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YOU KNOW WHO I AM
by Ruric
Don't try to use me
Or slyly refuse me
Just win me or lose me
It's this that the darkness is for
Leonard Cohen
Awake again, he clawed his way sleepily back from the land of dreams. He
rolled over, wincing slightly, body protesting the abuse it had endured,
before burrowing deeper, luxuriating in the expanse of the bed surrounding
and cushioning him. Silk sheets slid sensuously against his tender skin,
their touch a gentle caress, a reminder of last night.
He shouldn't be here, there was too much to do for him to be lazing around
in bed. Too little time to put all their plans into action, to ensure the
final, undeniable success.
But it was tempting.
Oh, so tempting.
Just to lie here and enjoy the sensations.....
It had been so long since he had experienced such hedonistic delights. Hands
touching him, stroking along his skin. Lips that had kissed, nibbled and
finally bitten their way across his body, finding his centres of erotic
fulfilment, until at last he had succumbed. Lying beneath the other, incapable
and no longer willing to resist the heady onslaught of physical pleasure.
Too much.
Too soon.
And far, far too intense.
Last night, his lover kneeling between his spread thighs. Body a threat,
a weapon or a promise. Or a deadly combination of all three.
Waiting with interminable patience until he had heard himself resort to
begging, pleading for release. He would have pledged him anything, given
him anything.....
He flushed at the memory. Despite the ache in his limbs and the rest of
his body he was growing hard just thinking about it again. The coolness
of the silk sheets against his heated skin did nothing to relax him. If
anything it intensified the sensations ripping through him.
Better not to dwell on it. Best to leave now whilst he still had the chance.
Before he gave in to temptation. Before he gave away too much control.
The body next to him shifted, the bed giving slightly with the movement.
Then he felt the warmth of a hand, resting at the base of his neck, pushing
his hair out of the way. Lips followed, kissing and nibbling, teasing a
path from his hair to the sensitive hollow between neck and shoulder.
"Iolaus?" honeyed voice, a breath of hot air gently disturbing
his hair.
He strove against his body's instinctive response. The way his skin seemed
to crawl, needing the other's firm touch, the ache between his legs and
in his ass telling him he was fighting a losing battle.
The hand moved from his shoulder, fingers tracing a delicate line down his
back to the base of his spine. Pausing, teasing....
....and he couldn't stop his reaction as he felt every muscle tense, involuntarily.
"I knew you were awake," the humour evident in the man's voice.
The hand moved lower, sliding over his buttocks, fingers tracing the cleft
of his ass.
He wanted to burrow down into the sheets, to escape the one so close beside
him. Willing the sheets and the mattress to part, to let his body fall through,
into endless oblivion. But part of him craved his lover's touch, yearned
for a repetition of the previous night.
The hand skimmed a return journey up his back, until it reached the back
of his head. Fingers threaded through his hair, pulling his face away from
the sanctuary of the pillows. Twisting his head so he was forced to face
his nemesis. He kept his eyes closed, not ready. Not ready to face him yet.
"Don't try to hide from me." The voice was soft, persuasive.
An arm slid beneath him, turning him until he lay on his side. Pulling his
unresisting body in close to the massive strength of his lover. His head
tucked beneath the other's chin, chest to chest, hip to hip they lay together,
his lover's leg sliding between his. A jolt of sheer, undiluted pleasure
as his lover's knee brushed against his balls.
His arms wrapped around his lover's waist, pulling him closer, as he tucked
his head in to the muscular torso, cheek resting against the soft mat of
hair on the other's chest. The steady heartbeat thrummed beneath his ear.
A comforting sound.
Could he be safe here? Maybe he could just disappear. They would never find
him. His lover would protect him. In a world gone mad, that was one of the
few certainties in his life.
For a moment it was appealing. He felt his resolve waver. It would be so
easy. So little left to miss, now.
But so many vows made. To his lover, to many others. Some of which he would
have to break. The breaking of those heartsworn oaths promised his own destruction,
and the annihilation of everything he still held dear.
Too much to think about.
No way out.
He had set it all in motion with one act, and now he was caught in a tangled
web of his own weaving. He however, wasn't the only one caught in this mess.
Somehow, he'd managed to drag in so many others. He had accepted the challenge.
Rolled the dice, not realising that the dice were loaded, and now he had
to play the game out to the bitter end. The chances of him winning were
becoming slimmer by the minute.
A shudder ripped though his body, a soft whimper forcing its way from his
lips. He was cold, so cold, yet his skin was damp with sweat. Fear. He recognised
and embraced the feeling.
This was the only place left where he could confront his emotions head on.
