The servant’s moans filled the tent, rising in pitch as the twin beneath him gripped his hips and snapped upwards, driving into him with a force that sent the man’s head thrown back. Heracles watched, lazily tracing a finger through the cooling mess on his stomach before licking it clean — still tasting the twins’ musk mingled with honeyed figs.
One of Geryon’s brothers shifted, pressing a wineskin to Heracles’ lips. The wine was dark and spiced, flooding his mouth as he swallowed greedily, letting it spill down his chin. The twin chuckled, chasing the droplets with his tongue, his beard rough against Heracles’ throat.
Geryon’s hand slid possessively down Heracles’ flank, pausing at his hip. "You’re enjoying the show," he murmured, his thumb digging into the muscle there.
Heracles grinned, unrepentant. "Wouldn’t you?"
The servant came with a sob, his back arching as the twin beneath him groaned and spilled inside him, his fingers clutching the man’s waist. Panting, the servant collapsed forward — only for the second twin to roll him onto his back, spreading his legs without ceremony.
"Greedy," Heracles commented, but his pulse kicked as the twin pushed in, the servant’s cry sharp with renewed pleasure.
Geryon’s laugh was a rumble against his shoulder. "You’re one to talk."
The servant’s thighs trembled as the twin fucked him with slow, deliberate thrusts, his rhythm unrelenting. Heracles’ own cock stirred lazily, half-hard against his stomach, as he watched the man unravel — his fingers clawing at the cushions, his mouth slack with pleasure.
Geryon’s fingers tightened on Heracles’ hip. "When he’s done," he murmured, lips brushing Heracles’ ear, "you can take him. Let him feel how a hero fills him."
Heracles’ breath hitched. He could already imagine it — the servant’s gasps, the way his body would clutch at him, the heat —
The tent flap rustled. Iolaus stood frozen in the entrance, his gaze darting from the tangled bodies to Heracles’ sprawled form.
Geryon didn’t glance up. "Join us or leave," he said, voice rough.
Iolaus swallowed. His fingers flexed at his sides.
Heracles held out a hand.
The servant moaned beneath the twin, his legs shaking —
And Iolaus stepped forward.
The moment stretched — taut as a bowstring — before he crossed the threshold, his sandals whispering against the hides. Heracles watched the way his nephew's throat worked, the flicker of hunger in his eyes as they traced the servant’s arched back, the twin’s thick fingers splayed over his hips.
Geryon didn’t move from where he lounged against Heracles’ side, but his smirk deepened. "I knew you’d stay," he rumbled, fingers tightening possessively on Heracles’ thigh. One of the twins chuckled, slowing his thrusts just enough to make the servant whine — a deliberate tease, now that they had an audience.
Iolaus knelt beside Heracles, his knuckles brushing the hero’s sweat-slicked shoulder. "You —" He swallowed, gaze dropping to Heracles’ mouth. "You didn’t come back."
Heracles caught his wrist, guiding Iolaus’ palm to his chest, letting him feel the hammer of his heartbeat. "Neither did you."
The servant’s keening cry shattered the tension — the twin had angled his hips just so, punching the breath from his lungs. Iolaus’ fingers twitched against Heracles’ skin, his pupils blown wide. Geryon’s laugh was a dark curl of smoke. "Still watching?" He nudged Heracles’ thigh apart with his knee, exposing the glistening mess between them — proof of what they’d done, what they’d take. "Or do you want in?"
Iolaus’ breath hitched. The twin gripping the servant’s hips slowed to a stop, cock still buried to the hilt, and smirked over his shoulder. "Your choice, little lion."
Heracles tugged Iolaus down by the chiton’s neckline, their mouths crashing together as he ripped off the garment — no hesitation now, only heat. Iolaus gasped into the kiss, his hands scrambling for purchase on Heracles’ shoulders as Geryon’s palm settled heavy on the small of his back, urging him closer. The twins’ laughter vibrated through the cushions, low and approving, as the servant sobbed beneath them, oversensitive and trembling.
