A gay story: Heart's Desire Phil ambled through the narrow streets of the small village. At this time of the year he liked to be comparatively near to where his family had their original home and Litochoro was as good as any of the similar villages in the vicinity.
“Hey, Phil.”
He turned at the shout and returned the wave from a young man. He had already been there several days and had made a couple of casual friends to sit, talk and drink with. He would stay there a few days more and then move on, just like always.
He glanced up at the clear sky and bright sun. It was unseasonably warm. Although he had a jacket in case it turned cold, he was only wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Most of the young people were similarly clad, taking advantage of the warm snap. He smiled at the way the older generation kept their normal layers on, unimpressed by the temperate spell.
The sound of a motorbike’s rumble caught his attention as a Harley Davidson hog pulled up alongside him. He tried not to overtly ogle its rider. The male was sex-on-wheels. A broad-chested torso was emphasised by a tight, white vest. Dark chest fur peered alluringly over its rounded neckline. Over that he wore a black leather vest which was fastened with three chains. Well-worn jeans were covered by assless, black leather chaps and large, solid biker’s boots completed the ensemble. Next to this impressive male, Phil felt quite boyish.
“Hey, so who are you today?”
Phil grinned at the question. As the rider pulled off his helmet, raven-hued hair fell to his shoulders and his smile glinted, dark and feral, framed by his goatee.
“Philander, you?” he countered, grinning back.
“Viggo,” came the reply and both men laughed. Phil ran a hand through his thick, golden-brown hair, his dark eyes, so similar to Viggo’s, danced with the same amusement he could see in the biker’s. This had become a ritual whenever they met. The easy camaraderie warmed his heart.
“Nice weather,” Viggo continued, leaning back and squinting up at an almost cloudless, blue sky.
“Too nice for this time of year,” Phil replied.
“Don’t knock it, just take advantage when you can,” Viggo said, his eyes raking over Phil’s slender form. Phil was just a couple of inches shorter than his own just over six-foot frame, but the slighter body always made the difference seem so much more. He stretched, confident in his own raw masculinity, knowing that several sets of eyes were riveted by the movement. “Be honest, are you busy right now?” he queried.
Phil cocked his head to the left as he regarded Viggo levelly, considering his reply. Giving a smile he shook his head.
“No,” he said honestly. “I’m not.”
“Good,” Viggo grinned.
Phil watched as the bigger man eased sinuously off the bike and went to one of the storage boxes. Phil admired Viggo’s bikes, although he had never wanted to have one of his own. This one had red bodywork, the steel gleamed cleanly and the customised golden handlebars glinted brightly in the sunlight. Reacting instinctively, he caught the helmet tossed over to him and stared at it.
“You mean…?”
“Put it on and join me,” Viggo said slowly as if talking to a small child. He laughed at the scowl on Phil’s smooth-skinned face. He gave a victorious grin as the younger man slid the helmet into place. “You’ll need your jacket, too,” he added.
Staring at the small space in which he had to sit, Phil suddenly realised how close he and Viggo would be. Certain parts of him cheered at this revelation, however, common sense dictated he subdue any such wayward libido. Viggo was not a man to mess with and that kind of thought was ridiculous. He eased carefully behind the bigger man.
“Hold my waist,” Viggo directed. “You’re not used to this and it’ll be safer. When it gets a little rougher just slide your arms round tighter and lean into me. I’m a good rider. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Thanks,” Phil said. He was touched the other man was being so considerate. He liked Viggo’s company although the other man could be dark and melancholy on occasion. However, at the moment, it was Phil who had been somewhat down and Viggo was already making him feel much better.
****
The ride was exhilarating. Viggo eased them through the village and onto the open road, opening up the throttle to let Phil experience the speed and power of the machine. Then he turned off onto a less frequented road and finally onto what seemed little more than a footpath through some dense pine forest. Phil held tightly around Viggo’s trim waist, leaning against his back as the older man negotiated the rough terrain with practised ease.
Finally Viggo slowed to a stop and Phil gingerly got off. His legs were a little shaky from the ride and he expected some ribbing from the bigger man, but Viggo just gave a smile.
“Stiff?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“A little,” Phil admitted. Certain parts that he was still trying to will into quiescence throbbed dangerously at the single word and Phil was grateful that Viggo was opening his other box and tugging out a backpack.
“This way,” Viggo said, marching forward.
Phil dutifully followed. After a minute or two he gave a gasp at the sight of the small pool that Viggo was leading him towards. The clearing was a perfect sun-trap, Phil noticing the increase in warmth as even the light wind vanished. It was quiet, serene and Phil felt the residue of tension leave his body.
“It’s beautiful,” he enthused.
“Very beautiful,” Viggo replied. However, the bigger man’s dark eyes were not on the pool, as Phil’s were. Instead they were focused on the younger man himself.
Entranced with the pool, Phil failed to notice Viggo’s predatory stare at him and it took another moment for him to realise Viggo was stripping. He started as he found himself staring at Viggo’s naked ass as the older man shoved his jeans down to his ankles. As deft fingers rapidly untied boots, Phil turned away and began to undress himself. He did not need to be asked. The pool silently begged to be swum in.
It took seconds to yank off his jacket, t-shirt and jeans. His briefs and socks joined the small pile and then he eyed up the best spot to get into the water. Not sure of its depth, he had no intention of diving or jumping.
As soon as he was naked, Viggo had angled himself to unobtrusively watch Phil. The younger man’s smooth, golden skin seemed to glow in the sunlight. His own furred skin was darker in hue. Viggo licked his lips. Phil was beautiful. It was a word Viggo had used carelessly many times in his varied past, but it was true of the youth before him. He let his eyes caress the naked form and then purposefully moved to where he knew he could dive in.
