"You missed a spot," King Augeas said, leaning against a marble column with a smirk. The palace courtyard smelled of olives and dust, but his words carried the sharper stench of mockery.
Heracles wiped sweat from his brow, leaving a streak of grime. The muscles in his back flexed as he tossed aside a broken cartwheel. "I was sent here to clean shit, not fix chariots." His voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder. Around them, servants averted their eyes but lingered nearby—no one ignored a quarrel between kings and demigods.
The barn's stench clung to his skin, thick enough to taste. He'd diverted the rivers with raw strength, shoulders straining against the current until the water obeyed. Now it rushed through the manure-caked stalls, carving channels in the filth. The Alpheus roared, brown with stirred-up waste, while the Peneus foamed white around boulders Heracles had hurled aside like pebbles.
Augeas pushed himself upright from the column, sunlight glinting off the gold torque at his throat. His naked body still gleamed from the bathhouse, every muscle defined — a match for Heracles' own god-given physique. "You work well naked," he observed, gaze drifting downward. A servant dropped an amphora; clay shattered on the tiles.
Heracles exhaled through his nose, watching froth from the Peneus catch on his thigh. "If you're here to inspect," he said, stepping forward so the current sluiced between his legs, "come closer." The water tugged at the thick thatch of hair below his navel.
Augeas didn’t hesitate. He strode through the ankle-deep runoff, his own cock swaying heavily with each step, half-hard already, the head glistening. When he stopped, the scent of cedar oil from his bath mixed with the earthy musk of labor and river water. "You diverted my rivers," he murmured, thumbing a smear of mud from Heracles' collarbone. "Should I dock your pay?"
Heracles caught his wrist, calloused fingers tightening just shy of pain. "You promised a reward." His other hand slid down Augeas' flank, tracing the ridge of hipbone, knuckles brushing the coarse hair at the base of his cock. The king’s breath hitched, soft, but audible. Around them, the Peneus surged, swallowing the choked sounds of servants scrambling to disappear.
Augeas tilted his head, sunlight catching the gold flecks in his eyes — Helios’ blood showing itself. "You want payment?" He pressed forward until their chests met, hot skin sticking where sweat hadn’t been washed away. His thick erection curved against Heracles' thigh, thick and insistent. "Take it then."
Heracles' grin was wolfish. He gripped the king’s hips, lifting him effortlessly, water sluicing off them both as he pinned Augeas against the nearest column. Marble groaned under the impact. The king's legs wrapped around him instantly, heels digging into the small of Heracles' back, pulling him closer.
The river’s roar muffled Augeas’ gasp as Heracles ground against him, their cocks trapped between their abdomens, hot and slick with sweat and spray. The king arched, his fingers raking through Heracles’ rain-damp hair, dragging his head down. Their mouths met — messy, sucking, more lust than finesse. Augeas tasted like pomegranate wine and power, his tongue demanding as it slid against Heracles’.
Water surged around their thighs, swirling with displaced filth, but neither noticed. Heracles' lips caught the king’s lower lip and pulled it hard, and Augeas groaned, his hips bucking. “Is this how you treat kings?” he panted, but his thighs tightened, pulling Heracles deeper.
“No,” Heracles growled, licking down the side of Augeas’ throat, tasting salt and cedar. “Just the ones who watch me sweat.” His hands slid lower, fingers digging into the firm globes of the king’s ass, spreading them just enough to feel the damp heat between them. Augeas shuddered, his cock pulsing against Heracles’ stomach, leaving a slick trail.
The river water had done little to wash away the musk clinging to Heracles’ fingers — calloused fingertips, still rough from shifting boulders, traced the crease of Augeas’ ass with deliberate slowness. When they found the tight furl of muscle, Heracles exhaled sharply through his nose, pressing the pad of his thumb against it. Augeas hissed, his thighs squeezing reflexively around Heracles’ waist, but he didn’t pull away.
Heracles curled his finger just so, twisting inward, and Augeas arched violently against the column with a ragged gasp. The sound tore from his throat like a man drowning. Inside, the king was molten heat, clenching around Heracles’ knuckle in rhythmic pulses. “You — ah — ” Augeas’ breath hitched, his fingers scrabbling against marble for purchase. Heracles crooked his finger deeper, and the king’s hips jerked, his cock twitching against Heracles’ stomach, smearing precum between them.
