Outside, the crunch of gravel underfoot signaled an approaching servant — too hesitant, too close. Augeas’ grip tightened on Heracles’ thigh, but the demigod merely rolled off him in one fluid motion, sprawling across the bed with shameless ease. The king barked a command to stay back just as the chamber door creaked open a finger’s width. A timid voice announced the arrival of ambassadors from Tiryns.
Heracles went very still. Eurystheus’ messengers. Augeas’ fingers found his wrist, squeezing once in silent understanding before rising with the effortless authority of a man used to being obeyed even while nude and glistening with sweat. He snatched a robe from a nearby stool, letting it hang open as he strode to the door.
The murmured exchange was too low to hear, but Heracles caught the sharp intake of breath when Augeas dismissed them with a flick of his wrist. The king turned, his golden eyes alight with something dangerous. “They’ve come to recall you,” he said, letting the robe slip from one shoulder. “Apparently, Eurystheus has another … labor in mind.”
Heracles sat up slowly, the muscles of his abdomen flexing. Augeas tracked the movement hungrily before continuing, “I told them you’d return when you were ready.” He stepped closer, the robe pooling at his feet. “Unless you’d prefer to send a different message.” His hand drifted to his own hip, thumb brushing the still-damp evidence of their coupling.
The demigod’s answering grin was all teeth. He stood in one powerful motion, crowding Augeas back against a pillar. The king’s breath hitched as Heracles licked a broad stripe up his neck. “Let them wait,” he growled against the king’s pulse point.
From the courtyard below, the clatter of armored footsteps betrayed the messengers’ impatience. Augeas arched into Heracles’ touch as the demigod’s hand closed around him, already half-hard again. “You could —” The king’s words dissolved into a moan as Heracles twisted his wrist. “— ride me where they can hear.”
Heracles chuckled darkly, his fingers digging into Augeas’ hip. “You want them to know their king bends for me?” He punctuated the question with a sharp thrust of his thigh between the king’s legs. Augeas’ answering gasp was loud enough to carry through the latticework windows.
Outside, the gravel shifted again — a retreating step. Heracles caught Augeas’ chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “Shall I fuck you against this window?” he murmured, nipping at the king’s lower lip. “Let them see how you take me?”
Augeas shuddered, his cock twitching against Heracles’ palm. “Yes,” he breathed. Then louder, deliberately projecting his voice toward the courtyard: “Harder”
Heracles spun him roughly, pressing the king’s flushed chest against the sun-warmed stone. The demigod’s own arousal pressed hot and insistent against Augeas’ cleft. He spat into his palm, slicking himself with crude efficiency before notching his cockhead against the king’s loosened entrance. Augeas braced his forearms against the sill — just as Heracles drove home in one brutal thrust.
The king’s cry echoed off the palace walls. Below, a sword clattered to the ground. Heracles didn’t slow, each snap of his hips punctuated by the slap of skin and Augeas’ ragged pleas. The latticework rattled with their momentum.
One of the messengers made a choked sound. Augeas turned his head just enough to catch the man’s horrified stare through the window — then grinned wildly as Heracles gripped his hair and fucked into him with renewed ferocity. “Tell Eurystheus —” The king’s voice broke on a moan. “— his hero is occupied.”
Heracles’ laughter was a rumble against his back. The demigod’s pace turned punishing, his balls slapping against Augeas’ thighs. The king’s knuckles whitened on the sill. Somewhere beyond the haze of pleasure, boots scrambled on gravel — fleeing.
Augeas orgasmed with a shout, his semen streaking the sunlit stones below. Heracles followed moments later, mouthing the king’s shoulder as he spilled his sperm deep inside him. They slumped together, panting, the courtyard now eerily silent save for the distant flutter of startled doves.
Augeas turned his head, catching Heracles’ mouth in a lazy, post-coital kiss. “That,” he murmured against the demigod’s lips, “was a message.”
Heracles chuckled, his hands still braced on either side of the king’s body. Sweat dripped from his brow onto Augeas’ shoulders, mingling with the sticky mess between them. Below, a lone dove alighted on the sill, cocking its head at the scent of sex and salt. The demigod reached out, running a finger down the bird’s iridescent breast. It didn’t flinch.
