Stag

This story is an illustrated work in a series, MODERN GREEK MYTHS - A WONDER BOOK FOR BOYS & MEN by Boy Mercury X and Graham Groans.  

You can find us at twitter.com/TheMercuryJones or twitter.com/GrahamGroans

The cover can be seen here.

If you would like a pdf of the version of this story with illustrations by Graham Groans please email me at [email protected] to let me know.

1.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve said. “This is your fault.”

“Blame the lawyer,” Carl grumbled unbuttoning the top buttons of his heavy shirt, enough to yank it over his head.

“I warned you about him,” spat back Steve.

“Well we didn’t have much choice, did we?” asked Carl, jerking his t shirt off.

“Whoa,” gasped Steve.

Funny what’s under other men’s clothes. Steve knew Carl was big shouldered, but not that he was so built.

“What?” asked Carl.

“You’re like, really jacked,” Steve answered, scanning his buddy’s pecs and abs dusted with curling ginger hairs. “You look like Thor, from the movies.

“I work out,” shrugged Carl, unintentionally flexing his pecs. As his upraised arms came down again the muscles in his midsection worked smoothly. On his left side, wrapped around his obliques was that damn tattoo that had caused so much trouble.

Huh, thought Steve. He never would have figured Carl, with his lumberjack beard the color of gingerbread, would be such a hardbody. Not like this anyway.

Steve tugged at his waffled thermal shirt and Carl looked him over. He’d noticed before the taper of Steve’s broad shoulders to his slim waist and tiny ass.

“You look pretty fit yourself,” Carl said with a smile.

“Crossfit,” Steve said by way of explanation.

The things you learn, Carl thought, unbuckling his belt and dropping his pants, then his white briefs, to free up his pale half-chubbed cock.

Steve stared at it as he unzipped his own pants. He knew he was a little more than six inches, but Carl looked bigger than that, and his balls were definitely bigger.

Before Steve stripped down, Carl stepped up close and they looked each other in the eyes.

“Come on bro,” Carl said warmly, “we gotta get through this thing.”

Without another word, Carl leaned in and pressed his lips on Steve’s, darting his tongue into his buddy’s mouth. It seemed more sturdy than kissing a woman, he thought. It must be weird for Steve too, especially given Carl’s beard.

This was not what either imagined they’d be doing when they set up camp for their hunt earlier that day.

2.

It’s good to have guy time, Carl would have said. But he didn’t need to say anything. That was part of the beauty of going stag. Steve didn’t need him to communicate about feelings. Even among the other guys at the office, Steve was easy to get along with that way. At first he looked a little too groomed, but that turned out to be his girlfriend dressing him. Steve was a good guy. A good bro.

Poor bastard though, engaged to Tiffany. Good looking guy like Steve, young, hardworking, eager to please. Pliable. Must look like quite the meal ticket to a smart chick. Sure, give him a little pussy now and then, let him think he’ll get all he wants after the wedding. But when he’s been married for a few years, he’ll see.

Wouldn’t find Carl getting hitched any time soon. Just keep working out so you look good enough to get laid when you need it. Do the bullshit you have to do for girls, like have a sweet little restaurant - nice but not as expensive as it looks - to take a date out to, something to help open the panties. You do what you have to do.

He could pull out that shit when he needed to - do the sweet talk, wear some tight jeans to show off his ass and package. But he resented the effort. Most night jacking off was good enough if it meant he could save his salary. He liked to travel, more than anyone knew, and he traveled alone. Last year he went to Australia, told the guys at the office he spent it doing home repairs at his dad’s place. Fuck, they don’t need to know everything about him.

Also, he sure as fuck wasn’t going to talk while they pissed against a tree. That would be weird, and Carl was focused on keeping his gaze aimed away, anywhere but on Steve’s dick. Don’t look. Not even a little bit. Not even for a fraction of a second. Instead he listened to the birds chittering in the trees above their heads and smelled the wet and earthy odor of the forest.

They unpacked their tent, and Carl put the beers in a shallow stream to chill.

“Brought that stout shit?” Steve asked.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Carl replied. For reasons he didn’t fully understand, it tickled him knowing he brought a beer Steve would at best tolerate. “Doesn’t seem like you oughtta like it till you get through it. Then you wonder how you ever did without.”

It was dusk by the time they had the tent set up, and the guys decided to do a little walk-through. It was late for a hunt, but after the long drive out they both had restless energy. With orange vests and rifles armed, they walked on with only the sound of autumn leaves crunching softly underfoot.

It was Carl who saw the stag. It was unlike any he’d ever seen before, white to almost blue, with the most perfectly shaped rack of antlers. It had a majestic presence, with a barrel chest trailing back to a lean flank and strong haunches. He quietly tapped Steve’s shoulder and indicated to look to the east with a cock of his head. The stag walked slowly, confidently, without fear.

“Oh,” Steve said more with a breath than sound.

The stag darted, and they walked slowly to see if they could catch up. They walked and walked, as the dusk became dark. Neither Carl nor Steve had done a night hunt before, though when hunting season was in high gear it was not uncommon as the older bucks often went nocturnal to avoid hunters.

But this was not a regular buck. This was special. It was just beautiful. Carl had no other word for it. It felt like the one he’d waited his whole life for.

