Thinking in the Rain
by Amorette

It's raining, a slow, steady rain that has been dripping on us since early morning and shows no sign of letting up. Iolaus laughed about it earlier but I can tell, after walking in it all day, into early evening, that it's getting to him, the chill and the mud and the wet. His golden hair is plastered to his skull, his clothes are soaked through, his feet are starting to drag. Even his shoulders slump, hunched against the rain and maybe, something else. Because he isn't complaining. If it were just the rain, he'd be griping steadily. He fell silent some time ago.

I have let him walk a little ahead of me, setting the pace. Sometimes, I forget that, for all his boundless energy, Iolaus is mortal and he can get tired. Now, as I study those drooping shoulders, the way he is barely lifting his feet as he walks, I start to get worried.

"Iolaus?"

No answer. No change in his pace. Nothing. I take a couple of steps to catch up with him.

"Iolaus?"

"Huh?" He stops, looking over at me, surprised. He's been somewhere else in his head. Not meditating. When he does that, that technique he learned when he was in the East years ago, his face is always placid, relaxed. Now, as he turns towards me in the grey light, I can see how tense he looks.

"Something wrong?" I ask, keeping my tone mild. If I sound too concerned, Iolaus will deny anything is wrong. His arm could fall off but if I sounded worried, he'd deny it was bothering him. He only complains when he isn't suffering.

"No." He shakes himself, a bit like a wet dog. "Just wet."

Liar. I don't say it out loud. We know each other well enough that he knows I'm thinking it.

I look down the road. We're near our destination, a small village outside of Delphi. There is no particular reason for us to be going there, it was just the next town on the route we were wandering. Since Delphi tends to be full of dignitaries, rich men and priests, we agreed not to stay there. Probably couldn't afford a room, anyway. Iolaus turns back to the road and starts walking. I follow.

"Herc?" His voice sounds, I don't know, lost somehow, not his usual cheerful tone.

"What?"

"Do you remember the first time I met Deianeira?"

Funny. I hadn't thought about that in years but I should have. I had walked to Iolaus' house, through a pouring rain, to tell him that I had finally met the woman I wanted to marry. Ever since he had gotten married, he teased me about my someday finding the woman I'd want to settle down with and have children with. I always denied there was any chance of that happening to me. Then I met my Deianeira.

I had left her at my mother's. I wanted to tell Iolaus first, so he would get all his embarrassing jokes out of his system before he met her. I wanted him to make a good impression. I wanted them to like each other.

Ania had answered the door, smiling broadly when she saw it was me. I'd come through the door, shrugging off my cloak, and promptly fell over a cat. Iolaus never kept pets but Ania had a couple of cats she let in the house. I had forgotten that as one of my big feet landed on a tail. The cat screeched and I staggered back, my boots slipping in the water on the floor. I crashed to the floor, landing flat on my back. Iolaus came through the curtain that separated their bedroom from the common room, looked down at me lying there, and said, "When you're done in here, the floor in the bedroom needs mopping."

I was so giddy, what with Deianeira and all, I had laid there on his floor, laughing, while Iolaus stared down at me, puzzled.

Yes, I remember. We all walked back to my mother's house, Ania, Iolaus and I, in the rain. Iolaus had been grinning, bouncing between Ania and I as he walked, punching me lightly in the ribs, stealing a kiss from his wife, teasing me about finally falling in love.

By the time we arrived at my mother's, Iolaus was soaked to the skin. Ania and I were wearing heavy woolen cloaks with the hoods pulled close but Iolaus, always too full of energy, had pushed his hood back so he could better make faces at me. His cloak had fallen open as he spun and danced around me, so delighted by what had happened to me that he couldn't contain himself.

That is one of the happiest memories of my life, and one I hate to remember, because everything seemed perfect that day. We had sat by the fire, drinking my mother's warm spiced mead, laughing as we made plans for my wedding. My wedding. Every time Iolaus said, "Herc's wedding," he started to giggle again. Ania would then poke him in the ribs, which had the effect of making him laugh harder.

Deianeira had liked Iolaus immediately. Who wouldn't? In those days, there was almost no shadow to him, only the glow of his energy and enthusiasm. The shadows would come later. Ania had been a bit overwhelmed by Deianeira at first but as we all got silly on mead, the two women relaxed.

I can see us, Ania and Iolaus sitting across from Deianeira and I, my mother in a rocking chair between us, warm and happy and full of hope for the future. At some point, Iolaus had said, "Is there anything nicer in the whole world than being dry inside when it's pouring rain outside?"

Things weren't so nice now. Our wives and children were dead. And we were soaking wet.

"I remember," I say, wanting to find some words that will lighten our mood. I fail.

Iolaus sighs, then starts walking again.

Suddenly, it comes to me. What the day is. Oh, gods. Today would have been his tenth wedding anniversary. They only celebrated three. I remember the last. Both Ania and Deianeira were pregnant. Iolaus didn't have much money. He was a decent smith but never charged as much for his work as he should have. He was a lousy farmer and probably lost money on those efforts. My mother had bought Ania a bolt of fine green linen, telling her she'd help Ania make a new dress, after the baby was born and she got her figure back. Ania had laughed, patting her big belly, saying she felt as if she that would never happen.

It hadn't. A month later, she was dead and Iolaus was struggling to raise their son on his own. The fine green linen had become her shroud.

My mother, and most of the mothers in the village, had expected Iolaus to marry again, as soon as was decent. A warrior like Iolaus couldn't possibly raise a child alone. I had known better. Iolaus would marry for love, never for convenience, and after he buried Ania, his heart was too shattered to let him fall in love again.