The king arched an eyebrow. “You have a way with creatures.”
“Only the wild ones,” Heracles said, watching the bird take flight. His gaze slid back to Augeas, heavy with implication.
Laughter rumbled through the king’s chest. He pushed back against Heracles, relishing the twitch of the demigod’s softening cock still nestled inside him.
“Wild?” Augeas scoffed, twisting to capture Heracles’ wrist before he could pull away. He pressed the demigod’s palm flat against his own sternum. “My stables housed three thousand bulls that trampled men to paste. Yet you —” His teeth flashed white. “You tamed me bare-handed.”
Heracles flexed his fingers, feeling the thunder of Augeas’ heartbeat beneath them. “Tamed?” His other hand slid down to grip the king’s hip, pulling a gasp from the man as he ground their bodies together once more. “You begged for it.”
A crash echoed from the corridor — a dropped amphora, judging by the ceramic shatter and the servant’s muffled curse. Both men ignored it. Augeas rolled his hips experimentally, wincing at the oversensitivity even as his cock stirred anew. “And you’ll make me beg again.” His fingers traced the demigod’s collarbone, sticky with drying sweat. “Unless …”
Heracles caught his meaning instantly. He withdrew with a wet sound that made them both shudder, turning the king to face him. Sunlight gilded the mess between their thighs — spent semen mixed with the sheen of exertion. The demigod’s nostrils flared at the scent, primal and unmistakable.
Augeas watched the hunger return to Heracles’ eyes with palpable satisfaction. He reached down, smearing the proof of their coupling across his palm before offering it to the demigod like a sacrament. “Taste.”
Heracles didn’t hesitate. His tongue swept over Augeas’ fingers with deliberate slowness, golden eyes locked on the king’s face as he swallowed. The flavor burst across his senses — salt and musk and something indefinably Augeas. His cock twitched back to full hardness against his thigh.
A knock shattered the moment — three sharp raps that brooked no refusal. “My king,” came the steward’s strained voice. “The Tirynthian envoys insist —”
“Burn their messages,” Augeas snarled, never looking away from Heracles. The demigod’s grin turned feral as he lifted the king bodily, pinning him against the pillar with his thighs spread wide. The steward’s sharp inhale was audible even through the door. Augeas hooked his ankles behind Heracles’ back, already rocking down onto the demigod’s renewed erection with a broken moan.
Outside, parchment crumpled. Footsteps retreated at a run. Heracles' lips brushed along Augeas’ jawline, tasting salt and hubris. “They’ll call you weak,” he murmured, thrusting upward to punctuate the lie.
The king’s laughter dissolved into a gasp as Heracles’ cockhead dragged against his oversensitive walls. “Let them try.” His fingers tangled in the demigod’s sweat-darkened curls, forcing their foreheads together. “I want them to know.”
Heracles obliged with a snap of his hips that sent a vase toppling from its pedestal. The crash of shattering pottery barely registered over Augeas’ ragged cry. The demigod’s hands dropped lower, cupping the king’s ass to angle each thrust deeper, his own muscles quivering with restraint. Augeas clung to him like a man drowning, his thighs trembling where they locked around Heracles’ waist.
Sunlight lanced through the latticework, painting stripes across their sweat-slicked bodies. The king’s gold-coin irises had gone black with want, his lips parted around panting breaths that grew louder with every plunge. Heracles watched transfixed as a bead of sweat rolled down Augeas’ throat — followed it with his tongue — and felt the king’s body convulse around him in response.
“Look,” Augeas gasped, tilting his chin toward the courtyard below. Three armored figures stood frozen near the fountain, their polished greaves reflecting the obscene tableau above. One clutched a scroll so tightly the parchment tore. Heracles laughed against the king’s pulse point and thrust harder, making the column creak.
The nearest envoy’s face flushed crimson. He opened his mouth — perhaps to protest — but Augeas arched his spine and let out a guttural moan that sent the man stumbling backward into his companions. Heracles growled approval, his lips grazing the king’s shoulder as he pistoned into him with relentless precision.
"You see?" Augeas panted, his voice raw. His fingers scraped down the demigod’s back, leaving raised red trails. "They’ll tell Eurystheus how his strongest warrior spends his strength." He punctuated the claim by clenching around Heracles, drawing a ragged groan from the demigod’s chest.