With a soft sigh of pleasure, Phil eased into the warm water. He sank slowly, immersing himself and treading water as he performed a slow pirouette. He glanced over at Viggo and then stared. The older man was standing on a rock, ready to dive in. His body was perfection, from the classically handsome face, to flat male breasts, down the muscular torso and six-pack abdomen to the well-defined thighs and calves. He could be a Greek statue brought to life. Only the dark body-hair served to remind that the body was living and breathing.
With consummate grace, Viggo dived. He was sure he had felt Phil’s eyes on him and he had purposely posed for an extra minute or two. His body arced through air and then into the water with a minimal splash. He knew roughly where Phil was treading water and with the grace of a sea-nymph he surfaced inches from the younger man with a broad grin on his darkly-handsome face.
“Nice move,” Phil said, trying to keep his voice neutral.
“Thanks,” Viggo purred as he floated a short distance from the younger man.
“I never knew this was here,” Phil said. “It’s wonderful.”
“I had it made just for you,” Viggo said, his tone lightly sardonic.
“You are so full of s…” The rest of Phil’s laughing rejoinder was lost as a handful of water hit him squarely in the face. It was the opening salvo in a water battle that both men participated in wholeheartedly and neither could lose.
Finally the water-play eased as if by mutual consent and the two men swam for a while, relaxing and enjoying themselves. Viggo checked the progress of the sun and slipped from the water to stretch out on a sun-baked rock.
“Time to dry off before going back. Don’t want to lose the sun before we’re dry.”
“Sure.” Phil copied the older man and lounged on his own warm rock. He angled himself to be able to see Viggo’s naked body, feeling almost like a voyeur. The older man had stretched cat-like, full length on the rock. His legs were spread with his right knee drawn up and at right angles to the rest of his body. Phil found his eyes repeatedly drawn to the shadowed crevasse and then up towards where Viggo’s half-hard shaft lay on his left thigh.
With a soft groan of frustration, Phil rolled onto his stomach to squash his own burgeoning erection. It seemed that his body really liked the sight of the older man and that was something that was not a possibility. At all. He focused his mind on the warmth of the sun and his body began to relax once more.
All-too-soon, however, Viggo stood, stretched and ambled to the backpack. He pulled out a small towel, rubbing it quickly over his body and hair before he tossed it to Phil.
“It’s been a good day,” Viggo said as he dressed.
With a silent sigh, the younger man copied his actions.
“Yes. Yes it has,” he agreed. He was sorry it was coming to an end. He took his seat on the back of the bike for the ride back to the village. It seemed as if Viggo took longer to return and Phil absorbed every tactile memory of the closeness of the bigger man’s body to savour for when he was alone once more.
He was taken back to the same street where he had been picked up by Viggo that morning. He eased off the bike and replaced the helmet.
“If you’re not busy tomorrow, there’s somewhere else I could show you?” The question was casually posed and Viggo watched surreptitiously as Phil perked up.
“I’d like that,” Phil replied. “Where and what time?”
“Give me your address and I’ll be outside at eleven. I’ll even stand you lunch,” Viggo added with a feral grin.
Phil watched the older man vanish from his sight. He could scarcely wait for the next day.
****
He had expected a restless night, but Phil found he slept well. His dreams, however, had all seemed to revolve around Viggo. He had awoken with an erection. Something that was far from usual for him these days. He could not remember the last time it had happened and he stared at his shaft but the swelling remained, hot and hard against his toned abdomen.
As if experiencing it for the first time, he carded his fingers though the thatch of coarse dark-blond hair at his groin. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation against his fingertips. He gave a sigh as he felt how smooth, firm and hot his skin got as he hardened further. With just one finger, he started at the base of his shaft and ran it all the way up to the tip. Panting, he let his head fall back on his pillow. It felt as if the heat in his penis had transferred to his finger and then through the rest of his body. He knew it was his arm moving, his finger sliding up and down his erection, but in his mind his body was being controlled by his fantasy lover.
Every breath was audible in the room and Phil continued to play his finger up and down his shaft. His eyes opened and he stared mesmerised as his erection grew darker until the tip had flushed to a deep, intense burgundy. Pre-come was leaking steadily, dripping down the head. Swirling his finger around, he watched as more pulsed free to slide over the swollen head and groaned at the contrast of heat and cool. He ran his finger through his own juices, raised his finger to his mouth and lapped.
He laid spread out on the bed, one hand now clutched around an arousal so hard it was as if his whole body ached. He began to slide his hand slowly, taking his time, savouring the sensation. The slide of his hand sent shivers of sensation through him. He began to move faster. He needed to push himself over the edge. His whole body contorted with pleasure as Phil reached his crescendo. His back arched off the bed, only his feet and his head to anchor him. His come jetted out of his ecstatic organ, splashing his flushed chest as he crested with a soundless scream.
The only sound was Phil’s harsh breathing as he recovered from the intense orgasm. Slowly he stood and wandered into his bathroom. He turned on the shower and cleansed away the evidence of his passion. He raised his head, staring sightlessly upwards.
“Why him? Haven’t I suffered enough?” The questions were purely rhetorical. There was no answering voice. He shook his head. It had been quite a long time since he had last seen Viggo. Perhaps it was the separation. He would have to keep his wits about him, and his disobedient libido under strict control, when out with Viggo later that day.
****
The sound of Viggo’s motorbike was met with a wide smile by Phil. The older man looked no different, with a white t-shirt under his leather vest again and the same well-worn jeans and chaps. Phil, however, had opted to wear a soft, cotton shirt in a caramel colour. He had repeatedly told himself he was not trying to look good for the older man. However, he was sure he saw a glint of appreciation in Viggo’s dark eyes.
His smile widened as Viggo tossed him the helmet he had dangling from his arm with a grin of his own.
“Where are we going?” he asked as he caught the helmet.
“Surprise,” Viggo smirked. “Hold on tight and after an hour, shut your eyes and no peeking till I stop.”
“Tease,” Phil grumbled good-naturedly. He settled behind the older man and took a deep breath before gripping Viggo’s hips.