A second finger breached him without warning, and Augeas swore in Phoenician, his thighs trembling. Heracles worked them steadily, stretching, the rough pads of his fingers dragging against velvety inner walls. The king’s groan vibrated against Heracles’ collarbone, his lips making a red mark there before he ducked lower, his mouth finding a nipple. He bit down, not gently, and Heracles snarled, driving his fingers harder. The torrent’s spray cooled their skin where it struck, but nothing could quell the furnace between them.
Then Heracles pulled free — roughly, leaving Augeas gasping, his hole fluttering, empty — before lifting him bodily and slamming him downward onto his cock in one brutal motion. Augeas roared, his back hitting the column with a crack that sent marble dust raining onto their shoulders. Heracles’ erection speared him open, a ruthless invasion that punched the breath from his lungs. The king’s legs locked around him, muscles straining, his fingernails scoring pink trails into Heracles’ shoulders.
Heracles didn’t wait for him to adjust. He pistoned upward, driving deep, each thrust grinding the king’s prostate with cruel precision. Augeas’ cock slapped wetly against his own abdomen, leaving glistening streaks, his balls drawn up tight. The slap of skin on skin echoed off the courtyard walls, underscored by the relentless rush of the diverted rivers. Heracles’ hands gripped the king’s waist, fingers denting flesh as he lifted and dropped him again and again, using his own body like a battering ram.
Augeas threw his head back, cords standing out in his throat, his golden torque scraping marble. His hole clung desperately to Heracles’ cock, rippling around the thick intrusion, each withdrawal dragging a choked gasp from him before the next plunge stole it away. Heracles grunted, low and animal, sweat sheening his chest as he fucked up into the king’s yielding heat. The king’s thighs trembled against his sides, his own arousal leaking in messy pulses between them, the head of his cock flushed dark and dripping.
The river water surged higher around them, frothing against their calves, but neither noticed. Heracles shifted his grip, seizing Augeas’ ass with both hands, fingers splayed across the muscled globes as he split him wider, driving deeper. The king’s shout shattered into ragged panting, his body bouncing helplessly, his cock jerking against Heracles’ abdomen with every brutal thrust. His hole burned, stretched obscenely around Heracles’ girth, each drag of his length sparking white fire up his spine.
Heracles growled, his rhythm faltering as pleasure coiled low in his gut. Augeas felt it — the twitch, the pulsing heat — and clenched down deliberately, milking him with filthy precision. Their sweat-slicked bodies slid together, the air thick with salt and musk and the iron tang of exertion. The king’s breath came in short, sharp bursts, his fingers knotting in Heracles’ hair, yanking hard enough to make the demigod snarl.
Then it crested — Heracles’ thrusts turned erratic, his hips stuttering as his cock swelled impossibly thicker, buried to the hilt. Augeas arched, his own release surging up with violent suddenness; his cock jerked violently between them, spilling thick ropes of sperm across their heaving stomachs. Heracles’ grip on his ass turned bruising as he came with a roar that shook the courtyard, his potent seed flooding the king’s clenching channel in hot, relentless spurts. The sensation wrenched another orgasm from Augeas almost instantly — his oversensitive cock twitching weakly, dribbling another pathetic stripe of cum onto the mess between them.
The aftermath was sticky and slow. Heracles’ breath gusted against Augeas’ throat, his pulse hammering where their chests pressed together. The king’s legs trembled where they still clung to Heracles’ waist, his hole fluttering around the softening cock still lodged inside him. Rivulets of semen dripped down his inner thighs, mixing with the river’s persistent flow. Their sweat cooled rapidly in the breeze, leaving them shivering despite the midday sun.
Augeas’ fingers loosened in Heracles’ hair, sliding instead to trace the shell of his ear — an oddly tender gesture amidst the carnage of their coupling. The demigod lifted his head, meeting the king’s gaze with dark, sated eyes. There was no mockery now, only the quiet understanding of two men who’d taken exactly what they wanted. The Peneus murmured around their legs, washing away the worst of the mess, though neither moved to separate just yet. Augeas’ lips curled, slow and knowing. “Still think you earned your reward?” His voice was hoarse, but the challenge was clear. Heracles’ answering grin promised retribution — later, when their bodies had recovered enough to make it interesting.