One of the envoys dropped his helmet. The metallic clang echoed through the courtyard, but neither king nor hero spared the man a glance. Heracles adjusted his grip, hauling Augeas higher against the pillar until the king’s knees bracketed his ribs. The new angle punched a broken noise from Augeas’ throat — half pain, half pleasure — as Heracles’ cockhead dragged against his prostate with every thrust.
“Tell them,” Heracles growled, his biceps flexing as he held the king aloft like a trophy. Sweat dripped from his brow onto Augeas’ heaving chest, mingling with the mess of their earlier climaxes.
Augeas threw his head back with a cry as Heracles’ thickness stretched him impossibly wider, his body yielding even as it burned. Below, the envoys stood rooted like statues, their armor rattling with each of the demigod’s punishing thrusts. One clutched at his own crotch, mouth agape.
“Tell them —” Augeas gasped, his voice scraped raw, “— how their king rides you like a wild stallion.” He punctuated the claim by rolling his hips, taking Heracles deeper with a wet groan that sent the youngest envoy scrambling backward into the fountain.
Heracles’ answering laughter was dark with promise. His grip tightened, fingers digging into the king’s thighs hard enough to bruise as he pistoned upward with a snap of his hips that rattled the latticework. Augeas’ cock jutted between them, flushed and leaking against his abdomen with each brutal impact. The demigod watched hungrily as a bead of pre-cum trembled at the tip before streaking down the king’s stomach to mingle with their sweat.
One of the envoys made a strangled noise. Heracles bared his teeth in a feral grin, never breaking rhythm as he locked eyes with the man. “Take notes,” he growled, punctuating each word with a deep thrust that made Augeas keen. The king’s fingernails created pink trails on Heracles’ shoulders, his thighs quivering where they gripped the demigod’s waist.
The oldest envoy finally snapped his mouth shut, his throat working as he swallowed audibly. “This is —” His voice cracked when Heracles abruptly shifted, lifting Augeas higher and slamming him down onto his cock with a wet slap that echoed off the courtyard walls. The king’s cry was muffled against Heracles’ neck, his mouth sucking the demigod’s skin hard.
Heracles turned his head slightly, just enough to meet the envoy’s horrified stare. “Speak,” he taunted, his voice rough with exertion. His hands flexed on Augeas’ thighs, leaving crescent-shaped marks. The king moaned openly at the rough treatment, his cock pulsing between them.
The envoy’s mouth opened and closed like a beached fish. His companions had backed away, their armor clanking as they stumbled over each other. One clutched a torn scroll to his chest as if it were a shield.
Heracles barely registered their retreat. His world had narrowed to the heat of Augeas’ body around him, the way the king’s muscles fluttered with each punishing thrust. The pillar groaned under their combined weight, its carved surface slick with sweat where Augeas braced himself.
The king’s fingers dug into Heracles’ shoulders hard. Augeas threw his head back with a gasp when Heracles’ cockhead brushed that sweet spot inside him, his thighs trembling violently where they locked around the demigod’s waist.
Heracles didn’t slow, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release, the wet slap of their bodies drowning out the envoys’ shocked murmurs below. Augeas’ cock throbbed against his stomach, untouched yet leaking steadily with every brutal impact.
The king’s fingers scrabbled against the pillar, his knuckles white as Heracles angled him just right — once, twice — before he came with a ragged shout, his seed striping the demigod’s abdomen in hot pulses. Heracles growled, burying himself to the hilt as Augeas’ body clenched around him in rhythmic spasms, milking his own climax from him with ruthless efficiency.
For a heartbeat, they stayed locked together like that — Heracles’ cock still throbbing inside the king, Augeas limp and gasping against the pillar, their sweat-slicked bodies trembling in the aftermath. Below, the envoys had fled, their footsteps echoing in panicked retreat.
Heracles exhaled sharply through his nose, his arms sliding under Augeas’ thighs and back in one smooth motion. The king groaned as the demigod lifted him like a bride, his spent cock twitching against his stomach as their bodies separated with a wet sound that made them both shudder. Augeas’ head lolled against Heracles’ shoulder, his golden hair matted to his forehead, his lips parted around shallow breaths.