****
When the hour was up, Viggo reminded Phil about not looking and the younger man dutifully closed his eyes. He leant against the older man’s broad back, able to smell Viggo’s light, citrus-based cologne and something that was just the pure scent of the powerful male himself. Phil could feel himself react to Viggo’s proximity, but was certain he could get himself under control, or blame the throbbing of the powerful bike between his thighs.
When the bike slowed to a stop, Phil removed his helmet and gave a gasp of surprise and pleasure. He had felt them ascending. They were now part way up the mountain with a wonderful panoramic view of the countryside. It was perfect. Although much cooler, the sky was clear, the air clean and fresh and he had Viggo for company.
“Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere. “It’s beautiful.”
“Glad you like it,” Viggo said gruffly.
As Phil stood breathing in the crisp air, he did not see the look that passed across Viggo’s face as the older man stared at him. As he turned back to the older man, he gave an exclamation of surprise. A cloth had been lain out on which was a bottle of home-made wine, cheese, olives and fresh bread. Phil grinned; the smell of the bread was already making him hungry.
“I’m not serving you,” Viggo said. “Help yourself.”
The impromptu meal was eaten with equal relish by both men. Then they simply stretched out, side-by-side, to enjoy the tranquillity.
The unmistakeable sound of an argument broke into Phil’s relaxed reverie and he gave a groan of frustration. Rolling onto his stomach he lifted his head enough to peer down and spied two men remonstrating with each other.
“I’ll take care of this,” Viggo growled menacingly.
“No, Viggo, please,” Phil tried to stop the older man, but his attempt to restrain the older man was easily shaken off.
“I didn’t bring you here for them to spoil your day,” Viggo rumbled. “Wait here.”
Even as he closed his eyes, Phil knew that Viggo had vanished from his side. Slowly he opened them to see the older man was already striding towards the bickering men. He stared as Viggo spoke to one and then the other. His eyes widened as he saw Viggo clasp tightly to each man’s shoulder and give them both a shake. Whatever he had said seemed to have done the trick. As Viggo unobtrusively vanished from their sides, the two men were embracing.
“Sorted,” Viggo said, his voice laden with satisfaction as he reappeared at Phil’s side. “Brothers arguing over something and nothing,” he added at Phil’s quizzical look.
“I half-expected you to knock their heads together, or referee the fight,” Phil ventured.
“I’m on holiday,” Viggo shrugged.
Phil could not stop the laugh that bubbled free. He was pleased to see Viggo offered a wide, lazy smile of his own.
Once again the day drew too swiftly to an end for Phil. He stowed away the helmet as Viggo remained perched astride the bike.
“I had a great day, thanks,” Phil said, smiling shyly.
“Me, too,” Viggo said. “I have things to arrange tomorrow, but how about dinner the evening after? I can come for you at six, drive you out to a little place I know. If you don’t have plans?”
Phil’s heart had sunk at the prospect of a day where he would not see Viggo, but the offer of an evening in his company was more than acceptable.
“Sure…I mean, no,” he sighed and took a deep breath. “No, I don’t have plans and sure I’d like to get together for a meal.”
‘That’s settled then,” Viggo crowed, his smile bright and wide. “Take care. See you at six the day after tomorrow.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Phil inwardly cringed at the words that slipped free, but Viggo seemed not to have noticed and the younger man breathed a sigh of relief. The day without Viggo would be dull, but he had the day after to look forward to.
****
Snuggled comfortably against Viggo’s broad, leather-clad back, Phil indulged in some fantasies that had him almost squirming on his pillion seat. His eyes were shut, as Viggo had asked, as the older man wanted to surprise him. They seemed to have been travelling for a long time, but as it meant he could be this close to Viggo, Phil was not complaining.
“This is it,” Viggo said.
Looking at the picturesque taverna, Phil could be anywhere in Greece. Bougainvillea vines were evident, although the time of year was wrong for it to be blooming, but Phil could easily imagine how the red blooms would look when summer came. The whitewash on the wall looked newly applied and the wooden window framed and sills were dark and highly polished. It looked a place that was cared for by its proprietor.
He smiled shyly as Viggo indicated he should precede the older man. The inside of the restaurant looked as well cared for as the outside. There were just a few wooden tables set with blue-and-white checked cloths. Each table had a little vase with small fresh flowers in. Phil could only see one other couple in the taverna; an elderly couple that glanced up and smiled before returning to their meal.
A waiter swiftly appeared and led them to a table for two. He moved quickly away and reappeared with glasses and a jug of water and Phil admired his speed and dexterity.
“I can highly recommend the dolmades and the kleftico,” the waiter said. “But please, look at the menu before deciding.”
Phil opted for the dolmades, happily sharing them with Viggo who had chosen the avgolemono. The rice-stuffed vine leaves were perfectly spiced and the chicken and lemon soup that Viggo allowed Phil to sample was also well-cooked. They both chose the kleftico, the hearty lamb and vegetable dish accompanied by a traditional Greek salad and large pieces of freshly-baked bread. The waiter brought a jug of local retsina wine, which was every bit as good as the one Phil had shared with Viggo on the mountainside. As the waiter cleared away their plates Phil sat back with a replete sigh.
“That was excellent,” he said. “I just need the bathroom for a minute.”
The waiter discreetly indicated the direction and Phil noted the cleanliness of the tiny bathroom. On the way out he had to pass the wife of the other couple. He blushed as she gave him a smile and patted his cheek.
“Surprise,” Viggo said as Phil returned.
“Galaktoboureko,” Phil enthused. “My favourite.” The filo-wrapped custard centre with its dressing of rose syrup made a perfect ending to the meal. Phil was only too happy to share the dessert with Viggo. As the empty dish was cleared away, small cups of coffee were put in its place. Phil smiled at Viggo. “Thank you. It’s been wonderful.”
“Glad you enjoyed it,” Viggo said gruffly.
****
Phil was dropped off outside his apartment block. He smiled as Viggo gave a wrinkle of his nose to indicate his disapproval.