The king inspected his forearm, where Heracles’ grip had left four crescent-shaped bruises. He licked thoughtfully at one, tasting iron. Nearby, a pair of doves startled from the rafters, their wings beating frantically as they fled the courtyard. Heracles watched them go, his thighs flexing unconsciously as he shifted his weight. Augeas cocked his head, studying his lover with the same calculating gaze he might give a newly acquired stallion. “You’ll stay,” he said, more statement than question. It wasn’t an offer Heracles could refuse — not with the god-blood humming in his veins, demanding he claim this territory as thoroughly as he’d claimed the king’s body.
A servant’s hesitant cough echoed from the colonnade, followed by the clatter of dropped linens. Heracles snorted, rolling his shoulders. “Your servants lack discipline.”
Augeas arched one golden eyebrow before stooping to retrieve the fallen towels himself — a deliberate show of casual power. He tossed one at Heracles’ chest, where it stuck momentarily to his sweat-damp skin before sliding free. “They’re used to seeing me take my pleasure,” he mused, dragging his own towel slowly down his abdomen, cleaning the sticky remains of their exertions with unhurried precision. “Just not with a man who could break me in half if he chose.” The admission hung between them, heavy with unspoken invitation.
Heracles caught his wrist mid-motion, bringing the king’s fingers to his mouth and licking a stripe across the knuckles. “You’d enjoy it,” he rumbled, watching Augeas’ pupils dilate. The courtyard seemed to hold its breath — even the river’s roar muted momentarily.
Then the king threw back his head and laughed, the sound rich and unguarded. “So I would,” he agreed, stepping close enough that their thighs brushed. He traced the curve of Heracles’ jaw with two fingers, smirking when the demigod leaned into the touch like a great beast savoring a caress. “But first ...” His thumb brushed Heracles’ lower lip, lingering just long enough to suggest teeth. “You’ll join me for supper. My cooks prepare a boar that would challenge even your appetite.”
Heracles caught his wrist, turning it to press an open-mouthed kiss against the pulse point there. “Careful,” he murmured, lips moving against skin. “You’ll spoil me.” The king’s pulse jumped beneath his tongue, a silent betrayal. Around them, the courtyard tiles steamed in the afternoon heat, the scent of wet stone and crushed herbs rising where their feet had churned the earth. Distantly, a lyre struck up — some bold musician celebrating the rivers’ diversion or their sovereign’s conquest.
Augeas tugged him forward by the hand, their fingers interlacing with the ease of men accustomed to taking what they wanted. His palm was calloused from reins and spear hafts, the ridges catching against Heracles’ own labor-roughened skin as they strode toward the palace portico. The king’s stride was unhurried, his nakedness a statement rather than an oversight; servants scurried ahead with downcast eyes, scattering rose petals that stuck to their damp soles. Heracles noted the way the afternoon light gilded Augeas’ shoulders, how his muscles moved beneath the skin like lions pacing beneath gold leaf.
At the threshold, a slave knelt with a basin of saffron-scented water. Augeas flicked his fingers in dismissal without breaking stride. “Later,” he said, and the boy scrambled backward, nearly upsetting the bowl. Heracles chuckled low in his throat, his grip tightening possessively on the king’s hand. The corridors echoed with their footsteps and the occasional drip of water from their bodies, marking their passage like a trail of stars.
A young cupbearer gasped when they passed, his gaze darting between their entwined hands and the glistening evidence of their earlier exertions still streaked across their thighs. Augeas paused just long enough to pluck a honeyed fig from the boy’s tray, popping it into Heracles’ mouth with fingers that lingered. “Tell the kitchens we’ll dine in the andron,” he instructed, watching the demigod’s throat work as he swallowed. “And serve the wine unmixed.”
Heracles caught his wrist again, licking the sticky residue from his fingers with deliberate slowness. “Generous,” he remarked, though his eyes promised this was merely the first course. The king’s answering smile was all teeth.
