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Prometheus had foreseen himself at a feast on Olympus, but even hours into proceedings, he found it hard to believe.
The steps that lead here each made sense. He was the leader of Chronos’s cause on the surface and Chronos had been given a chance at redemption. Prometheus willingly kept the revered mountain in such condition that the Agent of Change could retrace her former path into other splinters of time, aiding the plan to keep time stable and flowing. Prometheus did now, for all intents and purposes, work with the Olympians.
Not that he gave a wit about them. He simply wanted Typhon and the less agreeable versions of Chronos eradicated by the time the power of the gods would wane. Aiding the Agent of Change was the best way to ensure this outcome. If he had to sit here for a night, letting the gods believe he had just passed into a different sort of captivity, he would bear it for his greater goals.
From inside the Palace of Zeus, the bell-clear voice of Apollo rose over the din of plates and laughter, accompanied by sweet strings of the lyre and the smell of meat roasting over a fire. Prometheus had withdrawn as far as the inconspicuously placed defensive machinery would let him, onto a balcony that overlooked a sea of clouds, a red curtain with golden tassels hiding him from view of those who wandered this colonnade at the edge of the Palace. The soft white blanket in front of him was torn by the highest peaks of the surrounding mountains, which rose jagged with trees.
“Enjoying the scenery, Flame Thief?”
Prometheus lifted his head to find Heracles standing not two feet from him. It surprised him he hadn’t noticed his coming, but then, the wine that he’d been handed was heady.
“I think I have spent too much of my life looking at mountainsides,” Prometheus answered truthfully.
Heracles took a sip from his own goblet. His tongue slid out to catch a drop that had wanted to escape into his beard. It was tinged a dark shade of pink from the drink and Prometheus watched the soft muscle press against his skin and pull back between his lips.
“I take it you still like the mountains more than the sight of my family,” Heracles answered laconically, leaning his elbows on the railing.
Prometheus had to smile. A well-known image of a mountainside did come into his mind, then, unbidden but not unwanted: A young man, clambering up the steep rock all but on his fours. He was grabbing onto sparse shrubbery to pull himself onwards, a bow strapped carelessly across his broad back, with few scars and fire in his strangely light eyes, restless energy animating his every movement. The dawn stood behind him, lighting his wild golden hair like a crown and painting his sun-burnt skin bronze. Prometheus had called it to mind thousands of times before Heracles had actually made it to him, before he was even born. It was something to cling to through endless, tedious days of suffering.
He could still see that young man when he looked at Heracles’s face sometimes. Not that he was any less handsome now, just more worn. But weren’t they all?
“I bide my time, as I have my sights on a goal past their short-sighted victory.” Prometheus snorted quietly. “But the idea that they think me their docile pet does admittedly bother me, even if it is to my advantage.”
“It never feels good. At least it’s not actually true in your case.” Heracles paused. “I have to admit, I do like it, helping you. Maybe Nyx’s powers drag me up there on specific nights by the back of my neck, but at least my reasons are my own. Doubt I’d have found that purpose without you.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he looked surprised at himself, and displeased a moment later, quickly setting down his cup. The tips of his ears and the planes of his cheek had gained a little colour..
“Dionysus always forces more drink on me. He’ll never let me forget that contest I lost,” he groused before Prometheus could react to his first words.
He allowed Heracles to glide past them; he had heard him clearly and knew his honesty. Heracles was not a flatterer. However, Prometheus did allow himself a second to commit the admission to memory.
“That story always confused me. I’ve never known you to drink,” he said instead.
“That was a lesson I had to learn. Among others,” Heracles retorted. “What about you?”
“I don’t drink often. It clouds my gaze.”
Which made it a temptation, too. However, Prometheus had long stopped believing that if he didn’t see something, it wasn’t still about to occur. To pretend to believe that would have been akin to hiding.
Heracles looked him over. “So I could surprise you tonight?”
“I’m not falling over myself drunk, but in small matters, yes. Which is another reason I have stopped mingling with your family. I am loathe to give them an opening.”
However, it didn’t surprise him that separating himself had been successful. They didn’t know of this weakness and no god here was in any great hurry to actually engage him in conversation.
“Smart thinking,” Heracles said.
He leaned forward, catching a gust that was blowing past the balcony. The thick-leaved wine that cascaded over the marble arches above them caught in the long strands of hair that fell down his back, intertwining with them as the wind blew both about. Before Prometheus could think better of it, he had already reached out to pull a vine from his shoulder, and his hand lingered.
“What is it?” Heracles asked, glancing at his fingers.
Prometheus pulled his hand back to himself.
“I can never tell where your hair begins and the lion’s mane ends.”
A smile twitched at the corner of Heracles’s mouth. “That something you think about often?” he teased.