“It’s cleaner inside than it looks and my neighbour is an elderly lady. I just have it for a couple of weeks and then I’ll move on.”
“I’d like to see you tomorrow. Please,” Viggo said.
“Of course,” Phil said. “When?”
“You’ll know,” Viggo said cryptically. He started up the bike and quickly vanished from Phil’s sight.
Phil gave a small groan as he realised, too late, the significance of the next day. The groan became a sigh. It did not really matter what the day was. They were all as empty and meaningless as the last. He was only just starting to realise just how much Viggo’s companionship had meant to him over the last few days. It would make it harder than ever when he was alone once more.
****
As morning dawned, Phil rose and headed to his bathroom. He stared at his reflection.
It was Valentine’s Day. The day for lovers.
Yet here he was, alone and unloved. How ironic. He stiffened and headed towards his front door, fleetingly aware of the presence that had briefly come and gone. He opened the door and stared at what had been left.
A gold, heart-shaped box, presumably filled with chocolates and a single red rose. Phil began to shake his head as he replayed the last few days. He wined and dined me, now hearts and roses. Viggo was courting me. But he can’t…we can’t.
He was dressed in an instant and barrelling downstairs with reckless abandon to stand outside staring at Viggo. It had been in Phil’s mind to simply demand to know what Viggo thought he was doing. However, despite their closeness even he faltered. He could not remember seeing Viggo with such an intense look. His lips began to move to frame Viggo’s name, but before they could the helmet he had worn on his rides was in his hands. He stared at it for an instant and then back up at Viggo. The intensity remained but now there was an odd mix of defiance and apprehension.
Phil was on the bike, his arms tight around Viggo’s waist almost before he realised what he was doing. The bike sped away from the village, the older man travelling at such a pace that the countryside around them was no more than a blur. Phil held tighter as Viggo swung the bike off the main road and onto a track through a forest. The speed barely faltered and Phil could see they were heading towards a large tree. Even though he knew they would not hit it, he could not stop his eyes from closing.
As he opened them again, the bike stopped and Phil stared. They were in a small clearing in front of a single story house that seemed to have been grown from the surrounding trees rather than built. He eased off his helmet and dismounted from the bike as Viggo did the same.
“This is my private place,” Viggo said. “I’ve brought no one here before. No one.” The last words were spoken with deliberate inflection.
“No one?” Phil echoed as if unable to quite believe what he was hearing. He gave a soft gasp as Viggo tossed aside the leather vest and t-shirt, baring his solid, furred chest to Phil’s eyes.
“No other being has set foot in this house. Until now. Until you. If you will.”
Phil could see his hand shaking as he reached out and touched Viggo’s chest. The older man did not flinch as Phil searched his heart.
“You love me?” Phil whispered, stunned that Viggo had managed to hide his true feelings from him. He felt himself enfolded in strong arms and drawn closer to the older man. Just before their lips could touch, he murmured, “I love you too.” However, he managed to pull back and stared at the older man shaking his head. “But we can’t. You’re my, my…”
“Hephaestus is your father, Eros,” Viggo said, his voice quiet. “He was afraid that as his son, you would not get the status or devotion you deserved. You inherited Aphrodite’s beauty and delicacy of features, and you and Harmonia look so alike, that it was never questioned. Hephaestus swore all the Olympians to secrecy and, for once, they all kept their word.”
“I always felt so comfortable with Hephaestus,” Eros said wonderingly. “I can scarcely believe he would do this.”
“Like all fathers, he wanted to do the best for his son. It was his heart’s desire that you were not disadvantaged by being the son of Hephaestus. Apollo saw me caring for you when you were just a small child and prophesied that one day our love would not be as father and son. I dismissed it then, but he was right. I began to realise when you were hurt by Psyche. I reacted as a jealous lover not an angry father, but you were not in love with me then. I waited, remembering Apollo’s prophesying and praying for the day that the feeling would be returned.”
“It has been for some time,” Eros confessed, blushing.
“So I was told and I held back because I was afraid. Ares, god of war, was afraid that Eros, god of love, would not love him. I nearly confessed my love so many times…” He gave a self-depreciating smile. “When I failed to say anything last year, Hephaestus threatened to make Aphrodite earrings out of my balls because I clearly had no need for them.”
“Hephaestus said that? To you?” Eros could not stop the peal of laughter that rang out.
Ares grinned, then gave an inward wince at the moment that a certain thought, he hoped might have been avoided for some time, went through Eros’ mind. The younger man glared at him accusingly.
“You were told?” Eros said. “Just how many of the other gods are involved in bringing us together?” he asked.
“Well…Hestia was the first to mention it to me. She and I have always been close. Then Athena and Artemis had a word and finally Aphrodite and Hephaestus. As to how many brought us together…” Ares sighed. He would be nothing less than honest with Eros from now on. “Gaia created the space for the pool we swam in, Poseidon filled it and Hephaestus ensured it was heated. Apollo made sure the days were sunny and warm. Aphrodite created the romantic restaurant. Hermes was our waiter while Demeter provided the food and Dionysus the wine. The elderly couple, they were Zeus and Hera.”
“The whole family?” the younger man whispered. He was scarcely able to believe it. “Then I had better not disappoint them.” Closing on the bigger man, he was rewarded by a soft moan from Ares as Eros brushed his lips gently across his mouth.
With a supreme effort, Ares pulled away and stared at his new lover-to-be. The emotions he could see in Eros’ eyes were a potent mix of love and lust, yearning and desire and a just a touch of apprehension. This time Ares pulled the younger man tightly against his body. Their lips met for a second time. Soft, slow and gentle turned quickly into deep, hard and passionate as the two gods explored each other’s mouths, each learning the taste of his new lover.
They parted and stared at one another smiling. Then Ares whispered into Eros’ ear. For a second or two the younger man stared and then his clothes simply vanished to leave him naked, apart from a gossamer wisp of material that hung low on Eros’ hips. It accentuated as much as it concealed. The outline of hardening flesh was tantalisingly visible yet veiled. He let his wings slowly open, the sight of the snowy-white feathers earning a groan from Ares.