I still don't know how he did it. I was busy with my own family. I felt a wave of guilt as I remembered how little time I spent with Iolaus when he had needed me the most. My mother, fortunately, had done all she could. Or rather, all he would let her. Iolaus could be stubborn and more than once, he sent my mother away. His son was his responsibility.

There had been days, I knew, weeks even, when Iolaus had struggled. I saw him once, in the marketplace, his infant son strapped to his back, haggling over some purchase. Iolaus looked as if he hadn't slept in a week. He was unshaven, his hair even longer than usual, a ragged tear in his blouse unmended. I hadn't gone over to him because I was afraid to, afraid that he would be angry if I saw him in that state. So I just watched him, horrified at how slowly he moved, how not once did he smile, how he winced as he counted out his few coins.

There had been good days, too, especially as the baby turned into a toddler. Days when his son, who had Ania's dark eyes but Iolaus' blonde curls and quick smile, would laugh as Iolaus chased him through the garden. I remember coming up the hill, a basket my mother sent in my arms, and seeing that sight, grateful to hear the laughter of father and son.

And then. . .

"Herc?"

I am so lost in the past that I nearly run over Iolaus, who stops in the middle of the road. It takes me a moment to realize what he is staring at.

We are near a farm, a prosperous looking place, with a large house, two-storied, with wings obviously added over the years, and barns and other outbuildings surrounded by neat pastures and fields, gone bright green in the rain. None of the animals are outside in the downpour but a person is. A woman, a cloak held over her head, is walking from the gate of the farmstead towards us.

We wait, puzzled. She isn't running, as if there were an emergency and she needed assistance. If she thought we were dangerous, as armed men on a lonely road can be, then why is she walking in our direction, rather than locking up her house and family?

She stops, about three paces in front of us, looking up at us from under her cloak. She is short, half a head shorter than Iolaus, and nearly as broad as she is tall. Sturdy, with iron grey hair tucked under a housewife's veil, she looks up at us with small dark eyes, her mouth set.

"What are you doing out in the rain?"

Iolaus and I exchange a startled glance.

"Um," says Iolaus, looking around as if the answer should be obvious, "walking."

The woman frowns. "Didn't your mother teach you to come inside out of the rain?"

I almost laugh. Iolaus manages a weak smile as he replies, "Well, yes, but there wasn't any decent shelter and we thought we'd just keep walking until we found some."

The woman sniffs sharply. She doesn't seem to think we are the sharpest knives in the box. "Well, you've found it now. Come with me."

Her voice is stern. Clearly, she is used to being obeyed when she speaks. Iolaus looks at me, shrugging. What else can we do? She turns and starts back to her farm, Iolaus and I trailing after.

She leads us, clucking her tongue, into the farmhouse. I have to duck under the lintel but once inside find myself in a large room, with an adequately high ceiling, comfortably furnished, and full of people. There are several women of assorted ages, from a girl barely old enough to count herself a woman, her hair still unbound and hanging down her back, to an ancient crone, her back bent double with her years, huddled over a pile of sheep's wool she is carding with knotted fingers, still quick for all her age. The only males in the room, aside from a fat dog that comes trotting over to sniff Iolaus and me, are younger, five boys, the oldest no more than twelve, I guess. There are another three or four children under foot or in cradles, too young for their sex to be visible at first glance.

Our guide tosses her cloak on peg by the door, then barks an order to one of the middle-aged woman, a plump, placid-looking woman who I suspect is our guide's eldest daughter.

"Dore, get those blankets. Phylla, is the soup hot?"

While Dore gets the blankets, which were spread over a bench near the fire to warm, Phylla lifts the lid off a kettle, a warm vapor of steam rising from it.

"Yes, Mama," replies Phylla as Dore thrust the blankets at Iolaus and me.

"Get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death," commands our guide. "Then come and eat."

"Ah. . ." Iolaus starts to protest but falls silent under the glare.

"Theodora," says Dore, tapping the young woman with the long hair on the shoulder, "Why don't you take the children upstairs and get them ready for bed."

There is a momentary bustle, with complaining children being forced away from the only entertainment they have had in months, two strangers dripping rainwater in their parlor. Older children scoop up younger, Theodora picks up the baby, and after a sharp reprimand from our commanding rescuer, they all vanish up the stairs at the end of the room, although we can hear them arguing all the way to their beds.

The sound makes me grin. I look at Iolaus and find him looking longingly at the last child in the train going up the stairs. It is a little boy, maybe five years old, with blonde hair, a ratty blanket held in one hand, his other held firmly by an elder child.

Our savior is staring at us. I shrug and nudge Iolaus, who tears his gaze away from the now empty stairs.

"Go on," says the woman. "Nothing you've got that we haven't seen. We're all married women or widows here."

"Would it be impolite," asks Iolaus, pulling himself back to the present and giving the women one of his smiles, "to ask the names of the ladies before they see us as nature made us? I mean, it just seems common courtesy . . ."

The women all laugh. Iolaus does have a way about him. Even our fierce savior smiles.

"I'm Elena," she says, "Dore is my daughter, Phylla is my son's wife, Anabaleah, (that is the old crone, who is watching Iolaus and I with surprisingly bright eyes,) is my mother-in-law, Clytemnissa is my other daughter, and Algippe is my niece."

Iolaus, who nods his head at each woman in turn, asks the obvious question. "Where are your husbands?"

"Either dead," replies Anabaleah, her voice as wrinkled as her skin, "or away to the market in Delphi."

I ask the next question, since Iolaus is busy taking off his waistcoat and gauntlets.

"Isn't it dangerous to invite strange men into your home? For all you know, we're dangerous."