"Choose," Heracles growled against Iolaus’ lips, and felt the shiver that wracked his nephew’s body — the moment before surrender.
Iolaus broke the kiss with a ragged inhale. His hands trembled as he reached for Heracles’ cock, already hardening again under his touch. The servant whimpered beneath the twin, overspent and trembling, his thighs streaked with spend. The twin withdrew with a wet sound and rolled him onto his side dismissively, his gaze locked on Iolaus instead.
Geryon’s chuckle was velvet-dark as he pressed a wineskin to Iolaus’ lips. "Drink," he commanded. The wine spilled red down Iolaus’ chin, and Heracles licked it away, tasting the tannins and the salt of his skin.
One twin hauled the dazed servant up by his hair, pressing him onto his knees between Iolaus’ thighs. "Clean him," he ordered, guiding the man’s mouth to Iolaus’ cock. The servant obeyed without hesitation, his tongue lapping broad stripes up the length, hollowing his cheeks around the head. Iolaus jerked, his fingers scrabbling at Heracles’ shoulders, his gasp muffled against the hero’s collarbone.
The second twin moved behind Iolaus, his hands broad and warm on his hips. "Breathe," he murmured, slicking himself with the oil still pooled on Heracles’ stomach. When he pressed in, it was with a single ruthless thrust that seated him to the hilt. Iolaus cried out, his back arching, his cock twitching against the servant’s tongue.
Heracles held Iolaus’ gaze as the twin began to move, his thrusts deep and measured. "Good?" he rasped. Iolaus could only nod, his lips parted on silent moans, his thighs quivering. Geryon’s hand curled possessively around the nape of his neck, tilting his head back to claim his mouth in a dominating kiss.
The servant sucked harder, his fingers digging into Iolaus’ thighs, spurred on by the twin’s growled praise. Heracles watched the moment Iolaus shattered — his body locking tight around the twin’s cock, his sperm flooding the servant’s throat. The twin followed with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled his semen inside.
Geryon pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes gleamed with dark amusement as Iolaus slumped against Heracles, boneless and spent. "You still want those cattle?" he teased.
Heracles’ grin was wolfish. "Later."
The tent hummed with spent breath and the musk of tangled bodies. Iolaus slumped against Heracles’ chest, his thighs still twitching where the twin had withdrawn — slowly, savoring the clench of him — leaving seed to drip shamelessly down his thighs. The servant licked his lips, catching the last drops with a reverence that made Geryon chuckle darkly.
One twin stretched out beside them, his fingers tracing idle patterns across Iolaus’ ribcage. "You whimper prettier than the cattle," he murmured, nipping at his shoulder. The other twin snorted, dragging the servant up by his hair to straddle his lap, guiding the man’s spent cock against his own slicked length.
Heracles watched, lazily palming himself back to fullness as the servant rocked between the twins’ bodies, his moans pitched high and broken. Geryon’s hand settled heavy on Heracles’ thigh, thumb rubbing circles into the muscle.
"You’re insatiable," he growled, but his own cock lay thick against his stomach, still glistening from earlier.
Heracles smirked. "Says the man with three bodies to fuck me with."
Iolaus shivered against him, his breath hitching as one twin’s fingers dipped between his cheeks, teasing the swollen rim. "Gods — again?"
Geryon’s laugh was a rumble. "We’ve barely started." He curled a hand around the back of Heracles’ neck, dragging him into a kiss that tasted of wine and conquest. The twins moved in unison — one pressing the servant onto his hands and knees, the other rolling Iolaus beneath him, his teeth grazing the soft skin of his inner thigh.
Heracles broke the kiss, panting. "You’ll ruin him."
Geryon’s grin was all teeth. "He’ll thank us."
The servant cried out as the first twin sheathed himself to the hilt, his fingers bruising on the man’s hips. The second twin hooked Iolaus’ legs over his shoulders, his cockhead catching at his entrance — slow, deliberate, watching the way his breath hitched.