They reclined on a single cushioned bench wide enough for two — if those two were ordinary men. With their shoulders pressed together and thighs overlapping, the wood groaned under their combined weight. Augeas reached for a golden krater, pouring wine so dark it swallowed the lamplight. “Unmixed,” he murmured, as promised, and Heracles’ nostrils flared at the potent scent — thick as blood, spiced with myrrh. The first sip burned like a challenge, pooling hot in his belly.
Augeas tore a strip of boar meat with his fingers, the crispy skin crackling. He held it to Heracles’ lips, watching the demigod’s teeth flash as he took it — along with the tips of the king’s fingers. The taste was rich, smoky fat giving way to tender flesh beneath. Heracles chewed slowly, his gaze locked on Augeas’ mouth. “Your cooks deserve praise,” he said, though they both knew it wasn’t the food holding his attention.
The king traced the rim of his cup with a thumb, leaving a smear of grease. “They’ll be flattered.” His knee nudged higher between Heracles’ thighs, the contact deliberate. Around them, the andron’s frescoes seemed to pulse in the flickering light — bull-leapers frozen mid-flight, their muscles straining in eternal exertion. The air hung heavy with the scent of roasted meat, wine, and the salt-sweet musk still clinging to their skin.
A slave approached with a platter of figs stuffed with goat cheese, his steps hesitant. Augeas plucked one, biting it in half before offering the remainder to Heracles, the filling glistening where his teeth had been. The demigod accepted it with a hum, his tongue swiping over the king’s thumbprint on the fruit’s skin. The slave nearly dropped the platter retreating.
“You’re distracting the help,” Heracles observed, though his hand slid up Augeas’ thigh beneath the table.
The king leaned closer, his breath warm with wine. “Only the help?” His fingers found Heracles’ wrist, guiding it inward until the demigod’s knuckles brushed the hot, stiffening evidence of his own distraction. The wine krater toppled with a clang, forgotten.
They surged up together — the bench screeching across the marble floor — sending figs rolling like dice and the boar carcass sliding to the floor in a grease-slick tumble. Augeas didn’t glance back, already hauling Heracles down the corridor by the wrist, their strides eating up the mosaic tiles. Servants flattened themselves against the walls; a tapestry rippled in their wake. The master suite’s cedar doors loomed ahead, inlaid with scenes of Helios’ chariot. Augeas kicked them open with a sandal-less foot, dragging Heracles inside before slamming them shut with a shoulder.
The lock clicked. For a heartbeat, they simply stared — chests heaving, lips wine-stained and parted — before crashing together like rival tides. Their embrace crushed the air from Heracles’ lungs; Augeas’ arms banded around his ribs, fingers splaying across his back as if to memorize the landscape of muscle through touch alone. The king’s mouth was relentless, lips sealing over Heracles’ with wet, sucking pressure, his tongue delving deep to map the demigod’s palate. Heracles groaned into it, hands cradling Augeas’ jaw, thumbs stroking the hinge where his pulse thundered.
They staggered sideways, still fused at the mouth, until Heracles’ calves hit the bed’s edge. Their kiss broke with a slick sound — both panting — only for Augeas to dive back in, licking into Heracles’ mouth with a hungry noise that vibrated through their chests. His hands slid down to grip the demigod’s ass, hauling their hips flush. Heracles shuddered, his own erection grinding against the king’s through the thin layer of sweat between them. The scent of crushed myrtle rose from the bedsheets, mingling with the salt-tang of their skin.
Augeas pulled back just enough to gasp, “Again,” before claiming Heracles’ mouth once more, tongue swirling against his in a slick, filthy duel. The demigod’s fingers tangled in the king’s hair, tugging just shy of pain — eliciting a muffled moan that dissolved into another kiss, deeper this time, messy with shared breath. The king’s knee slid between Heracles’ thighs, pressing up against his swollen cock, and the demigod growled. The king's hips jerked forward, grinding against him in retaliation.
Heracles twisted them sharply, sending them sprawling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and sweat-slick skin. The frame groaned under their combined weight, cedar posts creaking as Heracles pinned Augeas beneath him, one thick thigh wedged between the king’s legs. Augeas arched, his cock straining against Heracles’ hip, already slick with precome. “Impatient,” Heracles murmured against his throat, his lips grazing the golden torque still fastened there. His knee pressed higher, dragging against the king’s balls in slow, deliberate friction. Augeas bucked, his breath ragged, fingers digging into Heracles’ back.