With a shy grin, Eros leant forward and made his own request. There was no hesitation on Ares’ part. Before Phil could blink the older man was naked apart from the assless, black leather chaps and biker’s boots. A magnificent erection and wide smile were the only other things he wore. The sight of the impressively proportioned hard flesh had Eros shiver with a mix of arousal and apprehension.
“Ares,” he whispered as he moved into the other man’s arms. He moaned as his new lover’s mouth kissed along his throat before mouthing at the fragile flesh. “I’ve never had a male lover.” He felt Ares pull away and tried to follow, but strong hands held him still. He gave a surprised gasp as Ares dropped to his knees.
“I am happy to wait until you feel ready, my love,” Ares husked. “I am more than willing for you to take me.”
“What would the mortal world think if they could see the god of war kneeling before the god of love?” whispered Eros, touched by Ares willingness and vulnerability.
“Perhaps they would finally realise that true strength lies in loving and not making war. Love has courage, power and fortitude beyond what many would give it credit for.”
“Your offer is one that I may take up another time, beloved,” Eros smiled. He reached down to clasp Ares’ hands and raise the other man to his feet. “Today I want to feel your strength inside me. I want to feel your flesh and seed filling me. I want you to complete me like no other has before.”
“And no other ever will,” Ares growled possessively. The words were a sacred vow. He had waited too long for it anything less. “I love you. I have never spoken those words to another bed-mate. I say them now, to you, because I mean them.”
“And I love you,” Eros smiled. He let Ares slide an arm around his waist and guide him towards the house.
Inside were a huge bed, a small wooden table next to it and an open fire that sprang to life with a wave of Ares’ hand. The bed was covered with a thick duvet encased in black silk. On the table was a chafing dish that held oil kept warm by a small candle. Around the fire was a large stone hearth. With another sweep of his hand a pewter wine jug and two drinking cups appeared on the fireside. In front of the fire was a large, thick, sheep’s fleece rug towards which Eros was impelled. He glanced over at the bed.
“Soon, my love,” Ares promised. “I would not just throw you into my bed as soon as you set foot in my private home.”
“Even if I would be happy for you to do so?” Eros teased. As much as he did want to make love with Ares he was still nervous.
“Another time,” Ares growled, giving a feral grin at the shudder that ran through his lover’s lithe frame and set the wings to flutter slightly. He poured out a cup of wine for each of them. It was fire-warmed and lightly spiced. He wanted to give Eros time to adjust to the situation. He wanted the day memorable for all the right reasons.
They drank the wine, their hands entwined, and they interspersed increasingly impassioned kisses between sips of the potent drink. Eros could feel himself relax and let Ares lay him back on the rug. He revelled in the weight of the larger man. He started to thrust instinctively against Ares’ broad frame, rubbing his erection against the hard thigh that was pressed against him. He heard Ares groan and the older man gripped his hair. Ares lips sealed over his and took possession of Eros’ mouth.
Ares dove into the kiss like a man dying of thirst would a blessed brook. Despite Eros’ naivety in making love with another man, there was no denying his willingness, his eagerness. The younger man arched up, trying to press their bodies ever closer and Ares wanted to run his hands over every millimetre of Eros’s body, learn the taste and texture of the beguiling wings. He wanted to ravish him, love him and feast upon his addictive flavours.
Worship him with his body, his heart, his soul.
He could taste the passion in Eros’s kiss, but he was also aware of the inexperience. Wanting to ensure his new lover enjoyed being made love to by another male, Ares gently took control of the kiss, moving his lips over Eros’, brushing, teasing, enticing. Ares smiled to himself as each time a kiss ended, Eros angled himself perfectly to receive the next. For all his many and varied episodes of taking a bed-mate, Ares had never experienced anything like the fire in his blood that the kisses alone shared with Eros was igniting.
Ares’ tongue teased across Eros’s lips, and they parted eagerly, ready for more. He buried one hand in Eros’ hair, tipping the younger man’s head to get the best access to his lush mouth. He let his tongue play inside, thrusting lightly with the agile organ, tantalising him with the prospect of more intimate contact. With a soft groan Ares accepted Eros’ tongue into his mouth and felt it seek out his own. He closed his lips, sucking the probing flesh. Eros moved with their rhythm and his entire body rocked against Ares’ as the older man sucked on his lover’s tongue.
For long minutes their tongues slid against one another, over teeth, learning the topography of each other’s mouths. As each kiss ended, Ares drank in the sight of Eros lying beneath him, face flushed, his wingtips fluttering. Finally Ares rolled them over, wondering if Eros might be becoming uncomfortable lying on his wings.
As he stretched out over the broader, furred frame, Eros started to thrust against Ares. He straddled one of his lover’s muscular thighs, rubbing his leaking length against the solidity of the older man. He gave a soft moan of denial as he was easily lifted and then moaned his approval as his shaft nestled against Ares’.
One large hand began to squeeze his left nether cheek whilst the other slid up his back to stop at the point where Eros’ wings joined his body. He opened his eyes and gazed into Ares’, the older man clearly waiting for permission to continue.
“Yes, please,” Eros whispered into his lover’s mouth.
Drawing Eros’ face down to kiss again, Ares tentatively stroked the skin around the base of Eros’ wings. In response he was rewarded by a whole-body shudder from the lithe young man who then started to rock his hips faster. Not wanting it to end too quickly, Ares wrapped his legs round his lover, holding him in place. He continued to caress Eros’ wings, softly smoothing and playing with the feathers and stroking the sensitive skin, eliciting small whimpers from his lover. Growling softly, Ares lips moved to his lover’s throat where he gently nibbled and sucked the soft skin, needing to leave a mark of his possession, however temporary the bruise would be.