Heracles groaned, his own need pulsing hot between them. Geryon’s palm slid down his chest, callouses catching on his nipples. "Patience," he murmured, but his fingers tightened around Heracles’ cock, twisting on the upstroke just how he liked.
The twins began to move — a synchronized rhythm that had the servant sobbing into the cushions and Iolaus arching off the furs, his fingers twisting in the nearest twin’s hair.
Heracles’ laugh was ragged. The cattle could wait a little longer.
The servant’s moans crescendoed as the twin behind him sped up, his thrusts turning erratic. The man’s fingers clawed at the cushions, his spine arching like a bowstring before he came untouched, his semen spattering the furs beneath him. The twin groaned through his own release, burying himself deep as his semen pulsed inside the servant’s well-used body.
Iolaus whimpered as the other twin pressed in, his body still loose from before but sensitive enough to make every drag of the man’s cock wring a gasp from his throat. His fingers found Heracles’ wrist, squeezing hard as the twin bottomed out, their hips flush. “Gods — fuck —”
Geryon’s hand tightened around Heracles’ cock, his grip just shy of painful. “Watch,” he growled against Heracles’ ear. “Watch how he takes it.”
The twin pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, his rhythm ruthless, his fingers clutching Iolaus’ thighs. Iolaus cried out, his cock twitching against his stomach, already dripping fresh precum. Heracles’ own hips jerked into Geryon’s fist, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
The servant, still trembling from his own orgasm, crawled forward on shaky limbs, his tongue darting out to lap at Iolaus’ cockhead. Iolaus sobbed, his back bowing off the cushions, and the twin fucked him through it, his thrusts never faltering.
Geryon’s thumb swiped over Heracles’ slit, smearing precum down his shaft. “Now,” he commanded, his voice rough. Heracles didn’t need to be told twice. His orgasm ripped through him, his semen streaking his stomach and Geryon’s fingers in thick pulses. The twin groaned, his rhythm stuttering as Iolaus clenched around him, his own release splashing across the servant’s waiting tongue.
Silence, save for their panting breaths. Then —
Geryon licked his fingers clean, his smirk smug. “Tomorrow,” he murmured, “we start earlier.”
Heracles laughed, boneless and sated. The cattle definitely could wait.
Geryon's fingers traced the curve of his shoulder, possessive. "Come," he murmured, voice rough with promise. His touch lingered — a king's command disguised as a lover's request. "My chambers tonight. Just the two us." The words curled like smoke between them, deliberate. Behind them, the twins were already pulling Iolaus into their rhythm again, the servant's mouth finding fresh purpose between his thighs. The air smelled of sex and spilled wine, the sounds of their pleasure a distant hum.
Heracles arched an eyebrow. "Tired of sharing?" His grin was lazy, but his pulse kicked as Geryon's palm slid down his flank — warm and heavy with intent. The king's chuckle was a dark thing, velvet-lined.
"Never." His thumb pressed into the divot of Heracles' hip, where the twins' teeth had left faint marks. "But a man likes to taste his prize alone sometimes."
Heracles let himself be pulled upright, Geryon's grip unyielding. The twins barely glanced up as they left — too busy turning Iolaus onto his stomach, their hands mapping his spine with practiced hunger. The servant moaned around a mouthful of one twin's cock, his fingers working the other's shaft in tandem. Heracles smirked. They wouldn't miss him.
Geryon's chambers were dim, the braziers banked low. The scent of cedar and spice clung to the furs piled deep on the raised platform of his bed. Heracles didn't hesitate. He pushed Geryon onto the cushions, following him down with a growl. The king's thighs spread in welcome, his cock already half-hard against Heracles' stomach.
"Prove," Heracles challenged, biting at his lower lip, "that I'm worth the solitude."