The demigod crossed the room with deliberate strides, ignoring the sticky trail they left on the tiles. Sunlight caught on the sweat still sheening their bodies as he deposited Augeas onto the rumpled bedding with uncharacteristic gentleness. The king’s limbs sprawled bonelessly across the linen, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His toes curled when Heracles ran a calloused palm down his flank — half-sensitive, half-pleasured.
Heracles turned toward the cedar doors, his muscles flexing as he lifted the bronze bar heavier than three men could carry and slid it home with a resonant thunk. The sound echoed through the chamber like a period at the end of a sentence. Outside, a panicked whisper hissed against the wood — some poor servant tasked with retrieving the discarded diplomatic scrolls. The demigod exhaled through his nose, pressing his forehead briefly against the carved surface before pushing away.
He crossed the room with three strides, the scent of their coupling rising from the tiles with each step. Augeas hadn’t moved, his golden hair fanned across the pillow like a laurel wreath discarded after a victory feast. One arm draped over his eyes, his chest still flushed pink beneath the smeared evidence of Heracles’ possession. The demigod’s shadow fell across him as he climbed onto the bed, his knee sinking into the mattress beside the king’s hip.
Heracles wrapped him in his massive arms, pulling him close with a possessiveness that belied their earlier ferocity. Augeas exhaled sharply as his back met the demigod’s chest, his body instinctively curling into the embrace despite its residual tremors. Heracles buried his nose in the hollow behind the king’s ear, inhaling the mingled scents of sex, salt, and the faintest trace of citrus oil from his earlier bath. The king’s pulse thrummed against his lips, slower now but still vital as a war drum between campaigns.
Augeas shifted, wincing as the movement pulled at tender muscles. Heracles’ fingers traced idle patterns across his abdomen, following the trails of drying sweat and seed. “You’re leaving,” the king murmured, certainty flattening his tone. The demigod’s fingers stilled momentarily before resuming their lazy path.
Heracles exhaled against the nape of Augeas’ neck. “Eurystheus has patience for many things,” he admitted, his voice roughened by exertion, “but disobedience isn’t one.” His palm settled over Augeas’ sternum, pressing gently as if to memorize the heartbeat beneath. “I will leave at dawn,” he added quietly, “before the envoys return with more than words.”
Augeas swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. The scent of their coupling clung to the sheets—salt and musk and something deeper, a spice he couldn’t name. He turned his face into the pillow that smelled of Heracles’ sweat, inhaling sharply. “I didn’t know,” he murmured, “that a man could feel so —” His fingers flexed against the demigod’s forearm. “Alive.”
Heracles’ chuckle vibrated against his spine. “You’ve bedded warriors before.” His lips grazed Augeas’ shoulder, not quite playful.
The king exhaled sharply. “Warriors? Yes.” His fingers tightened on Heracles’ wrist where it lay across his chest. “But none who left me—” He broke off, throat working. The words tasted foreign, like figs plucked too soon. “None who made me want beyond the moment.”
Heracles nosed along his nape, breathing him in. “Ask me anything,” he murmured against the sweat-damp skin. “Before dawn.” His mouth grazed a tendon, blunt and possessive.
Augeas rolled over with a wince, facing him fully. The sheets stuck to their cooling bodies, peeling away reluctantly. Golden afternoon light gilded the demigod’s scars — raised white lines on his ribs where Hydra venom had burned deepest. The king traced one with a fingertip. “When you fought the Nemean Lion,” he said quietly, “did you know you’d survive?”
Heracles caught his wandering hand, pressing it flat against the old wound. Beneath his palm, the demigod’s pulse thrummed steady as a forging hammer. “No.” His thumb stroked Augeas’ knuckles. “But I knew I’d fight”
The king’s breath hitched. Heracles’ eyes held the same reckless certainty as when he’d first shouldered open the barn doors—knee-deep in filth, laughing at the impossibility. Augeas dragged his fingers lower, over the ridged muscle of Heracles’ abdomen where his seed still glistened. “And this?” he murmured. “Did you know you’d take me?”