Iolaus, who had set his sword and carry sack down as we entered, lifts his head from his efforts at unbuckling the wet leather at his wrists and tries to look his most innocent. When he makes his eyes wide, he can be surprisingly convincing.

Elena smirks. "I know who you are. You're Hercules." She points at me. "And you're his partner, Iolaus. Do you remember when the bridge collapsed at the Agirre crossing two years ago? My husband and I were stranded on one side. My husband had some extra rope with us and you used it to repair the bridge."

I do remember. Her husband had been reluctant to part with his coil of rope but Elena, whose face now did seem familiar, had badgered him to handing the materials over. I remember his scowling and her voice saying, very firmly, as I walked away, "Being generous isn't a fault, you know."

"Oh," I say, while the women titter.

Iolaus, who is a master at getting his clothes off under unusual circumstances, has already given his waistcoat and gauntlets to one of the women. Now he drapes the blanket around himself rather like one of Salmoneus' togas. He leans back against the wall for a moment so he can remove his boots, handing them to another waiting woman. There are four of them clustered around us, to take our wet clothes, but all four are watching Iolaus like a quartet of hawks.

Taking off a pair of sodden leather trousers is not an easy task, even sitting down and using both hands. I admit I am fascinated as I watch Iolaus, who somehow keeps his balance and his blanket while squirming out of his pants. At one point, he has to hold a corner of the blanket in his teeth but he manages. With a flourish, he produces his pants, grinning and taking little bows, as he passes them over to the waiting crowd.

The one with his vest clucks her tongue as she turns it over in her hands. I suspect it might get a few loose threads mended and a few stains removed before it is returned to him. Another takes all his leather garments to place on shelves away from the fire, so they can dry without cracking or shrinking.

Iolaus, toga in place, stands in front of me and takes the blanket I have been given.

"There are disadvantages," he says cheerfully, holding the blanket in front of me, "to being bigger. More area to cover."

"Ha, ha." I hand my shirts and gauntlets to a woman. "Very funny."

I am aware of the blush that is creeping up my cheeks as I struggle to get my boots off. I nearly fall over and only quick work by Iolaus keeps both my dignity and my modesty from being compromised. He dramatically averts his eyes, turning away as I tug at my pants. If I had a hand free, I would punch him. Instead, I am grateful, both for his holding the blanket and for the running commentary he is providing. It distracts the women from me.

I often suspect that Iolaus, if it were practical, would spend all his time naked. Unlike me, he isn't the slightest bit shy. How else to explain that waistcoat of his? He will strip it off whenever possible, and let the rest of his clothes follow, if allowed. How many times have I watched him fishing, swimming, sleeping, as naked as the day he was born? There is a reason he doesn't have any lines on his skin to show what parts of him are exposed to the sun and what parts aren't because he exposes everything every chance he gets.

"Hercules," he is saying, holding the blanket to cover as much of me as possible, "isn't quite divine, you know."

I try to shut him up with a mumbled protest but am ignored.

"So the sight of him won't reduce a person to dust instantly. Still, it never hurts to be cautious."

I try to be more direct. "Shut up," I say, quite clearly.

"He posed for a art contest once, " Iolaus continues, adjusting the blanket slightly as I struggle, "wearing nothing but a bunch of grapes and a smile."

The women hoot with laughter. I resolve to kill my partner as soon as I get my pants off.

"Unfortunately, the sight was so stunning that none of the artists managed to produce a decent work of art." He sighs dramatically. "That's why there aren't dozens of statues in his honor."

One of the woman interrupts. "So why aren't there dozens of statues of you?"

Iolaus tosses his head, making his hair, which is drying into its usual unruly waves, fly. "I'm too modest."

The women all scream with laughter at that. During the distraction, I get my legs free of my trousers and grab the blanket from Iolaus, wrapping it securely around my waist. He is right about the size thing. He can wear his blanket as a toga but for me, the coverage is barely adequate.

"Ladies," scolds Elena. "These poor men are tired and hungry. Let them be."

We sit at the table, Phylla serving each of us a bowl of soup, setting bread and fresh butter out for us. Most of the women leave us alone, some to go upstairs to deal with the noise we could hear, some off to other rooms or out to tend animals before dark. Elena sits across from us, asking us the questions anyone asks of travelers, in order to learn some news.

Iolaus, as is his habit, manages to eat an enormous amount of food very quickly. Elena looks startled when he asks for a refill on the soup only moments after sitting down. I am not surprised. The soup is good, with eggplant, onion and garlic floating in a rich chicken broth. Iolaus eats bad food fast, good food even faster.

Iolaus and I, around mouthfuls of our welcome meal, tell her what news we know, where there are wars, where there is peace, where the rains are heavy or short, all the usual gossip. I catch her smiling at us once, amused, and I realized it has nothing to do with our report on a new city wall for Corinth. I start the sentence, then stop to eat while Iolaus continues it as if it were his own.

She tells us what is news in Delphi. Most of it is what I expected. New temples. New statues. More money being spent on useless things.

"Are you going to consult the Oracle?" she asks, lowering her voice.

Iolaus' laugh makes her eyes go wide. I kick him under the table.

"No. I don't need to consult an oracle."

"No," she says softly, reverently, "I suppose not."

I can picture what she is imagining, me having long conversations with Apollo or Zeus or some other god. I know lots of people think I get along with that side of my family. Considering how much time I spend thwarting Ares' plans or rescuing people from some uncalled for disaster, I think it would occur to them that that wasn't the case. Still, it seemed to comfort some people so I ignore it.

"We'll just be passing through Delphi."

Iolaus makes a disappointed sound. "I wanted to go the theatre at least one night."

