Sometimes, It's Meant to Rain

By Amorette

Wet silk, thought Iphicles, King of Corinth, had a very distinctive aroma. His tunic, woven of raw silk the color of fresh butter, was sodden from the rain and smelt of sweat, rain and silk. Sighing, Iphicles pulled it off and tossed it on a chair. He had a valet, left from the time of Jason, but the man knew when Iphicles wanted company and when he didn't and the servant had recognized this was a time that that king wanted to be left alone. So the valet had stirred up the fire, set a jug of spiced wine to warm on the hearth, and retired.

Peeling his wet leather trousers off his long legs was more a struggle but concentrating on that simple task kept his mind off what he had done.

He had arranged one of the most comprehensive peace treaties in the history of the Greek states. Corinth, Thebes, Syracuse and the Attic Alliance had all signed on and even the Spartans had given their tacit, if unofficial approval. When the spring rains broke, there would be no major war in Greece this summer. The citizenry of Corinth had lined the streets leading to the palace, cheering their king in spite of the downpour, grateful that, for a brief span, their lives needn't be concerned with battle but with building. The harbor needed work, the city wall was crumbling in spots, and some of the great temples in the city square all needed attention and this summer, they would receive it.

Except for the temple of Ares. His temple only received attention during times of strife, not times of peace.

Iphicles knew he had done the right thing. He tossed his pants on top of his discarded shirt, boots and cuirass. There was a sheepskin rug across the foot of the bed. He snatched it up to wrap around his shoulders and hunkered on the carpet close to the fire, pouring himself a cup of warm wine.

His younger brother was pleased with him. Hercules had even given Iphicles one of his rare, warm smiles and hugged his older brother, whispering, "I'm proud of you," sincerely into Iphicles' ear. His counselors were more than pleased. They were almost amazed and, for once, seemed genuinely happy to have the son of a common soldier as their king.

He could hear, distantly, some music playing and knew that his people were celebrating. The past few years had been a marked with petty battles and poor harvests. This year, there was hope. For Corinth. For Greece. Iphicles tossed back a swallow of wine. But not for the King of Corinth. Because, while the King of Corinth had done the right thing in orchestrating the treaty, he had not done the wise thing. Not for a man who sometimes shared his bed and body with the God of War.

The wine, the fire, the sheepskin, helped drive the cold off his skin but Iphicles knew only one thing that would really warm him bone and blood deep. That was the burning embrace of Ares and that was something he wasn't likely to be enjoying any time soon.

He sighed again, resting his head on his bent knees, curled up as tightly as he could.

"You're going to set your hair on fire, you know."

The deep voice, the voice that sent a thrill down Iphicles' spine, knotted his stomach and made his cock stand at attention, sounded as casual and unconcerned as if Ares hadn't just been betrayed by the man in front of him.

Iphicles scooted back a little from the hearth. Ares was probably right. If Iphicles was going to be burnt to a crisp, he might as well have it done by a god.

"I suppose you've heard." Iphicles was pleased that his voice sounded calm, as if he were chatting about the weather with a servant. Have you heard that the weather is supposed to clear up tomorrow? Have you heard that there will peace throughout southern Greece? Have you heard how the King of Corinth vanished from his bed room and all they found was pile of ashes in front of the hearth.

"Of course I've heard." Ares chuckled. "I'm not deaf, you know."

Iphicles turned his head at the sound of Ares' laughter. Years ago, long before Iphicles had the made the personal acquaintance of Ares, Iolaus, his half brother Hercules' insane friend, had told Iphicles one thing puzzled him about Ares. "I know why he wants to kill Herc," Iolaus had said, "and I know why he is such a mean, violent son of a bitch, but I can't figure out why, when he laughs, he sounds like such a nice guy. You'd expect the God of War to have a maniacal madman's laugh but he doesn't. When Ares laughs, it really is the nicest sound" For all his blind loyalty to Hercules, Iolaus was right about Ares and the god's laughter. Even if he was disemboweling someone, when Ares laughed, you wanted to laugh right along with him.

"I had to do it," Iphicles began, fully expecting to be dead or at least singed around the edges before he finished his explanation. "Everyone needs to focus on getting some decent harvests this year or we'll have even more starvation than we had last winter. It was bad enough that the nobility accepted rationing. We have nothing in our warehouses and if. . ."

Ares laughed again, a rich, full laugh, as if Iphicles had just told the most wonderfully funny joke. That did it. Iphicles stood up and turned around, finding Ares was lounging comfortably on the king's bed. He had a golden goblet in one hand and looked perfectly content, ankles crossed, pillows stacked up behind him. Iphicles snapped his mouth shut.

"Do you think I was opposed to the treaty?"

Iphicles felt his jaw drop again. He clutched at the rug around his shoulders, only vaguely aware that his cock, half hard just at the sight and sound of Ares, was hanging out.

"It was a peace treaty."

"I know." Ares tapped his temple. "I'm not completely mad, you know."

"But. . ." Iphicles became of aware of his state of undress and arousal and blushed. Unlike his fairer brother, Iphicles' darker skin made it hard to tell when he blushed and he was inordinately grateful for that as he rearranged his rug. "You're the God of War."

Ares made a gesture with his forefinger as if he were marking up a tally. "Score one for the King of Corinth. See, I knew you weren't an idiot, in spite of what some people say."

Iphicles shook his head. After many years a soldier, several as king and a few as Ares' lover, he thought he had a better grasp of the god. Apparently, he was wrong. Hercules had always told him Ares was more than a little insane and, for once, Iphicles found himself in agreement with his half brother.