Even his fantasies could not have begun to prepare Eros for the reality of Ares’ hand on his wings. Then the hand moved and Eros’ back arched at the intimate touch. An electric current of desire sizzled and soundlessly crackled along the length of his spine and jolted into his groin. He could not stop the whimpers that escaped him.
At the passionate response Ares had them on his bed in an instant, Eros beneath him once more. This time they were both naked and Ares eyes burned with a mix of love, lust and awe at the sight of the nude form of his beautiful lover. Eros shaft was swollen and leaking its juices and Ares licked his lips in anticipation. He oiled his fingers from the dish and then slowly licked his way down his lover’s smooth-skinned body.
Ares was certain he had tasted nothing that could compare to the sweetness of Eros’ lips and skin. He nibbled slowly towards his first prize, a burnished bronze nipple that begged to be suckled. As his lips sealed over the luscious nub, Ares oiled fingers slid between his lover’s thighs, seeking out the hidden entrance to his mate’s body. He let his digits slide over the already quivering portal as he kissed his way to Eros’ other nipple. As he nipped at the tender flesh, he pressed a single finger against tightly-furled flesh.
A soft keening sound escaped from between Eros’ kiss-swollen lips as Ares’ digit slid past his lover’s already-vanquished defences and into tight, molten heat. The bigger man rumbled approvingly as his lover writhed on his finger. Ares began a gentle motion, back and forth, as he let his lover become accustomed to the sensation of taking another into his body. He nibbled his way lower. He thrust his tongue into Eros’ navel mimicking a more intimate act to follow and the dulcet cry of his name inflamed his arousal more. He own hard, thick flesh throbbed in tandem to the thrusts of his finger.
As he added a second finger to stretch and oil his lover he sucked at the damson-hued head of Eros’ engorged flesh. He groaned as Eros’ wings rose and fell against the dark cover of his bed, their snowy-whiteness in stark contrast, the tempo matching that of his lover’s slender hips. He spread his fingers apart, opening his mate ready to accept his flesh and finally unite them.
As his pushed a third inside, he swallowed Eros’ shaft to the root, hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard. At the same time he curled his fingers and stroked Eros’ sweet spot. He heard his name cried aloud as his lover thrashed beneath him, lithe legs drawing upwards and outwards, the younger man offering himself wantonly to his dominate mate.
“Please, please, please.”
Ares rumbled approvingly at the plea. He flicked his tongue over the tiny slit, drinking the salty-sweet prelude of the nectar to follow. He buried a hand under his lover and grasped at the base of Eros’ wing as he simultaneously sucked hard and pressed against Eros’ hidden jewel. A cry of his name echoed around the room as Eros’ crested. As the younger man’s hips pumped instinctively, Ares drank the offering. The taste of Eros’ seed surpassed anything Ares had ever encountered and he suckled insistently to ensure not a drop escaped him.
Only once he was certain Eros had nothing left did he release the softening organ and kneel up. He barely stroked his own shaft when it erupted with a ferocity that left Ares gasping. His semen rained over Eros’ sweat-glistening skin, over the still-peaked nipples, the toned abdomen and the spent penis. For a minute Ares panted harshly, surprised by the intensity of his own orgasm. As he recovered, his lips curled into a feral grin. If watching his lover could make him come harder than he had before then he could scarcely wait to be inside the younger male.
As Eros slowly regained his wits, he urged Ares onto his back and straddled his thighs. The older man’s hair tickled his thighs and Eros decided it was a sensation he liked. His hands settled on Ares’ bare chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, stroking the skin and then entangling his fingers in the dark pelt. His fingers moved to the thick, espresso nubs that peeked from the opulent chest hair. He stroked over them softly then slowly increased the pressure until Ares gave a low groan, his chest arching into the caresses. He dropped his head to finally taste a peaked nipple and he heard Ares gasp aloud.
“You like that?” he asked.
“Very much,” Ares replied honestly, receiving a blinding smile in reply. “May I?” he added, reaching to touch the smooth skin between Eros’ wings.
Eros allowed Ares to place him as he willed. The sensation of kneeling, his legs spread wide, with another male behind him had him breathing in short, shallow pants. He felt vulnerable and voluptuous, anxious and aroused, his sex slowly re-filling and his wings trembling.
“Relax, my love,” Ares soothed. “I will never hurt you and will do nothing until you are ready. Trust me.”
“I trust you as I love you,” Eros vowed. “With all that I am.”
Ares felt as if his heart had been lovingly caressed by the softly-spoken words. He finally had his heart’s desire. He stared at the unfurled wings. He buried his face in Eros’ wings and a raw moan escaped his throat, echoed by one from Eros. The wings fluttered in what Ares decided was clearly an invitation to continue. To the older man they smelt of snow, wind and pine.
“Tell me if it becomes too much,” he whispered.
Ares’ hands moved over the wings, tracing each feather and learning their shape and texture as Eros trembled under the onslaught of erotic sensation. Moans, pleas and whimpers escaped his lips in a concerto of arousal that resonated in Ares’ heart and soul. His fingers burrowed delicately into the thick covering of feathers wanting to imbue as much pleasure as he could.
The sensual tingling in his wings spread outward alighting every nerve in Eros’ body. His blood surged to his groin and his shaft began to swell once more, seemingly pulsating in time with each touch of Ares’ hands, each caress of his lips. Eros tries to press back against Ares. In response the older man’s touches increased and deepened, became more urgent and demanding.
Ares kissed his way down Eros’s spine, the fingers of one hand remaining to tantalise at tracing the base of one wing. Soon Ares had reached the silken nether cheeks and he licked the warm, smooth flesh. He heard Eros gasped as Ares brushed his lips over each cheek, the kisses centring ever closer to the tiny aperture that was his ultimate destination.