Actually, he had mentioned visiting a temple of Aphrodite's, where the priestesses are temple prostitutes, but was too polite to say that in our present company. I kick him again. He kicks me back in return. Elena must realize what we are doing and shakes her head.

"Boys," she mutters, getting us both more bread. "Between Dore, Phylla, Algippe and me we've got a half dozen of them and they can't sit still at the dinner table for two minutes."

I laugh but Iolaus, to my distress, gets that strange, wistful look on his face again. He and Ania had joked about having five sons, once. As I had on the road earlier, I want to say something to him to make him feel better but there were no words adequate to that. Before our conversation can continue, Iolaus yawns, blinking as if surprised to find himself tired.

"We have a guest room," says Elena, "what with living so near Delphi, all our kith and kin stay with us when they're traveling around here." She points to a door at the top of two steps on the opposite side of the room from the main stairs. At something in Iolaus' face, she adds, matter-of-factly, "The privy's through there, at the end of the corridor. I've put fresh water in the guest room, too, and built a fire."

With a grin and a dramatic readjustment of his toga, Iolaus heads for the privy. I try to help Elena clear the table but my garment makes that impossible. I think I inadvertently gave her glance of something because she suddenly turns away, with a smile on her face. I sit down again, pulling my blanket tight around my waist.

We talk a little more, about the farm and the weather, until Iolaus comes back. Then I follow the hallway to the privy. It's a nice one, with a stone seat and a tap that I assume is attached to a cistern somewhere on the roof. I take my time. I don't much care where I lay my head at night but I have to admit, there are some things that are easier to do in a nice warm privy than behind a bush in a rainstorm.

When I return, there is no sign of Iolaus. The old woman is at the table now, carding her wool again. She jerks her head towards the door that leads to the guest room.

"He looked tired," she says, her fingers never slowing in her work.

"He doesn't like wet weather," I say, knowing what she is thinking. People tend to think one of two things about Iolaus. Either he tags along after me and I put up with him because I am too kind-hearted to chase him off or I drag him along, exhausting his poor mortal body by forcing him to keep up with me. Neither is the case but I don't care to explain it to the old woman. Truth is, I'm worried about him.

I say something polite, thanking her for her family's kindness, then go up the steps and push open the door into the guest room. It's small, with a lower ceiling than in the main room, but I don't have to duck except to pass under the center beam. There's a bed in the middle of the room, a washbasin and pitcher on a stand by the window, and a stool in one corner. A single lamp burns by the basin.

Iolaus must have been tired. He dropped in the middle of the bed, on his back, his toga blanket still wrapped around him. Usually, he curls up on his side, arranging the blankets and fluffing the pillows, making a production of sleeping in a bed.

I wash my face and upper body, then turn to blow out the lamp and stop. There is something about the way Iolaus is lying, sprawled out across the bed, one arm outflung, that stirs a memory.

Years ago, coming into Iolaus' house on the way back from visiting somewhere. It was early afternoon on a warm spring day. I came inside quietly. As the father of two small children, I had learned the hard way that visitors who enter a quiet house, calling loudly, are not welcome. I remember setting down my carry sack in the corner, looking around the room.

There were unwashed dishes on the table. I had seen the freshly washed laundry on the line outside and knew Iolaus hadn't wanted to heat up more water. The floor needed sweeping, dust coated every surface and there were spider webs in the corners. Iolaus had never been a tidy housekeeper before his widowhood and the burdens he now carried had not improved his efforts in that direction.

I pushed back the heavy curtain that separated the bedroom, expecting to see Iolaus' son sleeping there. I was surprised to see Iolaus was in the bed, too, lying on his back, one arm outflung. Next to him, his head pillowed on this father's arm, was a small child, curled up, sucking a thumb.

The sight should have warmed my heart but it didn't. Iolaus looked terrible, his face drawn and unshaven. As I looked more closely, I could see the tracks of tears on both faces. The baby had obviously cried himself to sleep and it looked as if Iolaus might have done the same.

From the soot on Iolaus' face and hands, I knew he must have been working at the forge. I checked them both carefully but saw no burns. Something else, then, a small child wanting his parent's attention while that parent was trying to get some work done in a dangerous place unsuitable for children, most likely.

I stepped back through the curtain. I knew what my mother or my wife would do and I could do no less. I heated water, washed the dishes, swept the floor and shook out the rugs. I even brought in the laundry and was sitting at the table, folding it, noticing the crude stitches where Iolaus had done his own mending, so busy at my task I didn't notice the curtain moving until I heard his hoarse voice.

"Herc? What are you doing here?"

I looked up, putting on an innocent face. I knew he might accept this domestic help from the women in my family but he wouldn't like me doing it.

"I was on my way home from Corinth."

He blinked, then rubbed his hand across his face. He caught sight of how filthy it was and went to wash in what was left of the dishwater. When he finished his ablutions, he turned and stared at me as if I had grown another head.

"What?" I said.

"What are you doing?"

I looked around. "What does it look like I'm doing? It would appear I am folding the laundry. "

"You didn't have. . ."

I interrupted him before he could finish. "No, I didn't. But it looks like it might rain later so I brought the wash in. Didn't seem polite to leave it lying in a heap." I was lying. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

His hand encompassed the cleaner room.

"Well, I was waiting for you to wake up so I thought I'd make myself useful. If you're annoyed, I could haul in some dirt and toss it around."

My joke fell flat. He just keep looking at me.

I made my voice gentle. "What happened?"

For a moment, I thought he'd pretend ignorance. He didn't.

