<::sniffle!::> Oh, the widow was simply overcome by all the lovely comments on her first Herculean slash effort. So I dried my happy tears and then found myself pecking away...

(at my keyboard - where did you *think* you naughty people??!)

...and this was the result. Oh, my! It's been an _awfully_ *warm* spring, hasn't it? :)

Title: Iolaus, Private Dance

Rating: R, adult, consensual (I only rate things NC-17 if it's non-consensual or a little on the kinky side) ;)

Feedback: Keep it nice and I'll be putty in your hands. ;)) Ooh, what a luverly image! Flames might well have you written into my next story as a horse about to be gelded. Not that I don't mind a *little* criticism... Just keep it nice, darlings, okay?

Summary: Poor dear Iolaus is bereft and turns to Rosie Palm and her five sisters for comfort.

To the writers/producers of Herc: TLJ - No one is getting rich off of this, although a few people might get a little (or a LOT of) pleasure. :) And if you didn't intend for the lot of us to be writing these naughty stories, then next time don't cast two perfectly marvelous stud-puppets in the lead roles. My, my, my...

He couldn't stand it. The cheap barroom floozy was all over Herc. Those slatternly hands were carressing that chest. *His* chest. The chest of his lover. And his lover didn't seem to mind at all. Iolaus could barely swallow, his mouth hung open and dry at the sight.

Apparently, he had been replaced.

All the last few weeks of carnal bliss, wiped away by a cheap tavern slut. His eyes burned and he slugged down a huge mouthful of rotgut and headed out into the night. He didn't care. He *wouldn't* care.

If Hercules wanted that piece of gash, he wouldn't stand in his way.

Oh, but he was so hard! He wanted Herc so badly. This evening was supposed to be an appetizer for their nightly frolic and now...

They had come to the bar for a little wine, which turned out to be atrocious. They had hoped for a little interesting conversation, that had also not panned out. Then the taverns owner, sensing their disappointment, had whistled for his daughter. And as he played a lute, the scantily clad girl began to dance atop the bar.

She had swiveled her hips and moved towards Hercules as if he was the only man in the bar. Iolaus had only been able to watch, and then grit his teeth as he'd overheard one of the bar patrons making a drunken comment: "Herc's catamite will get some sleep tonight!" Laughter had singed his burning ears.

But the image of that dancing whore... her fingers teasing the skin he had just the night before been running his tongue across... those hands reaching lower to tease just above Herc's bulging crotch. Iolaus groaned.

Herc had been hard, *very* hard. He obviously found the girl attractive.

It was his own fault. Herc had told him from the outset when he'd made his own feelings known, that he'd never been involved with another man, except for a few manual sessions with a centaur that had answered his early teenaged questions about sex. Centaurs were notoriously open about their sexuality, and others sexuality.

Iolaus supposed if he were forced to walk around with his cock swinging free for all to see, he might be that open.

But he wasn't. He had learned early on to find pleasure wherever it presented itself. And to avoid love.

He hadn't been able to keep that promise though, when he met and fell *hard* for Hercules.

The big brawny man wasn't just classically beautiful, but he was kind, he was gentle, he was funny, and he didn't have a mean bone in his body. He had treated Iolaus with respect, something few ever did. And he had cared for him when he was ill. He had saved his life more times than he could count. Small wonder he had fallen deeply in love with him.

Even when he'd told him, Herc hadn't berated him, but listened. And a few agonizing days later, had allowed Iolaus to pleasure him. He thought he might die from the pleasure of finally being able to touch that golden skin. He'd cried when he'd brought Herc to an explosive climax, but to his disquieted concern, Herc had not been inclined to return the favour. He'd allowed him to enter him and find release, but he'd only watched him through slitted, sleep-laden eyes. Despite this slight flaw in his first night with Herc, Iolaus had found it a heavenly union, had been overcome at being allowed to touch, much less enter that heavenly body.

He had been as gentle as he could, knowing Herc had never done such a thing. In exchange, the halfling-god had thanked Iolaus, smiled wearily, a touch uncertainly at him and then turned and fallen into a deep slumber.

