Dionysus' wine.

With slow, sure hands, he removed Hercules' clothing, not pausing to admire the beauty he uncovered, not heeding Hercules' attempts to return the favor. When his task was complete, he gently pushed Hercules' shoulders, and the demigod sank back to the blanket, his eyes riveted to Iolaus' face, as the hunter drank in the sight of the banquet spread before him. His eyes told the demigod what his mind couldn't form words to express, and Hercules blushed hotly, knowing that Iolaus would touch him, would taste him, and take him, and that he was touched, tasted, and taken already, by Iolaus' eyes, by Iolaus' love.

The hunter stood, silhouetted against the early moon as he removed his own boots, tunic, and trousers. He moved almost languidly, his hands occasionally pausing in their task to trace the slope of his hip, to tweak his nipples, to surround the heated column of his erect shaft. The firelight joined the moonlight in an anthem of admiration, sparking golden and silver in the hunter's tangled hair, etching biceps and calves with passionate precision.

The same illumination worshipped Hercules' perfect form, and Iolaus followed suit, kneeling beside the demigod and tracing his palms lightly over the warm expanse of Hercules' chest. His fingers drifted across the nipples nestled in their beds of crisp curls and paused briefly, teasing ruby blood up to stain the hardening flesh. He traced the rippling contours of Hercules' abdomen, dividing his gaze between the equally maddening sights of Hercules' flushed face, and the demigod's rigid cock, so hard that it lay, throbbing, against the flat plane of Hercules' stomach.

Iolaus bent, rubbing his face against the hot, velvet flesh of Hercules' erection, breathing the musk of the demigod's arousal, his tongue flicking out to capture the milky pearl gracing the glowing tip. Hercules moaned Iolaus' name, and Iolaus lifted his head to meet the demigod's burning gaze.

That glance was enough. It was too much. Hercules sat up, pulling Iolaus into his kisses, surrounding the hunter's lithe body with strong, yearning arms. The tender flesh of Iolaus' buttocks rounded perfectly into Hercules' grasp, into hands specifically made to treasure their ripe beauty. He bore Iolaus to the blanket, covering the smaller man with his body, still plundering his mouth with breathless kisses. He freed his hands to sample the fragrant weight of Iolaus' golden hair, to measure the smooth curve of biceps, and chest, to test the yearning sweetness of Iolaus' thighs, which parted to allow Hercules to settle between them.

They rocked together, lost to need, each nuance of slick flesh against flesh maddening, fulfilling, promising. Hercules' gleaming hair fell around their faces, shutting the world out, shutting their love, their need in. Breast to breast, mouth to mouth, they strained against one another, Hercules' buttocks flexing rhythmically as he thrust his cock against Iolaus' abdomen, Iolaus' cock beating just as insistently against the demigod's groin. It was delirious, it was delicious; it was what loving was supposed to be, what each of them had sought, and eventually given up all hope of finding.

It was so simple, so complete. So right, the slide of Hercules' cock into Iolaus, the lifting of Iolaus' legs, tilting his body to receive his lover's claiming thrust. The pain flooding Iolaus' being, the joy eclipsing it, escaping in a sobbing laugh, Hercules weeping against his throat, kissing the flesh where Dionysus had drawn the blade that claimed Iolaus' life. Then, Iolaus opened to Hercules, and he met the demigod's thrusts eagerly, lifting into each one, and Hercules was holding him, pounding into him, and rising with him, standing in the moonlight, buried in Iolaus' flesh.

Iolaus wrapped his arms around Hercules' shoulders, and snaked one leg lower along Hercules' thigh, and began moving himself on Hercules' cock. So strong, so nimble, so exactly right, and Hercules was overwhelmed by the eroticism of his own action, and Iolaus' response. Everything, always, no need without fulfillment, no question without an answer.

Iolaus watched the blood rising in Hercules' face, the muscles of the demigod's jaw clenching, his breath gasping through his swollen lips with each of Iolaus' slides along his cock. He tasted those gasps, lifting himself higher, and Hercules immobilized him, pulling Iolaus' legs up and locking his arms around them, clasping them around his hips, as he took over the rhythm, burying himself deeper, and the words pouring out of him, into Iolaus' buttery hair, against Iolaus' sweet lips. Words of need, and love, and loneliness ended, fear vanquished, death denied. They were together, they were alive, their love was the universe and nothing could stand against them, or come between them because their love was true, and strong and perfect. It was the fulfillment of every promise, the restoration of every stolen dream. The heat rushed through his limbs, burning along his spine, every hair on his body standing, and his seed pistoning into Iolaus with every urgent, spasmodic thrust.

He dropped to his knees, holding Iolaus close, and his spurting cock was dislodged from its molten haven by the movement. Iolaus moaned, then cried out as Hercules took the hunter's cock into his mouth and sucked the nectar from it, sucked it from the core of Iolaus' body, from the center of his soul.

When the world stopped whirling madly through space, and the blood stopped pounding through him with the force of a chariot, Iolaus opened one eye to find Hercules smiling smugly down at him, wine skin in hand.

"Thirsty, Iolaus?" Hercules asked solicitously.

"Uh, yeah." Iolaus accepted the skin, sitting up beside Hercules and letting the demigod pull him back against his chest as the hunter drank deeply. "Wow. That was intense. Is this a god thing, or what?"

"It's a love thing, Iolaus."

"Ah. Good. Want some more?"

"No; I think I should eat a little more before I drink any more of Dionysus' wine - that's powerful stuff."

"I didn't say anything about wine, did I?" Iolaus grinned, and his hand dropped to Hercules softened penis, which stirred at his touch.

"No. Come to think of it, you didn't mention wine, at all."

"So?" Iolaus slanted a sly, questioning look up at Hercules, "Want some more?"

Hercules brushed a stray, golden curl away from Iolaus' beautiful eyes, and bent to steal a kiss.

"Yes. Yes, I do. I missed you, Iolaus. I'll never let you go, again."

It was a challenge, flung into the teeth of the Gods.

It was a promise, and Iolaus would be sure to hold him to his word.

Forever.

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