"I told him to stay in the house. I shut the door and put everything up where he couldn't get it. I had to finish that scythe for Nandius. I promised him and I need the money. I was sharpening it and suddenly I hear him right behind me."

"So you lost your temper, yelled at him and spanked him and then felt bad about it."

Iolaus closed his eyes. "Yeah." He sniffled. "The last couple of days it's been as if he's trying to drive me crazy. I know he isn't, he just wants attention, but there is so much I need to get done around here and he'd too old to strap on my back and I don't want him in the forge. . ."

His voice broke. I was standing beside him before I had even thought about standing up. Ever since Ania died, I had been watching him struggle with the pain, unable to help, and it was tearing me up. Now, I pulled him against me as if he were the unhappy child, wanting to somehow comfort him.

He pushed me back but not completely away, letting my arms stay loosely around him. His neck was bent, his brow resting against my chest, his hands catching at the front of my shirt.

"I miss her," he whispered. "I keep hoping that I'll get over it but I don't. Every damn day, every night, all I want is Ania. I'm selfish. I want her to take over with the baby so I can get work done and I want her when I'm so lonely I can't bear it. . ."

Three years, I had found myself thinking. It was nearly three years since she had died. My mother, Deianeira, every woman in the village, had been trying to find someone to keep him company, to help mend his broken heart, but there simply wasn't anyone who caught him the way Ania had. Three years, I thought, wondering if he had been alone all those nights.

I found that hard to believe. I knew Iolaus. He was incapable of celibacy. I was barely twelve and he was fourteen the first time we made love. He caught me playing with myself in the barn and quickly showed me that speed was not the first priority of that activity. His first woman came within days of his turning fifteen. There had always been someone easily captured by his bright smile, his trusting eyes, his golden hair and skin, those talented hands and that amazing tongue. I knew I was his favorite lover when we young but I never thought I was the only one. There was always someone.

And yet. I hadn't heard a whisper of gossip. Hadn't seen him with someone, male or female, that made me think, aha, Iolaus' latest conquest. I could usually tell when someone had been with him, if only because of the way they looked at him afterwards. I had had the look often enough to recognize it, a sort of stunned yet delighted expression.

As he leaned against me that day, I could smell the scent of his sweat, of smoke from the forge, of soap from the laundry. I bent and kissed the top of his head. I loved to do that, to take advantage of the difference in our sizes. I heard his breath hitch in his throat as his grip tightened on my shirt.

I moved slowly, as if I were afraid to startle him, pulling him a little closer, bending my head to kiss his temple, nudging at him with my nose so that he'd turn his face towards me. He did, his eyes closed, as if he didn't want to open them and find out he were dreaming.

We hadn't kissed like that in years, not since Ania. He had never said anything to me but I knew him. Once he made a promise, he kept it, and he promised Ania to keep himself for her.

Iolaus always tasted faintly of honey, which mystified me. He lifted his head a little, letting my tongue flick at his lips, parting them, opening his mouth to mine. As our tongues met, he made a soft, desperate sound. I pulled and he came closer. I could feel him, hard, against me.

Holding him like that, after all those years, felt wonderful. I had forgotten how much I loved the feel of his small, muscular body pressed to mine, loved the taste and sound of him. I had had other lovers, and loved my wife so much it still amazed me, but there was something between Iolaus and I, some bond neither of us fully understood, and I had missed it.

Suddenly, he was frantic, his hands wrapped in my hair, pulling my head down to his as his pelvis rocked against me. I could hear each breath becoming a gasp. I reached down, catching the curve of his ass, tugging him off-balance, enjoying the feel of him in my arms again.

He yanked his head away, sobbing, "No, Herc, we. . ."

I didn't let him protest. I am much stronger than he is. If I want to kiss him, there isn't much he can do to resist. I wanted to kiss him. To do more than kiss him.

I ran my lips along his throat, nuzzling at his jaw line, rough with several days growth of beard, flicking my tongue into the hollows along his collarbone. He was whimpering now, with a desperate sound I recognized. Ordinarily, it took hours of foreplay to get him to make that sound. Now, it took a matter of minutes.

Three years, I thought again as I knelt in front of him, letting my hands and tongue and lips trail down his smooth chest as I did. He liked the light hair on my chest, I liked how smooth his was. I guess we just relished the differences between us.

"Herc," he growled, his hands wrapping in my hair again. I knew what he wanted, what he needed, and I had every intention of giving it to him. I glanced up at him. He was looking down at me, his eyes wide, his pupils dilated, his lower lip caught in his teeth.

I opened his codpiece. Long ago, Iolaus had taught me that slow was best but sometimes, quick was necessary. He was hard, leaking already, as if he had been aroused for some time. I didn't think he had been. It only reinforced my suspicions. This was not a man who should be celibate for three years.

I could feel his trembling and kept my hands around his hips to steady him as I ran my tongue along the underside of his cock. His grip on my hair tightened as he made that desperate, whimpering sound again. I knew it would take very little to bring him to orgasm and, selfishly, I wanted to enjoy him at least a little first. It had been more than six years since I had tasted Iolaus.

The first time I had done this to him, he had laughed and exclaimed, "God's breath, Hercules, even your tongue has the strength of ten!" Deianeira said something similar to me many years later.

I took advantage of all the things I had learned about him over the years, how he liked me to suck just the head of his cock into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it, catching that first moisture.

Another whimper and the sharp thrust of his hips. I took advantage of my strength, again, and forced him to keep still. His hands were tight in my hair and his breath came in almost painful gasps.

Taking him all the way into my mouth, I teased under the head with my teeth, then let him move a little. He thrust into my mouth, sighing my name as he did. I sucked harder, sliding my hand into his codpiece, wanting to increase his pleasure as much as I could in the short time we had.