Geryon's answering grin was all teeth. His hands fisted in Heracles' hair, dragging him into a kiss that tasted of conquest. Outside, the muffled sounds of the others' pleasure drifted through the tent walls — a counterpoint to the slow, deliberate slide of their bodies.
Geryon's palm cradled his jaw, his thumb pressing against Heracles' pulse. "I know you are," he murmured, before claiming his mouth again — deeper this time, his hips rolling up in a promise of what was to come. Heracles groaned into the kiss, his fingers tightening on Geryon's waist.
The king shifted beneath him, rolling them over effortlessly. His teeth grazed Heracles' throat as he settled between his thighs, his weight deliciously oppressive. "Tell me," he breathed, lips brushing the shell of Heracles' ear, "how long have you wanted me alone?" His fingers traced the hero's ribs, mapping old scars and new bruises alike.
Heracles arched beneath him. "Since you walked into that tent," he admitted, voice rough. "Three of you — gods." Geryon's laugh was dark with satisfaction, his mouth brushing the meat of Heracles' shoulder.
Beyond the heavy drape separating Geryon's chambers, the twins' laughter mingled with Iolaus' gasped curses and the servant's eager whimpers. Geryon didn't glance toward the noise — his attention never wavered from the man beneath him. His fingers twisted in Heracles' beard, tilting his head back. "They'll keep," he said, and Heracles grinned, spreading his legs wider in silent challenge.
Geryon's oil-slick fingers pressed inside without preamble, his touch ruthless in its precision. Heracles gasped, his cock twitching against his stomach as Geryon crooked his fingers just so, dragging over his prostate with unerring accuracy. "Fuck —" he managed, his thighs trembling.
The king's smirk was predatory. "Mine," he murmured, withdrawing his fingers to slick himself. When he pressed in, it was with a single, relentless thrust that seated him to the hilt. Heracles' shout echoed off the cedar beams above them, his fingers scrambling for purchase on Geryon's back.
Geryon stilled, his breath hot against Heracles' collarbone. "Look at me." Heracles obeyed, his pupils blown wide, and Geryon kissed him lustfully as he began to move — slow, deep rolls of his hips that had Heracles clawing at his shoulders.
The sounds from the main tent grew louder — a chorus of moans and the wet slap of skin — but Geryon's rhythm never faltered. His thrusts grew sharper, his grip on Heracles' thigh tightening as he chased his own pleasure. Heracles could feel the moment Geryon lost control — his hips stuttered, his breath coming in ragged gusts against his neck.
"Cum for me," Geryon growled, and Heracles obeyed with a shout, his semen striping his stomach in thick pulses. Geryon followed, his hips jerking as he spilled his sperm deep in the hero's bowels, his teeth clenched against Heracles' shoulder.
They lay tangled in the aftermath, Geryon's fingers tracing lazy patterns on Heracles' hip. Outside, the twins' laughter rose again, followed by Iolaus' breathless groan. Geryon's lips curled against Heracles' skin. "Tomorrow," he murmured, "we'll start earlier."
Heracles chuckled, his fingers tightening on Geryon's wrist. "We haven't finished tonight." He rolled them over, straddling Geryon's hips with deliberate intent. The king's cock twitched beneath him, still slick from their coupling. Heracles arched, letting Geryon feel the stretch of him, the heat still clinging to his body. "Again."
Geryon's hands settled on Heracles' thighs, thumbs pressing into the muscle. "Insatiable," he growled, but his hips rolled up, his cock sliding effortlessly back inside. Heracles moaned, his head falling back as Geryon filled him completely. They moved together — slow, deep thrusts that had Heracles trembling within minutes. Geryon's fingers gripped his hips, guiding his rhythm, keeping him from rushing — drawing it out until Heracles was gasping, his thighs shaking with the effort of holding back.
Geryon pulled him down harder, his thrusts growing sharper, deeper. Heracles clenched around him, his cock leaking against Geryon's stomach. "Cum," Geryon commanded, and Heracles obeyed with a cry, his orgasm crashing over him like a wave. Geryon followed, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside, his fingers tightening firmly on Heracles' waist.