The king retaliated by sliding a hand between them, wrapping his fist around Heracles’ cock with practiced ease, thumb swiping over the leaking slit. The Greek hero’s hips jerked forward reflexively, driving himself deeper into that hot grip. Augeas smirked, tightening his hold just enough to make Heracles curse, his rhythm faltering. “Still think you’re in control?” he taunted, twisting his wrist on the upstroke.
Heracles responded by grabbing the king’s wrists and pinning them above his head with one hand, his other sliding down to trace the crease of Augeas’ thigh. The king shuddered, his breath hitching as Heracles’ fingers pressed inward, finding the slick, stretched remnants of their earlier coupling. The demigod’s breath was hot against his ear. “Tell me you want it.”
Augeas laughed, breathless, his knees falling wider in silent invitation. “Fuck me like you hate me,” he challenged, his voice rough.
Heracles’ grin was feral. He didn’t hesitate.
With one powerful motion, he hauled Augeas’ legs upward, bending the king nearly in half until his knees brushed his own shoulders. The king’s muscular thighs trembled with the strain, but his grip on his knees was ironclad — his body obediently spread, hips lifted, the dark thatch of his ass fully exposed. Heracles inhaled deeply, the musk of sweat and sex thick in his nostrils, mingling with the faint cedar oil still clinging to Augeas’ skin.
Then he buried his face between those taut cheeks without preamble, his tongue broad and wet as it laved over the king’s quivering hole. Augeas gasped, his fingers digging into his own knees as Heracles worked him open with ruthless precision. The demigod’s tongue wasn’t teasing; it was a claiming, thrusting deep past the tight ring of muscle, fucking into him with the same relentless drive he’d used to divert rivers. Augeas’ back arched off the bed, his cock jerking against his stomach, already leaking anew.
Heracles growled against his flesh, the vibration making the king’s thighs shake. He gripped Augeas’ hips, holding him steady as he devoured him, tongue plunging in and out with wet, obscene sounds. The king’s hole fluttered around each intrusion, clenching down as if trying to pull him deeper still. Heracles pulled back just long enough to spit, the slickness dripping down Augeas’ cleft before he dove back in, his nose pressed flush against the king’s skin, breathing him in like a man starved.
Augeas’ breath came in ragged pants, his voice raw when he finally spoke. “Gods —” Heracles answered by nipping the sensitive flesh just beside his hole, making the king jerk with a choked-off moan. His tongue curled inside him, probing, tasting — every flick and thrust calculated to wring another broken sound from the king’s throat. Augeas’ knuckles whitened around his knees, his thighs slick with sweat where they strained against Heracles’ shoulders. The demigod could feel the tremors running through him, the way his body fought to both press closer and twist away — overwhelmed, but unwilling to stop.
When Heracles finally pulled back, Augeas’ hole gleamed, slack and glistening from the ravishment. The king’s chest heaved, his lips parted around unspoken demands. Heracles wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark with promise. “Now,” he rumbled, “where were we?”
Augeas blinked. “You were —” His breath hitched as Heracles shifted higher, straddling his torso instead of his thighs. The king’s cock twitched against his own stomach, flushed and leaking, untouched since Heracles had pinned him. “What —?”
Heracles smirked, rolling his hips with deliberate slowness. The motion ground his heavy balls against Augeas’ abdomen. “This time,” he said, voice dropping to a growl, “I'm going to ride you.”
Augeas’ golden eyes widened — a fleeting crack in his regal composure. His fingers flexed against the sheets. “You’ve never —”
“No,” Heracles agreed, already lifting himself onto his knees. His thick thighs bracketed Augeas’ ribs, his own erection bobbing against his stomach, a ruddy contrast to his sun-darkened skin. “But I’ve wondered what it would feel like — your cock splitting me open.”