We had discovered, by result of diligent experiment, that we could delay each other with pressure in the right place or, conversely, make each other come faster, harder, with pressure applied somewhere else. Iolaus had all but made notes one night, when we were camping by a lake somewhere. Taking advantage of me, I had accused him. He had laughed because he was. I could come a half dozen times in quick succession when I was younger. Now, it took me longer to recover. If it worked on me, then I got to try it on him.

Pressing my fingers at the root of his cock, behind his balls, made it feel even better. We'd found that out quickly enough. This wasn't the time for the lessons we'd learned in delaying tactics. I pressed, upward, massaging, my tongue and mouth urging him.

His breath caught, he moaned and I felt his whole body shuddering as he came, long and hard. I knew to stop sucking as his semen spilled down my throat, just let my tongue stroke him gently. As I licked the last of him and let him slip, still half hard, from my mouth, his knees gave out. He slid into my lap, his arms around my neck, his breath harsh.

His head, resting against my shoulder, shook, not in tremors but in negation. "Herc," he whispered, "This was wrong."

"No, it wasn't." I kissed the side of his head, since he kept his face turned away. "This is love and love isn't wrong."

He sat back, staring at me, and I knew he was about to say something when we both heard, from the other room, a soft sound.

Iolaus was on his feet, tying his codpiece as he headed towards the curtains. I adjusted my codpiece. I was hard as iron but not terribly concerned. Iolaus was the one that mattered.

I stood up, turning as Iolaus came out of the bedroom, his son in his arms.

"Unca!"

I scooped Iolaus' son into my arms, giving him a hug. Like his father, he was a loving creature, with a quick smile, soft curls and a big heart.

As soon as I got home, I told Deianeira what had happened. I don't know if it was guilt or merely my difficulty with a lie. She had asked about Iolaus and, head bowed, I told her. Her arms had slid around me, even I as explained I what I had done. What Iolaus and I had done.

She hadn't been angry. She had been sad. Like me, it broke her heart to see Iolaus without another adult to love.

"The only thing that keeps him sane," I had said to her, "is his son. I hate to think what would happen if Iolaus lost him."

"And you," she had said, pulling me back on to the bed on top of her. "And I think there's enough of you to go around." Her hand had found my hard cock. "Just make sure that it's only shared with Iolaus. I find out you've been with anyone else and I wear your balls as earrings, got that?"

We had laughed and made love. Gods, I missed her.

Leaning over, I nudge Iolaus. He mutters but doesn't open his eyes. I know he is awake. Long years as a soldier and hunter taught him to wake instantly. He is only pretending to be asleep.

"You're taking up all the bed."

It's true. He is lying in the middle, at an angle, with that arm stretched out. I grab the edge of his toga and roll him over in it.

"You're not even under the covers," I complain, sliding into the warm spot left by his body.

"Man, you are crabby tonight," he mutters.

I blow out the lamp, leaving Iolaus to continue to mutter in the dark. I can feel him shifting around on the mattress, getting comfortable, fluffing the pillow. I want to laugh. Instead, I reach out a hand as soon as he stops moving and find the ends of his hair. Ordinarily, I would pull him against me, his back to my chest, my arm around him. Since we are in a strange house, surrounded by strangers, I think it's better he not feel how hard I am. The memory of that day still arouses me. So I tug at his hair, affectionately.

"Iolaus."

I wait. I can hear his sigh, almost but not quite inaudible.

"Forget it," he whispers. "I was just wet and cold. Now I'm warm and dry."

That sums it up. He knows I'm worried about him, unhappy to see him lost in those painful memories. He is trying to reassure me. He knows damn well it won't work.

"I miss them," I say, softly, letting him hear how much we have in common. "Sometimes, it feels like I lost them yesterday, sometimes, it feels as if they were a dream that happened to someone else in another lifetime."

Silence. No telling me to be quiet, he needs his sleep. Nothing. Now I really am worried. Stiff cock or not, I reach for him, finding him at the very edge of the bed, muscles tense. I pull him back. He resists, but only it is only a token resistance.

He fits against me as if he were made for it. I've always marveled at that, as if the Fates intended him for me and me for him. I've never mentioned it to him, though. Iolaus doesn't like to think about things like that.

His body is warm and smells of fresh air and Iolaus. I tuck him against me, letting him feel my hard cock against the cleft of his buttocks, my arm pulling him close. I start to kiss him, along his shoulder.

"Herc?"

Hercules, what on earth are you doing? We are in a house full of women and children. You know we aren't the world's quietest lovers. This is completely unlike you. You are usually very circumspect under these sort of circumstances. Have you completely lost your mind?

It's amazing how much he can put into one syllable--or how much I can get out of it. I ignore him, sliding my hand down to find his cock, half hard, probably just from the sheer pleasure of clean sheets and a warm bed. I rock my hips forward, my hand cupped over him, as my tongue tugs at that earring of his.

"Hercules?"

That's it. You've either lost your mind or are under the influence of one of your relatives. You do not fuck me in a house full of people. You just don't. Now stop it. You're scaring me. What in Tartarus are you doing and oh, gods, that feels nice, how long has it been?

He turns his head back so I can kiss him properly. Iolaus is a great kisser. He moans, low in his throat, as our tongues meet and his arm reaches up to catch at my hair. He starts moving, forward into my hand, back against my cock.

"This," he whispers, "is insane. What's gotten into you?"

I think of a rude reply, about getting into him, but don't want to bother. Instead, I pull away as I say, "Bite something. Not your wrist."

