Another Few Hours
May. 5th, 2007 08:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tanarillIt is the thirty-second day of the Omer, which is four weeks and four days into the Omer.
Title: No Touching
Fandom: Maybe Disney's Hercules, but I'm never going to see a cent from this and this definitely ain't kid-friendly.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Language. Explicit gay sex. You have been warned.
It was going to take some getting used to, being happy. As a human, he’d never really fit in, a product of being somewhat divine. As a god, he’d never really fit in, a product of him being raised human. But here, in this vast black house in these vast dark caverns, with their silent rivers and their whispering ghosts, he’d woken up one morning–
–the morning in question being the night after his, their, wives had pulled off the most impossible feat ever–
–and found that he was happy.
Marriage had changed his uncle. Life had changed him. He wasn’t quite sure who had changed more. They’d changed enough that the icy, searing, mutual hate of his youth had dissolved entirely, leaving only the heat and cool kisses, working their way down his body. He blushed more than a little at that memory, and splashed cold water on his face.
For Hade- for Fath- for somebody’s sake, he’d been dead/deified for all of nineteen months, how had he managed to acquire so much shit! Hebe had smiled that secret smile that women, all women, whether goddess or mortal, seemed to be able to do from around the time they learnt to walk and packed everything she owned into six large chests. He knew that she owned more than could fit in six large horse carts, mostly because he had been the one carrying it all into the house after the honeymoon. But it all fit, somehow into six large chests.
The furniture alone had taken Hades and him four trips to get down to the Rock Pile.
“Isn’t it a bit disrespectful to call your house the Rock Pile?” he’d asked.
Hades had given him this look, and said, “Why? It’s my house. I’ll call it whatever I want, and since it’s a bloody great pile of obsidian and black granite, I’ll call it the Rock Pile.”
To which he had no answer.
Anyway.
They’d gotten everything into the Rock Pile. The women were unpacking. He wasn’t quite sure how that worked–Hebe put things in boxes, he moved them, the women got them out of boxes again–but all four of them had told them to go away, they’d only mix everything up.
Whereupon he was introduced to one of the amenities that he hadn’t seen on Olympus but was, apparently, a fixture here: baths large enough to have parties in. He’d stared for a long moment before Hades, in his usually sarcastic tone, asked, “What, never seen a bath before, golden boy?”
“It’s huge!”
“Yes, but when you have twenty-four females, and half of them haven’t gotten out of that sticky phase, you need a big bath.”
“Sticky phase?”
Hades had rolled his eyes. “Sticky phase. All kids go through it. I’m sure you went through it. It’s that time when you can give a kid a bath and put him in a closed room with nothing in it and ten minutes later he’ll be sticky again. Or she. I think girls are actually worse. And once Seph had gotten me to put it in, she wasn’t going to let me get rid of it again.”
He’d taken several experimental steps into the water, and waded in deeper when he found it pleasantly cool. Now he was floating face down as little wavelets lapped at his back, luxuriating in the calm and the way that he didn’t have to breathe, half-asleep. Really, when had he gotten it all?
He was totally unprepared for Hades sneaking up on him and turning him over in the water and splashing water on him until he was even more utterly soaking than he already had been. Of course, he gave as good as he got, and they were both gods, so by the time they’d finished with their little water fight, the entire room was dripping and they were both Wet. And he was happy, because for once it wasn’t a matter of life or death; it was a moment of pure frivolous fun.
And then there was that heartbeat in the moment afterward, when he felt himself falling again and knew that Hades was flying with him, and they sort of gravitated into one another, lips to hungry lips and bodies pressed flush against each other and fitting together like they had been made to.
Before, a week ago, Hades’ kisses had seemed cold, tickling like a stray breeze against his skin. Here and now, they burned.
They ended pressed up against the edge of the bath, his back to the cold tile and limbs wrapped around the brand that was Hades, mouths soft and needing against each other, swapping breath and moaning as they rocked together. He broke away long enough to gasp out, “I need you–” before diving back in, angling for a blue neck.
Hades was not coherent enough for anything, not even one of his comebacks. He just moaned again and tilted his head to give better access and hissed in pleasure.
