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"She didn't look like a minion of Hera," Iphicles says, once they're putting their clothes back on.

Hercules shrugs as he tucks in his shirt. He aches all over but he feels better than he really should, all things considered - still, he figures that's probably the stuff that's in the wine talking.

"Yeah, they never do," he says.


The girl put the tray down on the table and left the room the way she'd come in. There were two cups; Hercules and Iphicles each picked one up and drank a toast to each other's good health. The problem was, it turned out the wine wasn't exactly healthy.

The first sign something was wrong was the room seemed way too warm all of a sudden. Hercules felt a prickle of sweat at his brow and the small of his back and Iphicles started fanning himself with his hands at the other side of the table as they talked. They opened the shutters at the windows to let in some fresh night air but it didn't help too much, and then Iphicles untied his belt and took off his tunic and Hercules remembers thinking how that seemed like a really great idea, so he took off his shirt, too.

The second sign was when they stumbled into each other like they'd gotten drunk on half a cup and the next thing Hercules knew, bam, they were making out. Iphicles' hands were in Hercules' hair and Hercules' hands were squeezing at the curve of Iphicles' ass and it didn't even seem like a bad idea right then, not really, just like maybe it would somehow help the situation. Except, when he thought about it, Hercules really couldn't see how it would help.

"I think we've been drugged," Hercules said, glancing at the half-drunk cups of wine they'd abandoned on the table with the remains of dinner. "When did you hire the new serving girl?" But his mouth was at the crook of Iphicles' neck and Iphicles' fingers were untying Hercules' belt, so he figured maybe the answer didn't really matter all that much after all.

There was a pot of oil on the dining table left over from dinner and when Iphicles bent over the table and reached for it, he almost knocked it over he was in such a hurry. Hercules leaned past him - leaned over him - and he grabbed it instead and when Iphicles turned back around to face him, their gazes met. Iphicles' face was flushed and his bare chest was flushed and when he shoved his pants down over his hips, his cock was flushed, too. Then he dragged down Hercules' pants with unsteady hands and a creak of worn leather and he dipped his fingers into the oil Hercules still had there in his hand. He slicked Hercules' cock with it, root to tip and back again. He was already hard by then. They both were. At the time, that made sense.

Iphicles' hand between his thighs made him shiver. Iphicles' teeth scraping at his jaw made him shiver. Iphicles' fingers on his skin made him shiver, too, or maybe that was just the wine talking. He kissed him. He crushed their mouths together and Iphicles shoved him up against the nearest castle wall and Hercules turned and shoved Iphicles up against it instead. He pushed him up face first against it and Iphicles groaned out loud as Hercules' cock pressed up to the cleft of his ass. They were past words by then, he guesses, so the groan was enough. He pressed the head of his cock up between Iphicles' cheeks. He pressed the head of his cock against Iphicles' hole and it didn't make sense to be slow or be coy or any of those things. He pushed inside. The way Iphicles pushed back, too-hot skin to too-hot skin, it seemed a whole lot like he'd wanted him to.

The fog didn't clear out of his head until later, after they'd made it down onto the floor and gotten the rest of the way out of their clothes. It didn't clear till after Hercules had pushed back into him, Iphicles' legs wrapped tight around his waist and his hands tight at Hercules' shoulders, his hair stuck to his face and splayed on the flagstones. The fog didn't clear out of his head until they were both done, till they were both finished, and he'd pulled back out and dropped down onto his back on the stone floor next to him, a mess of sweat and come and oil. They hadn't even made it to the rug they'd been so desperate for it, and he put his hands over his eyes and he laughed out loud, still breathless.

When he turned his head, Iphicles looked almost as amused as he did. He definitely looked just as dishevelled.


"She didn't look like a minion of Hera," Iphicles says, leaning back against the table, and Hercules shrugs as he tucks in his shirt.

"Yeah, they never do," he says. "But we both know Hera didn't send her." He lifts his head. He puts his hands on his hips and he raises his brows at him significantly. "Next time you're feeling lonely, how about you don't call on Aphrodite?"

Iphicles frowns. For a moment, that's all he does, and Hercules thinks that might be the end of it, he's gone and gotten himself run out of Corinth and he guesses that wouldn't be the first time and it probably wouldn't be the last, but then Iphicles shrugs and steps forward and claps him on the arms with a half-sheepish smile coming up on his face.

"Next time?" he says. He almost looks hopeful.

Hercules steps close. He rests his hands at Iphicles' hips. "Next time," he replies. He figures they've both lost so much they can allow themselves that, at least; his brother has some crazy ideas sometimes, but somehow this doesn't even feel like close to the craziest.

He picks up the cups. He grins.

"Besides," he says. "Don't you think we better finish this before someone else does?"

The smile of Iphicles' face says he agrees wholeheartedly.