And it had happened the same way for the next few nights. Iolaus had spent those days in hard agony, his member near to bursting at the thought of pleasuring Herc, filled with joy when the halfling-god allowed him to enter his sacred body. And he'd found pleasure in it, but Herc hadn't seemed interested beyond achieving the release which seemed to relax him and enable him to sleep a deep and dreamless slumber after their long days on the long, dusty roads. Apparently it hadn't meant the same thing to him at all, just as he'd feared.

Now, the tousle-haired hunter stumbled his griefstricken way into the barn, to the bed of leathers atop the hay where he had been hoping to entice Hercules with a private dance of his own devising. Instead, he was alone.

Instead, Hercules was in the bar, perhaps even in the inn with the tavern owners daughter. *She* could give him what he wanted. She probably was.

A slight sob escaped Iolaus now and he thrust himself atop the leathers and buried his face in his arm.

Why had he had to fall in love?

He was the biggest fool in the world. That bar patron was right. He *was* only a catamite. Serving the halfling-god. He should be pleased to be patronized by the son of a god. He should be happy to get a night's rest while his partner sweated out his pleasure with another.

Iolaus sobbed, ashamed at his behaviour, more ashamed at the fact that his humiliation had made him rampantly erect. What manner of man was he?

The image of Hercules thrusting into the slatternly bar dancer kept playing over and over in his mind. He could just imagine what Herc would do, what he might say... and what that whore would do to him in return.

Her painted lips would kiss him, taste the sweet-salty sweat that Iolaus knew so well, and wanted so badly. Those hands would trace the path they had when she had danced for him, except this time, Hercules would be unclothed. His massive manhood would be rearing, the strangely blunt head a thick fleshy mushroom, the slit weeping that sweet and heady musk that Iolaus liked to spread along the thick stalk and then gently lick off.

Herc had explained to him once that he had been born without a prepuce. Apparently Zeus felt he did not require one. Or perhaps gods did not have them. Iolaus had found this minor flaw intriguing. The smooth hardness of Herc's massive erection seemed like polished marble because of it. Perfect. Perhaps that was why he did not have one. The gods always claimed they were perfect.

Iolaus groaned now as his leathers became an agony, as his body responded to these lustful thoughts. His engorged state was growing painful. He rolled over and removed his trousers, let his aching manhood spring free. It almost slapped up along his taut belly, he was so very hard. He would never be able to sleep in this condition.

The blonde warrior turned on his side and reached down. His hand cupped his bulging scrotum for a moment, gently squeezed, then his fingers sought the thing Hercules did not have. His thumb and first two fingers gently manipulated his foreskin.

He rolled the tender flesh gently back and forth, along the pulsing head of his engorged organ. Clear, stringy, slippery fluid, the consistency of egg white, began to drool from his opening. It smeared along his fingers, but he didn't notice, caught up in his fantasy:

*Herc* was the one doing this to him. Herc's fingers were gently toying with his prepuce. Herc's other hand was clutching at his scrotal sac, and tickling along the edge of his tight opening, wanting ... needing.

"Herc..." he moaned, wanting more than anything to feel Herc's thick, heavy shaft head rubbing against his body's tight, puckered opening, poised to enter his wanting, willing body. Herc hadn't done that, but he'd been so ready to give him that and more. Instead...

"Oh, Herc!"

Tears filled his eyes, but his lust carried him heedlessly. The images would not leave his mind - Herc's flaring cock, the smell of male musk and manly sweat, the deeper, raunchier smell between his legs when he'd gently licked his way behind Herc's massive scrotum and teased his tongue along that muscular opening.

Iolaus no longer moved his hand, but moved his hips instead, thrusting his hungry cock into the ring of his thumb and fingers. He strained and rolled and sweated profusely as he fucked his hand thoroughly, his hand now slick with his own lubrication, the air around him thickly perfumed with hay and musk.

"HERC!!!!!!!!!"

His outcry was strangled agony as he jerked and shot thick bursts of heated seed onto the edge of the leathers.

Iolaus trembled and gripped his cock tightly. He fought to catch his breath...

...and jumped at the feel of the warm hand against his back.

"Nice."

Iolaus gasped and turned, shriveling in fright before he recognized Herc's familiar face smiling at him in the dimness. His voice had been husky... teasing, he realized.