"I thought you liked war."

"Like it?" Ares cocked one of his bushy eyebrows. "I love it!" The god bared his teeth in one of his trademark broad grins. "I more than love it. I thrive on it! However. . ." He shrugged, his smile fading. "I also know when armies are half starved and too worried about their families to fight. I know when a soldier's heart is in it and when it isn't. This year, no one except a few of the really dedicated professional soldiers will have any interest in fighting. You're right,. They need to plant fields and make babies."

A bell went off in Iphicles' head. Ares was short-tempered, like all gods, but he also could take the long term view, another godly trait. Mortal life spans were but a flicker to someone like Ares.

"The decline in the population. . ." Iphicles said it softly, as if to himself, but Ares heard and nodded.

"Graveyards are getting full," said the god, "And Hades is getting backed up on his damned inventory. Demeter, the selfish bitch, is finally willing to let up."

"Demeter? What has the Goddess of the Harvest got to do with it?"

To Iphicles astonishment-as if he could be more astonished than he was already-Ares sighed and shook his head. The sound of the God of War sighing was somehow disturbing to the mortal's ears.

"She gets her toga in a twist when she thinks there are too many people for the land to support. She's the real reason the Trojan War got started. She wanted to thin out the population." Ares made a face, indicating his disapproval. "People are always, oh, great Demeter, thank you for your bounty but let me tell you, she has a very low opinion of mortals. Thinks you are all pigs and of as little consequence."

Iphicles remembered another conversation with Iolaus when Iolaus had said that talking to gods was not really something mortals should do if they wanted to remain sane. Score another one for the hot little blonde.

"Demeter. . .she starts wars?"

"Not exactly. She moans to Zeus about the population getting out of control and he arranges for a good war or maybe some natural disaster or horrific plague to knock the population back." Ares shrugged. "Nobody really planned on the Trojan War lasting as long as it did but that's mortals for you. Sometimes, when one of them gets a bee in their bonnet, they're as much trouble as gods."

Iphicles sat down, realized his bare buttocks had just in contact with a pair of cold, clammy, wet trousers and stood up again.

"So, because the population has dropped too much, you're fine with peace for a year."

"Or two or three. Now, there won't be total peace, not everywhere. Things are brewing between Thrace and Macedonia. With peace in the south, I can focus my attention on the north. They have had good harvests several years running."

Iolaus was definitely right. Mortals were better off not dealing directly with the gods. Iphicles tried to get his mind around the concept. "Demeter starts wars."

"No, mortals start wars. Demeter just makes sure that I keep them going. She really is a bitch."

"Won't she get mad at you for calling her names? I mean. . .I know you don't get on with most of your family but isn't she one of the children of the Titans? Doesn't she outrank you, so to speak?"

"You've been talking to Iolaus, haven't you?"

"Huh?"

Ares laughed and gestured with his goblet. "Iolaus. You know, that hot little blonde always hanging around our half brother. He's smarter than he looks and is always trying to figure out how gods work. I think he knows his destiny and is just getting prepared."

"His destiny? What destiny?"

"Nothing, nothing." Ares sat up. His goblet vanished into the air. "No, she doesn't really outrank me. And she also doesn't care if I call her a bitch. You should hear what she calls my mother."

"Ah, no thank you."

They stared at each other for a moment and Iphicles felt his face flushing and his cock rising. Ares must have noticed because a slow grin started to spread across the god's face.

"If you're cold..." Ares said, his voice a suggestive purr.

"Freezing." Iphicles moved towards the bed without a conscious thought. "Confused as Tartarus as well. I thought you were going to show up and fry my ass."

"Oh, I intend to do something to your ass. . ."

Iphicles dropped the sheepskin. He wasn't cold anymore. By the time he got to the bedside, he was downright warm. Ares' clothing had vanished like smoke, melting away to reveal that perfect godly form. Ares spread his thighs and smiled. More than happy to oblige, Iphicles knelt between his god's legs and turned his attention to his god's cock.

Unfortunately, it wasn't his full attention. A small part of his brain was still turning over the concept that Demeter arranged to kill of the excess population and that Iolaus had some sort of destiny. Ares growled and cuffed Iphicles across the head. Right. Never think about someone else when sucking a god's cock. Iphicles had learned that lesson long ago. Eventually, Ares was satisfied with Iphicles efforts and rewarded him.

For Iphicles, the next hour passed in a blur of hard muscle and soft hair, sweating and gasping, and rock hard cocks. When he was spent, spread across his bed, Ares a warm heavy weight across his body, he realized he was still confused.

Iphicles considered asking Ares to move, since the god was heavy, but decided not to push his luck. Except. . .

"What is Iolaus' destiny?"

Iphicles didn't really expect Ares to answer and was rather surprised when the god laughed. He felt rather than heard Ares' laughter, a vibration across his back that sent tingle down his spine and whispered, "Same as yours." Before Iphicles had a chance to ask what that was, the god was licking the curve of his back, into the swell of the muscles in his ass.

"If you're not going to be busy with lots of wars," mumbled Iphicles into the pillow beneath him, "Maybe you'll have more time to consult with the King of Corinth."

Ares laughed again, a warm, deep chuckle, before returning his attention to Iphicles' ass. "Maybe."

Ares might just burn Iphicles to a crisp after all, but it wouldn't be with flame and Iphicles was more than willing to burn.

January 23, 2003