Heracles’ grin was all teeth. He caught Augeas’ wrist, guiding the king’s hand back to his own spent cock. “I knew you’d beg.” His calloused palm pressed Augeas’ fingers around the softening flesh, squeezing until the king gasped. “Just not how prettily.”
Augeas laughed — a ragged, punched-out sound — as Heracles rolled atop him, pinning his wrists to the mattress with effortless strength. The demigod’s thighs bracketed his hips, still-slick skin catching golden light filtering through the lattice.
"Beg?" The king arched beneath him, testing the hold. Heracles didn’t budge. "I recall you trembling when —"
Heracles silenced him with a kiss to his collarbone. Augeas bucked, but the demigod’s grip was iron, his thighs clamping tighter. The scent of their mingled sweat rose between them, thick as the musk of a lion’s den.
Heracles’ breath was warm against Augeas’ throat when he spoke. “No warrior,” he murmured, his lips grazing the king’s pulse, “no king —” another kiss, lower — “not even a god —” his tongue swirled a wet trail down the king’s sternum — “has ever dared to take me.” His eyes burned gold as he lifted his head, pinning Augeas beneath the weight of his gaze. “Until you.”
Augeas’ breath stuttered at the raw confession — at the way Heracles rolled onto his back like an offering, his massive thighs spreading shamelessly wide, heels digging into the mattress. The demigod’s cock lay half-hard against his stomach, flushed and glistening, but it was the vulnerability of his position that stole the king’s breath. Heracles, conqueror of monsters, lay open — his entrance still slick from their earlier coupling, twitching faintly as Augeas stared.
The king moved without thought, sliding between those powerful thighs like a supplicant approaching an altar. His tongue darted out first — a teasing lick along the demigod’s inner thigh, tasting salt and musk and the faint metallic tang of his own spend. Heracles tensed, his fingers twisting in the sheets. Augeas grinned against sweat-damp skin before dragging his tongue lower, tracing the crease where thigh met ass with deliberate slowness.
When he reached Heracles’ entrance, still glistening and slightly parted from their earlier coupling, he paused — just long enough to feel the demigod’s muscles quiver in anticipation. Then he licked a broad, wet stripe from perineum to tailbone, savoring the way Heracles’ hips jerked off the mattress. A groan rumbled through the demigod’s chest, deep as an earthquake. Augeas did it again, slower this time, applying pressure until his tongue breached the tight ring of muscle.
Heracles’ thighs clamped around his head, trapping him there. The king chuckled darkly against feverish skin, then flattened his tongue and pressed in deeper, fucking him with slow, obscene strokes. The demigod’s scent overwhelmed him — musk and crushed olives and something wilder, something that tasted like lightning storms on the slopes of Olympus.
Augeas dragged his teeth lightly over trembling flesh, relishing Heracles’ answering snarl. The demigod’s fingers fisted in his hair — not guiding, just anchoring — as the king worked him open with lips and tongue until his jaw ached. Heracles’ hips rolled in shallow thrusts, his breath coming in ragged bursts that vibrated through Augeas’ skull.
“Fuck me.” The demand tore from Heracles’ throat like a wounded animal’s cry. His heels dug into the mattress, muscles corded with tension as Augeas pulled back just enough to watch the demigod’s entrance flutter around nothing. The king slicked his cock with their mingled spend from earlier, his own breath hitching at the oversensitive drag. He lined himself up slowly, letting the swollen head catch against Heracles’ rim without pressing in.
Heracles arched with a guttural noise, his biceps bulging as he hauled Augeas down by the nape. The king yielded — let himself be manhandled into position — but kept the angle torturously shallow. When he finally pushed in, it was with infinitesimal precision, each millimeter of progress wringing a new sound from the demigod’s chest. Heracles’ thighs trembled where they bracketed his hips, his nails scoring crescents into Augeas’ shoulders.
The king bottomed out with a groan, his balls pressing flush against Heracles’ ass. Heat clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, the demigod’s body adjusting to his girth with obscene wetness. Augeas stilled, savoring the way Heracles’ breath hitched when he flexed inside him.
Sunlight pooled in the hollow of the demigod’s throat as Augeas began to move — deep, languid rolls of his hips that dragged his cockhead over that sweet spot with every withdrawal. Heracles’ back bowed off the mattress, his abdominal muscles jumping beneath sweat-slicked skin. The king watched, transfixed, as a bead of pre-cum welled at the demigod’s tip to join the mess on his stomach.