Ares reached down to cup Eros’ sac and roll the precious orbs it contained. He squeezed and stroked lightly and then Ares licked slowly down the expanse of exposed, intimate skin and over the furled flesh of his mate. He relished the sound of the shameless moan of want from Eros’ lips. Ares’ tongue circled Eros’ entrance and then slid lower to lick Eros’ sac and sensitive perineum. In one smooth movement, Ares pushed inside his lover. Delving deeply Ares’ tongue just brushed against Eros’ prostate and the younger man cried out from pleasure he had never experienced before.
“Please,” Eros begged. His thighs shifted as he opened himself completely to Ares. His lover’s tongue continued to stroke him from the inside as Ares squeezed at the base of his wing. Eros whimpered as the sinful tongue pulled away, leaving him bereft. Then his lover’s mouth was at the base of his wing, biting and sucking. Eros could contain his passion no more and he cried out Ares’ name, begging his lover to take him.
Ares reached a hand round to caress the hard flesh of his lover’s arousal, stroking gently. The other hand, re-oiled, circled the glistening and exposed flesh where Ares’ ultimate prize was now proudly displayed.
Eros was lost in the pleasure of Ares’ touch. If his lover had continued with the caresses to his wings, Eros knew he would have come from that stimulation alone. However, he was desperate to feel Ares inside him. He yearned for that one, still-empty spot inside him to be filled with Ares’ heat and power. He moaned as fingers pierced him once more. Ares’ talented hands were working in tandem. The fingers around his erection kept time with the movement of his hips, stroking him lightly and fanning the fire burning within. The other fingers kept striking his sweet spot so that the flames danced ever higher. His body’s undulations also meant that his highly sensitive wings brushed back and forth across his lover’s furred chest.
Ares buried his face in Eros’s wings, earning another trembling moan from Eros’ and pressed his aching flesh against Eros’s buttocks. He slid the solid rod over the exposed portal and pressed lightly.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered.
“Fill me, my love,” Eros begged as he felt Ares align his erection with his pulsing opening. He was enthralled by the sensation of Ares’ lips over his wings. He could feel the large head of his lover’s flesh pushing against his entrance, but Ares’ chest, lips and fingers kept moving against his wings, distracting him.
“Relax,” Ares whispered.
Eros barely understood the word as he lost himself in the sensual sensation of Ares’ chest against his wings. Then he gave a cry as long, thick flesh possessed him in a way no other ever had. The empty space was finally filled and Eros gave another inarticulate cry as Ares’ hardness pressed against his hidden jewel. He could feel the moment of fulfilment nearing. His lover’s’ hands had moved to his hips, guiding his movements to match the older man’s.
“Wings,” he pleaded, unable to articulate his need further.
Ares groaned, moving his hands from Eros’s hips to the place where wings joined smooth skin. He gripped firmly, but not tightly. His thumbs slid against the base while his fingers contracted and released. All the time he thrust rhythmically into tight, slick, velvet heat. The tightening around his shaft and the change of timbre of his lover’s moans ensured Ares knew his actions bestowed increasing pleasure.
Needing deeper penetration, but unable to find the words, Eros dropped from his hands and knees so that his head was pillowed on his arms, his hips raised in silent supplication. The deep groan from his mate seared his soul and he clenched his inner muscles around the flesh impaling him.
Ares looked down at the tableau before him. Eros’ back was arched as he leaned on his arms. His wings were fully extended, fluttering at the tips. His knees were splayed wide and his head was pillowed on his arms. Soft pants of desire escaped kiss-swollen lips. The earlier position had made it difficult for him to thrust as he wanted. He needed to thrust more deeply, to fully possess the younger man. To feel the welcoming ripples in the tight sheath that seemed to have been made perfectly, just for him. Eros pushed back against his inward thrust and Ares gasped, his hands moving to grasp Eros’s waist.
“Wings,” Eros pleaded.
With an effort, Ares released his grip of his lover’s waist and took hold of the base of Eros’ wings once more. He began to thrust more deeply into Eros’s hot, pulsating passage. Ares knew he had found a paradise greater than even the Elysian Fields. The feel and scent of Eros’ feathers, the taste of his lover’s skin, the sensation of the hot, silken, rippling sheath of his mate’s body, the soft sounds of shared passion and pleasure. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right, so absolutely perfect that Ares wanted the moment to never end.
All-too-soon and yet not soon enough, the rhythm of Ares’ hips began to falter at his impending release. He thought of stroking Eros, but remembered that just the touches to his lover’s wings had been enough earlier to drive the younger man to the edge of the abyss. He leaned further over Eros’s back, his lips and tongue caressing the upper curve of the spread wings. Tightening his pulsing grip on the wings, he increased the speed of his thrusts, jabbing unerringly against his lover’s sweet spot and bit down on the delicate flesh of Eros’ wing.
The feel of Ares’ teeth on his wing was enough to trigger Eros’ released orgasm. He bucked and shook, his channel clenching furiously against the unyielding flesh inside him. That seemed to only fuel his flames higher and he quivered helplessly with the force of his climax. His semen jetted against the dark silk, the glittering, silver trails physical proof of his pleasure. As he trembled beneath Ares, he felt his lover’s hands return to his waist and a final few feral thrusts reached their zenith with hot liquid spilling inside him, filling him with Ares living essence.
Too drained to do more for the moment, Ares rolled them to their sides, keeping their bodies joined. He nuzzled at Eros’s wings tenderly before placing a kiss on the nape of his neck and across the younger man’s shoulders. He smiled at the inarticulate reply and the desultory hand that flopped onto his hip.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“Love you,” Eros murmured.
Ares was aware that his arousal had not fully abated. He was still half-hard and lodged in the tight channel of his mate’s body. He was also certain he could re-arouse the younger man once more. He wanted another, more gentle lovemaking to let Eros know that there were deeper feelings between them. Reluctantly he eased from the snug passage to a low murmur of denial. He eased Eros to face him and tenderly kissed his beloved.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. Ares ran his hand down Eros’ back, stroking lightly between his wings, knowing the arousing nature of the touches. He gazed into the depthless pools of Eros’ dark eyes.