Iolaus isn't exactly a screamer but he is vocal. I love the sounds he makes, the whimpers and moans, gasping cries and hoarse groans. He can tease me, sometimes, get me hard merely by making those noises. Since we are in a strange house, I figure he better make an effort to be quiet.

Usually, if he has to be quiet for some reason, he bites down on his gauntlets. His gauntlets are drying in the other room and I don't want to try to explain the bite marks on his wrists in the morning. So I twist the corner of the sheet and stick it in between his teeth. Then I shift down towards the bottom of the bed.

In the dark, I can barely make out the gleam of his eyes but I can imagine the look he is giving me. In our relationship, Iolaus is usually the aggressor, the one who decides when and how. Very often, I just lie back and let him do what he wants. Still, every now and then, it's nice to turn the tables. He always gives me this look, sort of surprised, sort of annoyed, followed by resignation as he lies back and lets me have my way.

The bed has no headboard so he clutches at the sheets as I lick my way down his body. I love his body, the smooth, hard planes and curves. I know some people are impressed by me but I'm impressed by Iolaus. He doesn't have the blood of a god to explain away his physique, it's just him. And another thing, his skin is surprisingly soft. I don't understand it, considering his age and the life we lead. It's not as if he sits around being pampered with oils and lotions being rubbed into him--as much as he might like it--but his skin still feels as if he did.

I run my tongue over the contours of his body, feeling him arch towards me when I hit a particularly sensitive spot. My hands follow, my fingertips barely grazing across him. He spreads his legs and moans, low and encouraging.

Ah, Iolaus' cock. I can get positively poetic on the subject. It's not huge or impressive or anything, it's in proportion to the rest of him, but I love it. I know every inch of it better than I know my own. I love the taste and smell and feel of it.

First, I duck down and give his balls a quick kiss, just to let them know I care. Then I run my tongue along the underside of his cock, loving the sound he makes as I do. He is trying to be quiet. I doubt that whimper is audible outside of the room. I consider trying to make him make a louder sound but decide that would be unfair, since I'm the one who wants him quiet.

Several swirls around the head, catching the salty moisture already there, then I slide my mouth around him, sucking him in deep. His back arches again. I catch hold of his hips, not letting him thrust into me. I am going to drag this out for as long as I can.

Around the sheet still caught in his teeth, I hear him grunt, "You bastard." It's not easy to smile with a cock in your mouth but I manage.

He lets me make love to him for a few minutes, lets me enjoy him, but I'm not surprised when he moves. Iolaus isn't good at keeping still. I know what he wants. We move, arranging ourselves, so that Iolaus can suck me while I suck him.

When we're lying down, side by side, the difference in our heights is less of a problem. I bend my back a little and we can reach what we want.

Iolaus, as usual, gets his hands involved. He wraps one small, strong hand around the base of my cock, pulling and pumping slowly, as he takes as much of me in his mouth as he can manage. I'm a big man, in more ways than one, and frankly, it amazes me that Iolaus can do what he does without gagging. I've tried a few times, with other, larger men and gods, and I can't do it. Iolaus, on the other hand, has this incredible knack.

Now I'm biting the sheets, trying not to make noise. Iolaus is good, swirling tongue and nibbling teeth, one hand finding the rhythm while the other sneaks back and pull down on my balls. That's one of his tricks. He can hold me on the very edge of orgasm for some time like that.

As I get a little control back, I take him in my mouth again, concentrating on what I'm doing to him, not what he is doing to me. Another lesson we learned early is that trying for simultaneous orgasms while doing this is not such a good thing. We both tend to bite down as we come.

Sometimes, we almost make it contest, who can make the other come first or last longest. But sometimes, like tonight, all that matters is making the other one feel good. And I'm feeling good. Really good. Iolaus' hand is moving faster, pumping my cock for all he's worth, taking me deep in his throat. I let him go for a moment, so I can breathe.

As I come, Iolaus relaxes his grip, licks me gently to get every last drop. The instant I can concentrate again, I'm back doing everything I can to bring Iolaus to a climax. I press behind his balls with a knuckle. He's a stickler for lubrication so I don't go further than that. I suck, hard, letting him thrust into my mouth. I love it when he fucks my mouth.

It's my own fault, really, when I feel the unexpected pain of Iolaus sinking his teeth into my thigh a heartbeat before the thick vein starts pulsing and I taste his seed. I'm so surprised, I almost pull away as he is still coming. As the last pulses flutter to a stop, I hear him murmur sheepishly, genuine apology in his voice, "Sorry about that."

He rolls away from me before I can get my revenge, standing up to splash water on his face and take a drink from the pitcher. I hear him chuckle because I've gotten up to straighten the sheets.

"Your mother raised you right," he says, teasing, as he steps to the other side of the bed to help me tuck the sheets back where they belong.

"And your mother," I say, lying down on the bed and trying to examine my thigh, "raised an animal."

He leans over and kisses the spot, whispering his apology again. I believe him and tell him so.

As he gets comfortable, his head on his pillow, I move over so I can rest my head on his chest. I know, half of Greece probably speculates about our relationship. Iolaus doesn't care one way or the other but I prefer to keep my private life private, so we are careful about showing affection towards each other in public. And I imagine that those who picture us in bed together have a different idea, of my holding little Iolaus in my arms. Some nights, I do, but many nights, I fall asleep like this, my head on his chest, his hand combing through my hair, listening to his heartbeat.

I have held Iolaus in my arms, dead. I treasure his heartbeat and listening to the strong, steady sound, is like a lullaby to me.

"Herc." His voice is soft, sleepy, content. I can still hear the question in it, though. It isn't as if we hadn't been together lately. We slept in a barn two nights ago and went after each other the way we did when we were boys. Something about haylofts, I guess.