The smart thing, surely, would have been to deny it, counter with a joke of its own. Several easy answers came to mind that would follow the comfortable pattern of conversation they could fall into when they met to wait for the Agent of Change, or simply brushed past each other on the battlefields. However, Prometheus held back. As he’d already had cause to remember, Heracles was no flatterer, and not someone who entertained flirtatious touches or words when he was uninterested; perhaps not even when he was interested, but his half-brother’s offerings had evidently loosened his tongue.
“I do, at times,” Prometheus said instead. “I see the strands get tangled in rough fights. I wondered if it is vexing to pull it all apart when you undress.”
And perhaps he should have considered his own tongue was not under quite as much control as usual, either. He’d meant to put out some subtle bait, not tie a chunk of meat to a hook and let it splash into the water.
Heracles stared at him for a moment, the lion’s teeth painting an uneven shadow over his face. Then, he let out a small, amused noise. “It can be a hassle,” he answered. “But if you’re in a rush, it’s unnecessary. The headdress is not in the way for anything important, after all.”
They stood quite close, Prometheus could not help but notice, and he didn’t know when that had happened. He had to raise his eyes to meet Heracles’s gaze. Their shoulders almost brushed against each other, the warmth of Heracles’s body tantalisingly close. It was not the first time by far that he noticed how little of him was actually dressed, from the bare swell of his chest and hard stomach to his sculpted arms and legs, and especially the short fur skirt that left most of his powerful thighs uncovered. The hint that perhaps he would be given greater access to all of it made his mind trace the sight of Heracles with even greater enthusiasm.
“I think taking your time can be quite gratifying. Although it’s not suited for every environment, I’ll grant. Some opportunities require more flexibility,” Prometheus answered.
Heracles’s warm breath, smelling of sweet wine, was on his face before he kissed him. Of course he’d be the one pushing forward, abandoning words. He had pointed out before that Prometheus had rather too many of them at times and when he nipped Heracles’s lip and felt the rough drag of his beard, Prometheus found himself liable to agree. This was much preferable to talking.
His hands moved boldly, settling on Heracles’s thick waist as Heracles wrapped an arm around Prometheus’s shoulders, pushing him deeper into the tangle of vines. They hid them as a second curtain as their kiss grew deeper, the grip of their hands stronger.
Prometheus traced the muscles and the scars, tenderly moving over every inch of skin that came under his searching fingers. He could feel the goosebumps he raised on Heracles’s skin with the exploration, and suddenly he stepped back, the colour of his face bringing out the moon colour of his eyes.
“Shouldn’t waste too much time here,” he said, somewhat breathlessly, and pushed his thigh between Prometheus’s legs against his half-hard cock. “And I wouldn’t want you to have to leave like this.”
“I think you know I can be patient,” Prometheus countered.
However, he could be curious, too, and when Heracles kissed him briefly once more and then sank to his knees, his attention was well and truly diverted.
Heracles brushed aside the layers of his skirt and pulled his breeches out from under his belt. His calloused hand closed around Prometheus’s manhood, pumping it to full hardness with a few strokes. Prometheus had to bite down on his tongue as Heracles pulled his cock firmly upwards and leaned in, head ducked to drag the flat of his tongue over Prometheus’s balls and briefly sucking them into his mouth. Clearly, whatever hang-ups mortals sometimes had over such matters did not bother him and Prometheus was grateful for it as he ran his hand over the lion’s mane and rested it on Heracles’s bare shoulder.
Heracles pulled off to take in his cock just as readily and Prometheus’s fingers dug deep into his skin as Heracles moved his head. He gave himself no quarter, swallowing him down to the root, and the sudden pressure of his throat around him made Prometheus’s breath and hips stutter. He dug his naked heels into the hard stone ground, steading himself with his grip on him as Heracles continued, unbothered by his movement. The way he sucked his cock was just as relentless and overwhelming as the way he fought, and Prometheus as helpless as his prey – though much happier, he’d wager. He let his head drop back against the column as it spun with the sudden shock of pleasure mixing with the fog of the wine.
Every time he sank deeper into Heracles’s throat, he could feel Heracles’s muscles spasm against the intrusion, tightening hot and wet around him as Heracles ignored their protests. It was enough to drive a man to distraction and also to his peak, but a small voice in him resisted. Though they should not linger too long here, in case one of Heracles’s relatives got bored and wandered off, he did not want their first time to end so quickly, or with Heracles almost out of reach.
With a deep breath, he leaned down to grab both of his shoulders, gently urging him upwards. As Heracles stood, Prometheus saw a thread of saliva on his swollen lips, winding into his beard, an utterly debauched look that made focusing on his own good intentions difficult.
“Not to your liking?” Heracles asked.
Prometheus laughed, quiet and breathless. “Very much, but there is a problem with keeping the headdress on, after all: I can’t see your face.”
Heracles looked briefly baffled before he raised a brow at him. “You don’t know what it looks like by now?” he asked brusquely.