Augeas shifted his weight onto one forearm, using the other to trace the vein standing proud along Heracles’ erection. The demigod’s hips jerked into the touch, driving Augeas deeper into him with a punched-out groan. The king laughed breathlessly against his collarbone, increasing his pace just enough to make Heracles’ thighs spasm.
“Look at you,” Augeas murmured, nipping at the demigod’s pec. Heracles’ golden eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide. The king pistoned into him with sudden force, rattling the headboard against the wall. “Taking me like you were made for me.”
Heracles’ breath hitched — then broke into a ragged moan. “I was made for you.” His thighs trembled where they gripped Augeas’ waist, muscles straining as he arched into each thrust. “Only you —” His voice cracked as the king angled deeper, “— and no one else.” The admission hung between them, raw as a fresh wound. Augeas stilled, watching sweat drip from Heracles’ brow onto his own heaving chest.
The demigod’s fingers scrabbled at the king’s hips, dragging him back in with a growl. Augeas obeyed, rolling his pelvis in a slow, grinding circle that made Heracles’ cock jump against his stomach. The king traced the weeping slit with his thumb, smearing pre-cum down the shaft. “Say it again,” he demanded, voice thick.
Heracles’ hips jerked off the mattress, chasing friction. “Yours,” he gasped, the word torn from his throat as Augeas clenched around him internally. The king’s cock twitched at the visceral claim, his rhythm faltering for a heartbeat before he slammed back in with renewed force. Heracles cried out, his legs hooking around Augeas’ thighs to pull him deeper still.
Outside, the courtyard had fallen silent save for their ragged breaths and the wet slap of skin. The demigod’s heels dug into the small of Augeas’ back, urging him faster. The king obliged, his thrusts growing erratic as Heracles’ body milked him toward climax. Their sweat-slicked chests slid together with each punishing drive, the scent of sex and citrus oil overwhelming.
Augeas fisted Heracles’ cock in time with his strokes, twisting roughly on the upstroke. The demigod’s back arched violently, his mouth falling open in a silent scream as his sperm painted their stomachs in hot stripes. The king followed with a guttural groan, spilling his seed into Heracles with pulses that seemed to wrench the very breath from his lungs.
They collapsed together, limbs entangled, breaths ragged. Augeas pressed his forehead to Heracles’ shoulder, inhaling the musk of exertion and sex. The demigod’s fingers traced idle patterns down his spine, lingering where sweat pooled in the dip above his ass.
Somewhere between exhaustion and satisfaction, they drifted off, still joined. The king woke once in the predawn grayness to the sensation of lips brushing his temple — soft, incongruous against the memory of Heracles’ earlier ferocity. A calloused thumb swiped beneath his eye, catching moisture he hadn’t realized was there. He tried to speak, but sleep dragged him under before he could form the words.
When sunlight finally pierced the lattice, Augeas woke alone. The sheets beside him were cool, the only evidence of Heracles’ presence a dent in the pillow and the lingering scent of crushed olives. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling where a single cobweb trembled in the morning breeze. His body ached in ways that should have been unpleasant but weren’t — a physical echo of the demigod’s absence.
The courtyard below was unnaturally silent. No servants whispered beyond the door. Even the fountain seemed muted, its usual burble reduced to a thin trickle. Augeas sat up slowly, wincing as muscles protested. On the tiles near the bed, a single bronze pauldron gleamed dully — left behind or discarded, he couldn’t tell. He reached for it, fingers skimming the cold metal. The inside still held the warmth of Heracles’ shoulder.
Somewhere beyond the palace walls, a horn sounded — low and mournful. Augeas’ hand tightened around the pauldron’s edge. The sound wasn’t Elisian. He knew that brassy timbre, knew the way it carried across valleys like a challenge.
Eurystheus was calling his hound to heel.
Augeas stood abruptly, the pauldron clattering to the tiles. He crossed to the window, heedless of his nudity. The road beyond the gates stretched empty, dust swirling in lazy eddies where hundreds of hooves and sandals had churned it to powder hours before.
Only one set of footprints led away — solitary and deep, as if their maker had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
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