"Herc?"

"Mmm. You were calling for me. Too bad I missed out."

Iolaus swallowed, his throat tight with feeling. Herc had not gone with the whore after all.

"How long have you--"

"Been here?" Herc smiled, a lazy, hungry smile, like a lion sighting prey. "Long enough."

Before Iolaus could ask anything else, he felt himself being lifted. Herc's eyes blazed with hunger.

"It's my turn."

The powerful man-god positioned Iolaus on the leathers, kneeling between his bent knees. His prodigious cock had swollen his leathers to their straining point. He reached down with one hand and released that massive marble column.

It was dripping with need and Iolaus moaned. He reached a hand, but Herc stopped him.

"No. You had your fun. It's my turn now."

With that he spread his musky fluid along his cock head with one hand, and with the other gathered Iolaus cooling seed from the leathers along the tips of his fingers. He gently spread it along Iolaus opening and the hunter clenched his cheeks in anticipation. Could this be? Could Herc finally...

Hercules lifted his blonde-locked lover easily and just as easily slid that thick, pulsing column deep into his bowels. His eyes shut tight on the sensation. He was home.

Iolaus gasped as the thick invader rubbed along his entry and caused a tingling sensation. To his astonishment, his organ began to swell once more. He flushed, somewhat abashed as he usually was by his small hard branch in comparison to Hercules' mighty log. But the incredible feelings could not be denied.

Herc's slow and powerful thrusts were bringing them both closer, each one rubbing the hugely flared head along his inner entry and making him gasp again and again. He didn't feel it was possible, but lubrication began to trickle from his swollen cock again.

Before he could do anything Herc began to tremble, then a mighty groan shook through him and he could feel the moist spreading heat as the halfling-god spurt his seed deep inside him. Iolaus knew he would not be far behind.

He reached down but jumped as Herc slapped his hands back. Iolaus looked up at him, betrayed.

Then Herc slid out of him, making him gasp and tremble anew. Before he could do or say anything, Herc suddenly prostrate himself between his legs, and he felt that warm, luscious mouth close around his throbbing penis.

Iolaus cried out as Herc's tongue slid across his tender head and toyed with his loose foreskin. Then he bucked and felt fire flare from his testicles up to his brain.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

A beasts roar exploded from Iolaus lungs as the seed was wrenched from him, drawn out of his aching testes by Herc's sucking mouth. When he thought he might just die of pure pleasure, he felt Herc swallowing, felt those powerful throat muscles working along the head of his organ.

Low moans were all he was capable of as Herc finished lovingly sucking him dry. Then his beloved Hercules released him and he shuddered as those wonderfully firm, warm arms embraced him from behind. He was cuddled and held closely, comfortingly.

"I'm glad I turned that woman down. Look what we would have missed."

Iolaus blinked, nodded. He felt he might weep again, but not from despair - from happiness.

"I've been wanting to do that, but..." that husky voice got deeper, hushed. "but it wasn't until I saw you crying for me that I realized you really *did* enjoy what you've been doing for me. I wasn't sure if... if you just did those things because you thought well - that it made me happy."

"Happy?" Iolaus managed to croak.

"Very happy. But I thought... I thought you felt you owed me or something. I didn't realize you really enjoyed this. But you do, don't you?"

Iolaus managed to nod, feeling his sweat cooling in the night air. Before he could say or do anything, one of Herc's powerful arms threw an edge of the leathers over them both, cocooning them.

Herc sighed, completely content. "Good night, Iolaus."

After a few moments, the hunter heard a low snore. He smiled, ignored the tears that slid from him now, the only means of expressing his happiness and love in his sweaty and overpowering fatigue.

Herc abruptly drew him even closer and Iolaus sniffed. He smiled tearfully.

His whisper was lighter than air.

"Good night, Herc."

THE END

Thank you all so kindly for putting up with a bawdy old widow's lusty imaginings. If I didn't write these images out, I couldn't get a thing done during the day. Could you?

Any road out, that's all for now. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. :)

Ta-ta, darlings!

And do feel free to feed me back!

Laughing Liz :D
aka OdoGoddess