Sometime later, when he’d managed to make a large mark the color of a blackcurrant wine stain on Hades neck, he pulled back a little and repeated, “I need you.”
Hades, he’d discovered on that wondrous first night, in a pile of limbs of and love, was a surprisingly sweet lover. He might be a cold, dark god of the dead, but he knew exactly what he was doing. And, despite the fact that he was most senior of the six of them, he’d made sure he was the last to tumble over the edge into that unbound ecstasy. A week hadn’t changed him much. Accordingly, even though they were both rock-hard and every tiny motion set them shuddering, he asked.
“Oh gods, Hades, everything!”
Hades’ lips quirked then, and he said, “Yes, we are gods,” and leaned in for a kiss before there could be a retort to his retort. By then time he let the captured lips, now beginning to bruise, free–and it was quite a while, they didn’t need to breathe–all thought had left his head and he was writhing and, “Please, Hades, fuck me.”
As little as a week ago, he’d have bet that, given the chance, Hades would take him as roughly and as painfully as possible. That was a week ago.
But Hades had been immortal before Zeus had been conceived, and knew that no one ever had much fun if the sex was hurried, so he didn’t. Instead, he kissed, and licked, and teased; he left little bite marks all the way down, neck to left ankle, and little bite marks all the way up, ankle to right shoulder. Licked the inside of his thighs, planted burning/freezing kisses everywhere, and refused to even think about touching the one place he needed to be touched the most. “Please, please, please,” he’d begun saying at some point, and there seemed to reason to stop.
Eventually, suckling at one nipple, Hades had lazily coated his fingers in bath oil, and begun loosening him up. He wasn’t expecting the feeling of those frigid/firebrand fingers inside, although logically he should have been; everything about Hades either froze or burned, there didn’t seem to be a middle setting. It was not a bad sensation, and tilted his hips and moaned again and continued his mantra, “Pleasepleaseplease–”
Another eternity later, Hades finally, finally pressed in. Slowly, as slowly as he seemed to be able to manage, which was nowhere near fast enough. “Pleaseharderfaster,” because even though his brain had pretty much shorted by this point, he managed to recognize the fact that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted until he asked; and once he asked, Hades let a little of that iron control slip and went harder and faster, rolling his hips and searching for–something.
He reached down to stroke himself, because Hades hadn’t touched him there and he needed it–
“No,” a calloused blue hand, older and stronger than his, capturing and effortlessly pinning both of his arms, so strong by mortal standards, above his head. “No,” again, more roughly, “I’m going to make you come by the pleasure I give you alone.”
He almost did, right then, from the lust in the dark god’s voice.
And Hades continued to make love to him, in and out in a steady rhythm, guiding and tilting his hips with his free hand, until he found what he’d been searching for. It was worth it, too, for the sparks that crackled along his nerves with every thrust, and he still hadn’t come yet, although he was so lose to the edge that he could taste it.
It went on for a long time. Hades had, after all, been doing this for longer than humans had existed, knew what to do and how far to push and when to back down. As effortlessly as he was held pinned, open and vulnerable, he was held right on the edge, not allowed to tumble over and too far gone to back down, until it almost hurt–
When he was finally allowed to come, it was like a spring storm: sudden, and hard, and fast, and he was so far gone in his own orgasm that he didn’t notice Hades throw back his head and howl as he allowed himself release also.
They came down off the high together, slowly and in steps, until they could look around and not see spots and not feel their hearts pounding in their chests. Eventually, they’d recovered enough for Hades to ask, “Was that what you wanted?”
A smile, almost shy except that, here and now, there was no such thing as modesty. “No. How could I have known to want that?”
“I’m . . . happy.” He sounded surprised, amazed, as if he hadn’t expected that but found it to be true anyway. And there was this: Hercules realized that he wasn’t the only one who was going to be learning how to be happy.
They had all of eternity to learn.
And full of truly confusing usages of male pronouns.