The king’s breath audibly caught. Heracles reached behind himself, fingers curling around Augeas’ shaft, guiding it upward. The crown kissed his entrance, slick with spit and leftover seed from their earlier coupling. Augeas swallowed hard, his hips jerking instinctively — but Heracles held him down with a firm hand on his stomach. “Slowly,” the demigod warned, though his voice wavered as the blunt head pressed inward.
Augeas watched, transfixed, as Heracles sank down, his powerful thighs trembling, his hole stretching obscenely around the king’s girth. The stretch burned, the unfamiliar intrusion lighting up his nerves in ways he hadn’t anticipated. His fingers dug into Augeas’ shoulders, his breath hissing between clenched teeth.
The king’s hands flew to Heracles’ hips, his grip bruising. “Fuck,” he gasped, his cock sheathed halfway inside the demigod’s tight heat. Heracles rolled his hips experimentally, and Augeas’ head thudded back against the pillows, his toes curling. “You’re —” His words dissolved into a moan as Heracles took him deeper, the demigod’s muscles fluttering around him in reluctant surrender.
When their hips finally met, Heracles went utterly still, his chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. Sweat trickled down his ribs, pooling in the hollow of his navel. The stretch was almost too much. Augeas’ cock was a relentless presence inside him, pressing against places that made his vision whiten at the edges. He clenched experimentally, and the king’s fingers spasmed against his flesh.
“Move,” Augeas begged, his voice raw.
Heracles grinned, bracing his hands on the king’s chest. Then he lifted himself almost all the way off before dropping back down with a wet slap of flesh. Augeas shouted, his back arching off the bed. Heracles did it again, setting a brutal pace, each descent forcing the king’s cock deeper, rubbing against that sweet spot inside him with devastating precision.
The king’s thighs tensed, his heels digging into the mattress as he fought the urge to thrust upward. “Wait — ah — Heracles —” His warning came too late. The demigod’s rhythm stuttered, his body clamping down in a sudden, violent spasm. Augeas came with a choked cry, his sperm flooding Heracles’ channel in hot pulses. The demigod groaned, his own cock jerking between them, splattering the king’s chest with thick stripes of cum.
Augeas’ hands slid up to cradle Heracles’ face, his thumbs brushing the demigod’s cheekbones. “Well?” he murmured, still breathless. Heracles’ only answer was a shudder — and the slow, deliberate clench of his muscles around the king’s softening cock.
The king groaned, his hands dropping to Heracles’ thighs, fingers kneading the powerful muscles there. “That was—” Augeas swallowed, his throat working around the words. “I’ve never—” His voice broke off entirely when Heracles shifted, the movement sending aftershocks through them both.
Heracles leaned down, pressing his forehead to Augeas’, their breaths mingling. “Good,” he finished for him, his lips brushing the king’s with each word. There was no mockery in it — only a quiet satisfaction that thrummed between them like the plucked string of a lyre.
Augeas sighed, his body lax beneath Heracles’ weight. He traced idle patterns across the demigod’s shoulder blades, his fingers catching on the sweat-damp skin. “Will you stay?” he murmured, not for the first time, but this time it was softer — less a command than a plea wrapped in the barest hint of uncertainty.
Heracles kissed him then, slow and deep, his tongue sweeping against Augeas’ as if searching for the last traces of pomegranate wine. The king melted into it, his fingers tangling in the demigod’s hair, holding him close.
When Heracles finally pulled back, he was smiling — a rare, unguarded expression that softened the harsh lines of his face. “For now,” he conceded, his voice rough with promise.
A breeze stirred the curtains, carrying the scent of the river and the distant hum of the palace waking from its afternoon lull. Somewhere beyond the chamber, a dove cooed, its call echoing through the courtyard where they’d first coupled — where the rivers still ran clean.
Heracles shifted, his body sliding from Augeas’ with a slick, intimate sound that made them both hiss. The king’s spend trickled down the demigod’s thigh, warm against his skin. He caught it with two fingers, rubbing the viscous fluid between them before bringing it to Augeas’ lips. The king’s tongue darted out, licking it clean with deliberate slowness, his golden eyes never leaving Heracles’ face.
The demigod leaned in, their foreheads touching once more. “You taste like victory,” Augeas murmured, his voice still rough. Heracles huffed a laugh, nipping at the king’s lower lip in retaliation.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