He had to defy them now, for there would be no time later. He would have
to withstand what was going to happen alone, and there would be no room
for terror or fear then. If he wavered at that point it would cost them
everything.
Hands stroking his back. A gentle caress, warm breath ruffling his hair.
"Iolaus. Hey, it's alright. I'll be there. I won't leave you to face
him alone," concern coloured the voice.
He struggled to speak round the unshed tears that made his throat ache.
Longed to speak out his fear. You don't understand, it's not that simple.
You've always seen things as black and white, but this... This is all shades
of grey. Too many threads, too many people involved, too many possibilities.
The horror of it all unravelling paralysed him.
He felt like he was walking a thin plank spread over an abyss. One false
move, one misstep and it would all be over. For them all.
His lover's arms around him, trying to impart strength and warmth. A kiss
dropped on his hair.
"I swear, Iolaus. I'll be there for you," conviction in the tone.
His lover had no comprehension of what he faced. Didn't know that it wouldn't
be possible for him to be there to offer his support. It was part of one
of the many bargains he'd had to make.
He stayed in the embrace, in the warm circle of his lover's arms. Hanging
on to the body before him as if it were his only salvation. If he kept his
eyes closed he could make believe everything would work out. Everything
would be alright.
He said the only thing that he could.
"Make me strong again."
The arms hugged him close for a moment. Then a hand grasped his hair, carefully
pulling his head backwards. Kisses dropped onto his eyelids, his cheeks.
Lips seeking out his own, tenderly caressing them, a tongue tracing the
line of his lips, slipping gently between them.
A kiss full of passion and love. One that seared his soul to its limits
and left him shaking with need and almost powerless to breathe.
Hands roving over his body, chasing away the cold and the fear. Allowing
him to master the terror. Force it away from him, at least for the moment.
Urged to his knees, his hands gripped the decorative iron bars of the bed
head. Nothing to do but feel, no need to think. He was aware of his lover's
cock pausing at the tight ring of muscle and then very slowly begin its
entrance. He was torn between a desire to pull away from the pain or the
need to push backwards towards the promise of pleasure to come.
But movement was impossible. Hands gripped his hips, holding him still,
so he endured. Concentrating simply on breathing waiting for his lover to
take full possession of his body.
His lover continued to move forwards, laying claim to him, unearthily slowly,
an exquisite agony which he fought to survive.
His knuckles showed white as his hands tensed around the iron bars, seeking
something to ground him in the present, distract him from his body's insistent
demands. Head drooping between his shoulder's all he could hear was his
desperately harsh gasps for breath and the frantic hammering of his heart.
Such tenderness and care made him susceptible and defenceless. Leaving him
unprotected and jeopardizing his ability to deal with the future. He knew
what he had to do, although it almost broke what was left of his heart to
do it.
"Hercules," a soft breathy whisper, more of a plea.
Suddenly the body possessing him was gone.
He was flipped roughly onto his back.
Never saw the blow that smashed into his cheek, rocked his head back against
the pillows, split lips, and started the blood flowing. His wrists were
grasped and dragged above his head, imprisoned in one large hand.
Through watering eyes he saw the body poised above him, felt it slam back
into him. No gentleness now, flesh tore, pain blossomed. He howled aloud
and heard the other grunt at the shock of the invasion.
Lips covered his, a tongue thrusting into his mouth, seeking out his, mimicking
the action of possession. Tasted the metallic tang of his own blood as the
lips ground into his.
Violence, pain and blood. That he could deal with. That, in some way excited
him. It didn't leave him vulnerable and weak. Didn't threaten to unman him
the way the other's tenderness did.
A hand tangled in his hair, dragging his head backwards, forcing him to
arch his throat.
Teeth grazed his neck, then bit, breaking skin, allowing the blood to flow
again.
His lover raised his head, blood red and bright on his lips. Stared down
into his eyes.
"You like it like this? You want this?" each question punctuated
with a violent twist and thrust of his hips.
He could have lied. What was one more untruth now? What did any of it matter
in the grand scheme of things?
But the look in the eyes held him. Honest puzzlement and confusion. The
shadow of rejection. The hurt of one who has given love freely and willingly
and had it spurned.
"I need this," the statement torn from him. He cast himself adrift.
The hand grasping his wrists unfurled, allowing him to move his arms. He
raised one hand, thumb tracing full, blood covered lips. Trusting his lover
to understand. Please let him understand.
Saw the dawning of comprehension and compassion in the brown eyes above
him. Arms tightening around him. Lips caressing his for a moment, a brief
respite. A whisper in his ear.
"I know."