Seriously, I think that's the most pornographic thing I have ever written. And I am now horny. Oh Emmmmmy . . . >:3
Title: No Touching
Fandom: Maybe Disney's Hercules, but I'm never going to see a cent from this and this definitely ain't kid-friendly.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Language. Explicit gay sex. You have been warned.
It was going to take some getting used to, being happy. As a human, he’d never really fit in, a product of being somewhat divine. As a god, he’d never really fit in, a product of him being raised human. But here, in this vast black house in these vast dark caverns, with their silent rivers and their whispering ghosts, he’d woken up one morning–
–the morning in question being the night after his, their, wives had pulled off the most impossible feat ever–
–and found that he was happy.
Marriage had changed his uncle. Life had changed him. He wasn’t quite sure who had changed more. They’d changed enough that the icy, searing, mutual hate of his youth had dissolved entirely, leaving only the heat and cool kisses, working their way down his body. He blushed more than a little at that memory, and splashed cold water on his face.
For Hade- for Fath- for somebody’s sake, he’d been dead/deified for all of nineteen months, how had he managed to acquire so much shit! Hebe had smiled that secret smile that women, all women, whether goddess or mortal, seemed to be able to do from around the time they learnt to walk and packed everything she owned into six large chests. He knew that she owned more than could fit in six large horse carts, mostly because he had been the one carrying it all into the house after the honeymoon. But it all fit, somehow into six large chests.
The furniture alone had taken Hades and him four trips to get down to the Rock Pile.
“Isn’t it a bit disrespectful to call your house the Rock Pile?” he’d asked.
Hades had given him this look, and said, “Why? It’s my house. I’ll call it whatever I want, and since it’s a bloody great pile of obsidian and black granite, I’ll call it the Rock Pile.”
To which he had no answer.
Anyway.
They’d gotten everything into the Rock Pile. The women were unpacking. He wasn’t quite sure how that worked–Hebe put things in boxes, he moved them, the women got them out of boxes again–but all four of them had told them to go away, they’d only mix everything up.
Whereupon he was introduced to one of the amenities that he hadn’t seen on Olympus but was, apparently, a fixture here: baths large enough to have parties in. He’d stared for a long moment before Hades, in his usually sarcastic tone, asked, “What, never seen a bath before, golden boy?”
“It’s huge!”
“Yes, but when you have twenty-four females, and half of them haven’t gotten out of that sticky phase, you need a big bath.”
“Sticky phase?”
Hades had rolled his eyes. “Sticky phase. All kids go through it. I’m sure you went through it. It’s that time when you can give a kid a bath and put him in a closed room with nothing in it and ten minutes later he’ll be sticky again. Or she. I think girls are actually worse. And once Seph had gotten me to put it in, she wasn’t going to let me get rid of it again.”
He’d taken several experimental steps into the water, and waded in deeper when he found it pleasantly cool. Now he was floating face down as little wavelets lapped at his back, luxuriating in the calm and the way that he didn’t have to breathe, half-asleep. Really, when had he gotten it all?
He was totally unprepared for Hades sneaking up on him and turning him over in the water and splashing water on him until he was even more utterly soaking than he already had been. Of course, he gave as good as he got, and they were both gods, so by the time they’d finished with their little water fight, the entire room was dripping and they were both Wet. And he was happy, because for once it wasn’t a matter of life or death; it was a moment of pure frivolous fun.
And then there was that heartbeat in the moment afterward, when he felt himself falling again and knew that Hades was flying with him, and they sort of gravitated into one another, lips to hungry lips and bodies pressed flush against each other and fitting together like they had been made to.
Before, a week ago, Hades’ kisses had seemed cold, tickling like a stray breeze against his skin. Here and now, they burned.
They ended pressed up against the edge of the bath, his back to the cold tile and limbs wrapped around the brand that was Hades, mouths soft and needing against each other, swapping breath and moaning as they rocked together. He broke away long enough to gasp out, “I need you–” before diving back in, angling for a blue neck.
Hades was not coherent enough for anything, not even one of his comebacks. He just moaned again and tilted his head to give better access and hissed in pleasure.