They lay tangled in the aftermath, sweat cooling on their skin. Geryon's breath was warm against Heracles' neck. "Tomorrow," he repeated, his voice rough with satisfaction.
Heracles grinned, already feeling the familiar stir of renewed hunger.
He rolled them before Geryon could catch his breath — the king’s back hitting the furs with a muffled thud, his surprised exhale warm against Heracles’ jaw. Their sweat-slicked bodies slid together effortlessly, Geryon’s thick thighs already parting in invitation even as his fingers dug warningly into Heracles’ hips. “Bold,” Geryon rumbled, though his pupils were blown wide, his cock twitching where it lay trapped between their midriffs.
Heracles didn’t answer with words. He reached for the oil flask discarded beside them, pouring a generous amount over his fingers before trailing them down the cleft of Geryon’s ass. The king arched into the touch, his breath hitching as Heracles circled his rim with teasing pressure — just shy of breaching. Geryon’s growl was half frustration, half want, his hips canting up impatiently. “Stop playing,” he ordered, and Heracles obeyed, pressing two fingers inside in one smooth thrust.
Geryon’s body welcomed him easily, still loose from their earlier couplings, but Heracles took his time regardless — scissoring his fingers deep, twisting just enough to make the king’s stomach jump. He curled them deliberately, seeking that spot he knew would unravel Geryon’s control, and smirked when the king’s hips jerked off the bed with a bitten-off groan. “There,” Geryon gritted out, his thighs trembling where they bracketed Heracles’ waist. “Fuck me properly.”
Heracles withdrew his fingers, slicking himself thoroughly before lining up. He pressed in slowly, savoring the tight heat that enveloped his long, thick erection inch by inch, the way Geryon’s breath came faster the deeper he went. When their hips finally met, they both stilled — Heracles braced over him, Geryon’s legs hooked over his arms, their gazes locked in the dim light. For a moment, there was nothing but the shared pulse of their racing hearts, the unspoken challenge hanging between them.
Then Heracles moved.
His thrusts started slow — deep, rolling motions that dragged Geryon’s moans from his chest with each inward stroke. The king’s fingers tangled in the furs beneath them, his head thrown back as Heracles angled his hips just right, hitting his prostate with unerring accuracy. “Gods,” Geryon gasped, his cock leaking steadily between them, his thighs tightening around Heracles’ waist. “Harder.”
Heracles obeyed, his rhythm turning punishing — snapping his hips forward with enough force to jolt Geryon up the bed with every thrust. The king’s moans grew ragged, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Heracles’ back, his body clenching around him in desperate waves. Heracles could feel his own climax building — a molten coil tightening low in his belly, his breath coming in harsh pants against Geryon’s shoulder. “Look at me,” he demanded, and Geryon did, his eyes dark with need, his lips parted on a silent plea.
When release hit, it was simultaneous, Geryon’s body seizing around him as his cock pulsed thick ropes of ejaculate between their stomachs, Heracles following with a groan, his semen spilling deep inside the king as he ground their hips together. They clung to each other through the aftershocks, Geryon’s fingers carding through Heracles’ sweat-damp hair, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath.
Geryon’s chuckle was rough with satisfaction. “Tomorrow,” he murmured, “we do that first.”
Heracles grinned against the king’s shoulder, already drifting toward sleep, his limbs heavy with exhaustion and pleasure. He could feel Geryon’s heartbeat slowing beneath his palm, steady and strong. The tent was quiet now — the twins and Iolaus long since sated and asleep — leaving only the distant crackle of the dying braziers and the whisper of night wind against the canvas.
Geryon’s fingers traced idle patterns down Heracles’ spine, his breath warm against his temple. “Sleep, hero,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Heracles sighed, sinking deeper into the furs, his body molded to Geryon’s like they were carved from the same stone. The king’s arms tightened around him, possessive even in slumber.
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