Abandoning conscious thought. Letting Ares carry him to a place where only
sensation mattered. Pleasure and pain, each following so close on the heels
of the other it was impossible to distinguish which was which any more.
Until it really didn't matter any more.
************************************
You know who I am
You've stared at the sun
Well I am the one
Who loves changing from nothing to one
Leonard Cohen
He untangled himself from Ares' arms and slipped from beneath the sheets,
wincing as he stood. Moving across the room to his abandoned pile of clothes.
The god sprawled across the bed, tucking his hands behind his head, dark
hair tangled, watching him from hooded eyes. Brown eyes that missed nothing,
saw everything.
Too long.
Too much time wasted.
There was a need for action of another sort now.
"Get up. It's time we were going," the curt tone was more of an
order than a request.
Ares raised one eyebrow, in question. Then pushed himself upright and shrugged.
Stepping away from the bed he stood naked and proud, a challenge in his
eyes as he looked across the room. Iolaus' body reacted to the sight before
him and he turned away grabbing his clothes and dressing hastily as a wicked
chuckle rang around the stone chamber. Iolaus never saw the look of distress
flit briefly across Ares' face as he watched as the pale, bruised and bitten
skin disappear beneath the clothing, then waved a hand summonsing his own
clothes.
By the time Iolaus turned back Ares was dressed, black leathers and silver
ornamentation and jewellery immaculate as always. His stance was relaxed,
the massive Sword of Power strapped to his hip, his hands nonchalantly resting
on the pommel.
Iolaus sat, dragging on his boots, lacing them hurriedly.
"It might be a little late to ask, but you do have a plan.... don't
you?"
There was no real doubt, just a genuine curiosity in Ares' voice. He finished
lacing his boots and looked up to meet Ares' speculative gaze.
"Of course. You think I'm making this up as I go along?"
"Just checking."
Ares turned away, broad back facing the blond. He pulled an ornamented carved
wooden box towards him. He opened it on the table, shading the contents
from Iolaus with his body.
Iolaus stood quickly, straightening his clothes, as the god turned back
to face him.
"Well, since you have the plan, you might find this useful."
He tossed something across the room, with a negligent twist of the wrist.
Iolaus caught the object, considering it carefully for a moment before letting
his eyes drift back to Ares.
"You'd give me this?" he looked up into the other's face. Searching
for a motive, a reason. "Why?"
The god strode across the room stopping just in front of the smaller man,
staring down intently. Perhaps seeking some sort of sign.
"Because it will make your job easier."
Iolaus held Ares' intense stare for a moment then glanced down at the object
in his hands. A finely crafted and decorated hilt, the dagger's blade was
encased in a heavily jewelled sheath. The potential contained within the
weapon was almost limitless. Of course he recognised it. The dagger covered
in hind's blood.
He carefully unsheathed the blade, ignoring Ares soft hiss of indrawn breath.
Looking up his own eyes captured Ares soft brown ones. He raised the blade,
and Ares tilted his head slightly exposing the strong column of his throat.
The heel of Iolaus' hand rested against Ares collarbone as he held the blade
close against the god's neck. One move, one slip, just a slight break in
the skin and the God of War would be history.
He was transfixed, the metallic gleam of the blade, the rusty stain of the
blood, the pulse in Ares' throat beating strongly beneath the blade. So
much power, so close and now in his own hands.
"But I could use it on you," his voice was teasing, almost seductive.
"Yes. You could. Just as I could have used it on you. But you won't.
Will you?"
Iolaus shook his head looking down as he carefully sheathed the dagger once
more.
Ares caught at his chin, tilting Iolaus' head backwards so he could stare
into his eyes. Ares shook his head slightly, a puzzled frown marring his
otherwise perfect features. Clouded brown eyes looked down upon Iolaus.
"What?"
"It's......strange. Seeing you like this." His other hand plucked
at the black robes draped from the smaller man's shoulders.
"How much of *you* is actually still in there?"
"What's wrong Ares? Worried that this is all an elaborate hoax. That
I've got some last minute, foolhardy plan to save your idiotically heroic
half brother?"
The jet black eyes looked back at him. Showing no emotion. A sly smile twisted
the thin lips.
"All right," his voice was quiet. Menace sounding in every softly
spoken word. "All of me. There's all of me in here, something your
fool brother refuses to acknowledge. More than enough to know how to win
this battle. And, after all, that's all that is really important to either
of us, isn't it?"
Whoever struggles with monsters might watch that he does
not thereby become a monster. When you stare into an
abyss for a long time, the abyss also stares into you.
Friedrich Nietzsche
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