Sometime later, when he’d managed to make a large mark the color of a blackcurrant wine stain on Hades neck, he pulled back a little and repeated, “I need you.”
Hades, he’d discovered on that wondrous first night, in a pile of limbs of and love, was a surprisingly sweet lover. He might be a cold, dark god of the dead, but he knew exactly what he was doing. And, despite the fact that he was most senior of the six of them, he’d made sure he was the last to tumble over the edge into that unbound ecstasy. A week hadn’t changed him much. Accordingly, even though they were both rock-hard and every tiny motion set them shuddering, he asked.
“Oh gods, Hades, everything!”
Hades’ lips quirked then, and he said, “Yes, we are gods,” and leaned in for a kiss before there could be a retort to his retort. By then time he let the captured lips, now beginning to bruise, free–and it was quite a while, they didn’t need to breathe–all thought had left his head and he was writhing and, “Please, Hades, fuck me.”
As little as a week ago, he’d have bet that, given the chance, Hades would take him as roughly and as painfully as possible. That was a week ago.
But Hades had been immortal before Zeus had been conceived, and knew that no one ever had much fun if the sex was hurried, so he didn’t. Instead, he kissed, and licked, and teased; he left little bite marks all the way down, neck to left ankle, and little bite marks all the way up, ankle to right shoulder. Licked the inside of his thighs, planted burning/freezing kisses everywhere, and refused to even think about touching the one place he needed to be touched the most. “Please, please, please,” he’d begun saying at some point, and there seemed to reason to stop.
Eventually, suckling at one nipple, Hades had lazily coated his fingers in bath oil, and begun loosening him up. He wasn’t expecting the feeling of those frigid/firebrand fingers inside, although logically he should have been; everything about Hades either froze or burned, there didn’t seem to be a middle setting. It was not a bad sensation, and tilted his hips and moaned again and continued his mantra, “Pleasepleaseplease–”
Another eternity later, Hades finally, finally pressed in. Slowly, as slowly as he seemed to be able to manage, which was nowhere near fast enough. “Pleaseharderfaster,” because even though his brain had pretty much shorted by this point, he managed to recognize the fact that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted until he asked; and once he asked, Hades let a little of that iron control slip and went harder and faster, rolling his hips and searching for–something.
He reached down to stroke himself, because Hades hadn’t touched him there and he needed it–
“No,” a calloused blue hand, older and stronger than his, capturing and effortlessly pinning both of his arms, so strong by mortal standards, above his head. “No,” again, more roughly, “I’m going to make you come by the pleasure I give you alone.”
He almost did, right then, from the lust in the dark god’s voice.
And Hades continued to make love to him, in and out in a steady rhythm, guiding and tilting his hips with his free hand, until he found what he’d been searching for. It was worth it, too, for the sparks that crackled along his nerves with every thrust, and he still hadn’t come yet, although he was so lose to the edge that he could taste it.
It went on for a long time. Hades had, after all, been doing this for longer than humans had existed, knew what to do and how far to push and when to back down. As effortlessly as he was held pinned, open and vulnerable, he was held right on the edge, not allowed to tumble over and too far gone to back down, until it almost hurt–
When he was finally allowed to come, it was like a spring storm: sudden, and hard, and fast, and he was so far gone in his own orgasm that he didn’t notice Hades throw back his head and howl as he allowed himself release also.
They came down off the high together, slowly and in steps, until they could look around and not see spots and not feel their hearts pounding in their chests. Eventually, they’d recovered enough for Hades to ask, “Was that what you wanted?”
A smile, almost shy except that, here and now, there was no such thing as modesty. “No. How could I have known to want that?”
“I’m . . . happy.” He sounded surprised, amazed, as if he hadn’t expected that but found it to be true anyway. And there was this: Hercules realized that he wasn’t the only one who was going to be learning how to be happy.
They had all of eternity to learn.
And full of truly confusing usages of male pronouns.
Seriously, I think that's the most pornographic thing I have ever written. And I am now horny. Oh Emmmmmy . . . >:3
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Date: 2007-05-06 12:25 am (UTC)...I'll review later then I'm senseable right now [POUNCE]