“I also know what a sunset looks like, but I do still enjoy the sight,” Prometheus answered.
Of course Heracles scoffed at him and shook his head, but the colour had returned to the tips of his ears. “What do you want, then?”
Too aroused to not be honest, Prometheus felt his gaze drop to the swell of Heracles’s thighs. His hand followed the motion, stroking over the strong muscle.
“Would you keep these together for me?”
“If you want to fuck something, I can offer you better than that,” Heracles answered, leading Prometheus’s hand up from his leg to his backside.
The offer was more tempting than the wiles of Aphrodite, but Prometheus frowned. “We don’t have anything to ease the way, do we?”
Heracles shrugged. “Spit should be enough. I’m no maiden.”
Prometheus didn’t doubt Heracles could deal with a bit of discomfort, and would for Prometheus’s sake, but he didn’t particularly care to be the one causing it. Pain was too common a companion for Heracles, although Prometheus suspected if he insisted he wanted to spare him, Heracles would only become more stubborn.
“We’ll save it for next time, when we have a bit more privacy,” he said, stretching to place a kiss on Heracles’s lips. They twisted into smile under his mouth.
“Next time, huh?”
It sounded like the idea suited Heracles, enough to distract him from the current argument, too. Prometheus kissed him harder. He’d known in vague shapes the path their relationship would take, but to know, feel Heracles’s approval made his own heart soar.
As they kissed, he guided his own manhood between Heracles’s thighs, and Heracles did obediently close them around it. Their difference in height allowed Prometheus to slot in perfectly between the softest part of the muscle at the top of his thighs, gliding smoothly between them thanks to Heracles’s saliva. Heracles’s own cock stood hard and leaking and Prometheus pushed him against the banister so that their bodies were snug against each other, allowing Heracles’s manhood to rub against his stomach as Prometheus fucked between his legs with short, sharp thrusts.
With one hand, Heracles grabbed the marble top of the railing, knuckles growing white, while he held Prometheus close with his other arm, his grip just as possessively tight around his ribcage. Greedily, Prometheus’s hands slid down to his thighs, feeling Heracles’s muscles flex around him as he kept his legs firm for Prometheus.
After Heracles’s efforts with his mouth, Prometheus did not have much left in him to resist. He buried his mouth against Heracles’s throat to stifle any errant noise and came over his heated skin, still pumping between his legs until the last was spent.
He’d shoved himself so close towards him that he had trouble getting a hand between their bodies for a moment. Heracles grunted, moving one leg to widen his stance, brace himself as Prometheus stroked him. As he did so, he was still gently sucking at the thin skin over Heracles’s throat, feeling it bob against his mouth when he swallowed. Heracles’s free hand hovered over the back of Prometheus’s neck now, a warning, but he let Prometheus have his way for now, and Prometheus did not push his luck by grazing him with his teeth, even though he would have liked to. This, too, might be for another time. If he could get Heracles to trust him like that, he’d be a happy man.
Heracles pushed him a step away when he came so he’d only spill on himself, which Prometheus now had a direct view on. With his own seed on his bare stomach and chest and Prometheus’s dripping between his legs, Heracles presented a picture that Eros could have drawn.
Heracles looked down on himself, too, gaze catching on the red imprints Prometheus’s fingers had left on his thigh.
“I’m getting the feeling this wasn’t a consolation prize to you.”
Prometheus chuckled. “I never said it was, big man. I’m surprised you haven’t caught me looking. I try to be respectful, but your clothes don’t leave much of your legs to the imagination.”
“You don’t have pupils, so it’s harder to track where you have your eyes,” Heracles answered flatly. “Anyway, you’re free to look wherever you please. No skin off my back.”
While Prometheus rearranged his clothes, Heracles grabbed the edge of the curtain that hid the balcony, quickly cleaning himself up. Prometheus doubted that they were the first to leave such marks in the Palace of Zeus, nor that they’d be the most obvious suspects, should anyone even find such stains worth mentioning after a feast of the gods.
“I have to head back inside,” Heracles said, straightening out the straps of his skirt. “Have to put more than a few minutes of appearance in or someone will complain.”
“I will follow in a while. We wouldn’t want to raise suspicions.”
After brushing the curtain aside, Heracles headed for the door back inside. However, he cast another glance over his shoulder, inquisitive and cautious, and quickly averted when he met Prometheus’s smile, catching Heracles in the act.
The noise from inside dimmed once more as the door shut hard behind Heracles. He’d left his cup and Prometheus sipped the wine, allowing the marble in his back and a breeze of wind rustling the wine leaves cool him down. Though he was the one who controlled the flames, Heracles’s body always seemed to be running hotter than his and he could still feel it pressed tightly against him when he closed his eyes.
For once, he allowed himself to be lost in pleasant memory, not visions of the future, though he hoped he could look forward to a repeat very soon.