“Let me love you,” he husked.
He rolled onto his back and urged Eros to kneel astride him. This position would give Eros the control of their lovemaking. He slipped a finger into his lover’s body and Eros went lax against him. The younger man leant down and put his head on Ares’ shoulder. Eros’ breath was hot and moist against his skin. He felt Eros shudder as Ares’ finger grazed his sweet spot. The older man smiled as he felt his lover grinding back against the thrusting finger.
“Ares, I need you so much,” Eros moaned.
“I know, my love,” he answered. “I need you, too.”
When Ares finally positioned his aching flesh against his portal to paradise, Eros’ wings were quivering and occasionally beating as pure need scorched through his lover’s already over-stimulated body. He moved both his hands to grip Eros’ hips and the younger man moved instinctively into the right position of his own volition, lifting his head to gaze adoringly into Ares’ eyes.
“I love you,” he mouthed as he shifted. He threw back his head as the tip of Ares’ penis slid into him once more. He was aware of the bruising grip of the older man ensuring he did not descend on the thick, rampant flesh too quickly.
“Slowly,” Ares commanded. He waited for the answering nod before he allowed his grip to loosen fractionally and allow the lithe man to sink onto him gradually. Eros’ face was strained and Ares could see the effort Eros made.”I love you,” he murmured comfortingly, concentrating on the smile in the younger man’s eyes.
The feel of Eros’ inner heat was almost enough to make him forget his earlier desire and drive into the willing body once more. He felt Eros body tremble as his lover slid down incrementally until he finally had taken all of his lover’s flesh in him and Ares’ furred sac nestled erotically against the smooth skin of his mate’s cheeks. Ares rumbled in approval at the beautiful image of Eros impaled on his flesh, his wings spread out, beating lightly behind him, quivering in pleasure.
“You’re so beautiful,” Ares murmured, releasing his grip of Eros’ hips. His hands swept imperiously over the smooth flushed skin of Eros’ chest. He pinched both peaked nipples and tugged them lightly. His reward was the tight channel clenching around him, Eros writhing sensually and the snowy wings beating a little harder. He watched enraptured as Eros’ lips parted around a soft moan as Ares’ hand closed around his re-arousing rod. He stroked reviving flesh in a slow, steady tempo while his other hand aimed for the base of Eros’ wing.
Closing his eyes Eros concentrated on raising himself before sinking down again. The low moan from his lover encouraged him. He repeated the movement and the grip of his penis tightened the stroking a bit harder, a little faster.
“Look at me, my love,” Ares urged him, and Eros obeyed. As his eyes opened it met gaze of his mate and he knew his own orbs blazed with the same want, need and love as he saw in Ares’ eyes.
They kept their gazes locked as Eros raised and lowered himself, slowly at first but soon with more confidence, faster, more urgently. Ares kept one hand on his lover’s heated flesh, stroking it in time with Eros’ movements. The other hand roamed freely over the body he had wanted for so long, secure in the knowledge that no other male had touched his lover and that it was him Eros wanted and desired. Loved. No one else would ever experience the sweetness of Eros skin or the way his eyes had widened as he was penetrated. Ares smiled squeezing Eros’ aching flesh firmly and twisting his wrist in the way he knew would drive his lover wild.
“I love you,” he said and then added, “only you.”
“I know,” Eros answered smiling “And I love only you.” He raised himself up again until only the head of his lover’s shaft was still inside him and then lowered himself quickly, squeezing his muscles. He grinned as he drew a loud groan from Ares’ lips.
The bigger man shifted, pulling Eros down to claim his lips in a bruising kiss while thrusting inside the clinging heat that surrounded his throbbing flesh. His hips pumped in short, sharp jabs that massaged Eros’ prostate. He thrust his tongue in his lover’s mouth, relishing the way Eros writhed in his arms and moaned into his mouth. Ares let his free hand slide up Eros’ back to grasp the base of a wing and he gave a bellow of primal satisfaction at the way his lover shuddered with helpless pleasure.
Eros’ wings were beating rhythmically, each motion forcing Eros’ body harder onto his lover’s rampant erection. There were too many sensations amorously assailing him coalescing into one bright all-encompassing elation; Ares’ tongue thrusting in his mouth or suckling his tongue, the hand pulling and squeezing his fully aroused shaft and a hand matching the same temp on the base of his wing. It was too much. Eros suddenly sat upright forcing his lover’s rod even deeper inside him as he came again with an ululating cry of Ares’ name. His seed adorned Ares’ chest and stomach in powerful spurts as he rode out his cataclysmic release.
Pleasure was building up inside Ares, threatening to spill at any moment. The sight of his lover becoming unravelled added to the maelstrom of sensual sensation. Ares groaned helplessly as he was squeezed tightly by Eros’ contracting channel and wet heat rained from the erupting flesh in his hand. Thrusting up into the tight, pulsating inferno of his lover’s body, he let his own completion rush through him. Powerful jets of his semen buried deeply into Eros’ welcoming depths as he gave a primal bellow of possession and completion.
Still quivering, Eros let himself sink down against Ares, joining their mouths in an unhurried kiss. He felt Ares hand tenderly caress the base of his wing. The touch a benediction, an expression of love to show he was cherished and Eros knew it without the words being spoken. He could feel them in his heart and soul. He nestled comfortably, feeling the flesh inside him finally subside and soften, although he was equally aware that if he clenched his inner muscles he would quickly revive the spent organ.
He gazed into Ares eyes to see the love he felt reflected back at him.
“I love you,” Eros whispered.
“I love you,” Ares replied solemnly.
“Eternity,” Eros murmured, pressing a kiss to the still-rapid pulse at Ares’ throat.
“Eternity,” Ares echoed, completing the vow. No other words were necessary.
They lay together, replete, bodies and destinies entwined. The god of war finally at peace in love’s embrace and Eros no longer alone and bereft of love. Each had found in the other what they needed and their heart’s desire.