I don't answer. He probably knows the answer anyway, although maybe not the details. I was worried about him being sad and wanted him to know that I loved him.

As usual, I wake up before he does. I'm lying on my side and I can tell, without looking, that he is doing the same. No matter how we fall asleep, we almost always wake up back to back.

"Good morning, Mary Sunshine," I say cheerfully, knowing it will drive Iolaus deeper into the bed. The only response I get is a mumbled obscenity.

I can hear the household around us. Voices, women and children, arguing and asking, giving commands and refusing to comply. It's a wonderful sound. When I crack open the door, I find our clothes, neatly folded, on the top step. As I get dressed, I look over at the bed. All I can see of Iolaus is the top of his head, which makes me smile.

Tossing the clothes on top of him, I say, "Don't sleep too late. I imagine there is serious competition around the breakfast table."

Dore is tending to the fire, shooing away hungry children, as I emerge from the bedroom.

"Sleep well?" she asks, not looking up from her cooking.

"Yes, thank you. Is there anything I can do this morning to repay you?"

Now she does glance up, giving me that appraising look I've gotten before. I have an urge to tell her exactly how much I can lift.

"The boys are supposed to be fixing a broken gate in the yard. They are probably fooling around. Could you. . ."

I nod. I can imagine. My mother always said if you have one boy working, you get one boy's worth of work; two boys working, you get half a boy's worth of work; three boys working, no work at all.

Outside, the sky is a clear, perfect blue and the air smells clean. The ground is sodden and muddy but will dry as the sun rises. I find the three boys bouncing around a broken gate, arguing over the best way to repair it. When they see me, the gate is instantly forgotten and they are clamoring to know if I am really Hercules and what is it like to kill monsters and are all the stories true.

I have to admit, I enjoy myself as we fix the gate, even if I'm doing most of the work. I like kids. Being surrounded by the boys reminds me of my own sons, but in a good way. I'm grinning as we walk back to the house in response to Elena's call to breakfast.

Inside, there is no sign of Iolaus beyond a pile of children on the floor and one, leather patched bent knee protruding from it. I reach down to remove a couple of the children. Iolaus is lying on the floor, giggling, letting the kids climb all over him.

"There you are," I say, holding the squirming children while the boys who I helped fix the gate join the rest of the pile on top of my partner.

"Help," replies Iolaus breathlessly. "They're worse than Echidna!"

Ignoring his pleas, I put the two children back down on top of him and go wash my hands and face. When I return, the children are lined up along the table, while the women efficiently fill plates with porridge thick with butter and dates, adding slabs of soft, white cheese.

Iolaus manages to get out from under the pile of children. He still has trouble getting fed, since he has a child hanging on each leg. He finally ends up sitting on a bench, a plate of food in hand, with most of the kids scattered around him, eating and listening as he spins of one of his stories. He is the only person I know who can eat and talk at the same time without ever choking, another one of his amazing talents.

As he finishes his story, his audience saucer-eyed and most of them not eating, one of the boys speaks up.

"Do you have kids?"

Damn. The women all stiffen. They probably know nothing about Iolaus' past but the story of what happened to my family is the stuff of legend. Elena answers for both of us.

"No, Darius, Hercules and Iolaus don't have families. After all, how could they take care of them and still wander all over Greece, looking out for the rest of us?"

"Oh." Darius is the little boy with blonde hair. He doesn't look at all like Iolaus' son, except for the color of his hair. He looks at me, than back to Iolaus, who is smiling, although I'm sure I'm the only one who can tell what an effort he is making. "Well, if you need kids to play with. . ."

Everyone laughs, even Iolaus. The moment passes and we finish our meal.

Elena gives us fresh fruit and bread to take with us. We both thank her, Iolaus adding a kiss that makes her blush. As we walk away from the farm, the whole family is out, waving. Iolaus walks backwards, continuing to wave, until they are out of sight. Then, he turns around and sighs.

"Iolaus?"

"Elena is right, you know." He watches his feet as he walks.

"I know." We couldn't take care of the rest of Greece while we had families. Maybe, I think, the Fates did know what they were doing when they took our families from us. At least we had them for while, and still hold them in our hearts. And we do good, for lots of other families, while we live our lonely lives.

In a soft, serious voice unlike his usual tone, Iolaus says, "If I'm honest with myself--which I hate to be--I have to admit I don't miss the farm." He glances over at me, shrugging. "I hated farming. I never was any good at it."

"You named all your animals and then were too soft-hearted to sell them to the butcher."

He laughs, gently, shaking his head. "True. I guess that's why I like wild game so much. I don't like to know my dinner personally."

I look around, making sure there is no one in sight, then reach out to touch those golden curls. He raises his head, puzzled, frowning as he sees the tears in my eyes.

"As long as I have you," I say, my throat tight. "I can get by."

Iolaus gives me a weak smile. "Same here."

I don't care that we are in the middle of a public road. I pull him into my arms, giving him that kiss on the top of his head that I so love to do. He squeezes back, hard, then pushes away.

"So," he says, clearing his throat as he quickens his pace, "Are we walking through Delphi or around? Do you have enough money for that fancy restaurant right on the edge of town? If it's still there, I'd like to eat there tonight. They did a honey-glazed quail in almond butter sauce that was to die for."

So we keep walking, the sun shining brightly down on us, turning Iolaus's hair to a golden nimbus while he chatters on about the food in Delphi. I guess no one gets everything they want in life, not even the gods. As long as Iolaus and I have each other, that's good enough. Providing I keep him fed. I sigh and start counting our coins.

January 2001