Carl was willing to walk several hundred yards out of the way to take the path of least exposure, which keeps deer in their natural patterns. But when it seemed certain the Stag was gone, he turned to head back in the open. Standing in a small clearing, Steve spotted the stag the second time. It stood between mountain pines, absolutely still but for an ear flicker. They stood fully exposed in the clearing, but somehow the stag didn’t react to their presence. Overhead was a perfect hunter’s moon, like an omen. Carl raised his rifle and aimed. Not the right scope for nighttime, but with the light of the full moon it might do. His heart pounding in his ears, he pulled the trigger.

He thought he got it. He heard a crack and saw the stag rear up, but then it ran. Fuck FUCK FUCK!

“I hit it, I hit it!” said Carl.

“You got an antler,” said Steve.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN AN ANTLER?”

“You nicked an antler! I saw it!” answered Steve. “I saw --- Carl?”

“What?”

That was when Carl noticed what he thought was the wind. But it was too regular, and increasing in volume. It was the high pitched tongue trilling. It sounded like sounds women made during a celebration on his trip to Tanzania. What was it called? Ululation?

“Let’s get outta here,” said Steve.

But before Carl could respond, the leaves rustled and flew up onto the night air. They thought they were being shot, but there was no blood. It was fists hitting them, dozens of tiny blue fists, each like a rock, pounding them till they were down on the ground on their backs, looking up.

3.

Steve and Carl separately thought it was children standing over them. Odd silver-blue children. But they noticed they had the bodies of young women - very slender, but women. But so small. They wore simple and slight clothing - tunic skirts, in muted blues, patterned with darker blue leaves. Carl was reminded of feminist punk Riot Grrrls he’d seen in Berlin when he was younger.

How did their fists hurt so much, Carl wondered, as they parted slightly on either side of the fallen hunters. Looking up the sky seemed different to Carl. More blue, and the stars looked out of alignment.

Stepping up to the center of the crescent formed by the Riot Grrrls was another woman. But this one was different. Of more ordinary stature. Not blue, but pale as the moon, with thick black smudges like coal under her eyes and glossy black hair in a blunt bob streaked with blue. There were silver stars tattooed up and down her arms, and a crescent moon at the bottom of her forehead, just above her eyebrows. Queen of the Riot Grrrls. She wore a pale short tunic, and over her arm was a bow, finely sculpted, of highly polished black wood.

“Artemis,” gasped Steve. “Oh shit.”

“Who?” asked Carl.

“This one speaks true,” said the woman. “I smell Delos on him.”

“What-os?” asked Carl and involuntarily took a deep breath through his nose, too, but he only smelled soil and wood and mushrooms

“Delos,” said Steve, “In Greece. Where my grandparents are from. We're fucked!”

“You’re Greek? Dude, I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah man, on my mom’s side. My name is Stefanos.”

“Dude!”

Carl was interrupted by the woman’s black bow tapping the ground between them.

“Pitiful men, you have damaged game of interest to my eye. By divine right, I claim a price.”

“Fuck,” Steve gasped. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

“Like a fine?” asked Carl.

“There is but one payment for offending the goddess of the hunt,” said the woman, and the Riot Grrrls began to trill their tongues again. “The price is blood.”

“WHAT?” yelped Carl.

“Blood is the price, from the early days of man,” she said. “As I did make of Aktaion a stag, to be torn apart by his own hounds. As did my twin and I slay the seven sons and seven daughters of Niobe as punishment for her arrogant boasts, as she watched. As I did make of Kallisto a bear, and as I did send a great boar to plague the Kalydonians, and as I did send storms…”

“But,” interrupted Steve, “didn’t you - thou - thoust - uhm, not make Orion into a constellation, and other nice stuff?”

Carl looked at him surprised, and Steve mouthed, “Greek school!”

The virgin goddess with blood that runs both hot and cold considered this, pursing her violet lips. Minutes passed and the stars turned in the velvet sky. She looked down with black eyes, and uttered a single word. “No.”

Without warning, her Riot Grrrl handmaidens swarmed Carl and Steve, grabbing them by wrist and ankle and pinning them with surprising strength, as if their slight fingertips took root in the soil below.

“Only blood can wash away the offense,” said the goddess. She eyed their faces, flush with panic, trying to see the inner animal she might call forth. A bear for the bearded one - no, a stag. A stag, of course. A mountain lion for the slim-hipped one who smelled of Delos. Let the one with the smell of Delos devour the other one, what a fitting fate.

The Grrrls tore at their clothes, shredding their heavy hunting coats and raising up their shirts to expose their bellies, for easy access to entrails. There, on the bearded one’s pale side was the tattoo. The Grrrls gasped and broke away.

The goddess looked with displeasure. “His mark,” she muttered, “his mark is on you.”

“Huh?” asked Carl, twisting around to look at his side. He’d had the tattoo of the satyr on his side for so long he didn’t think of it. The goat legs wrapped around his left hip, the human half on his oblique, cackling and holding out a hand to where Carl’s erect cock would reach, about belly button level.

Of all the gods, Artemis’ black eyes seemed to say, why HIM?

4.

The elemental Riot Grrrls scattered, and into the clearing filtered an equal number of swarthy young men, with full beards to easily rival Carl’s, bare-chested but in black hoodies zipped from the hairy chest down to their odd pants. They seemed to walk strangely, almost bent double, and Carl thought they had the most hardcore steel-toed boots he’d ever seen. Until he realized what looked like furry pants were in fact furry legs, and below that hooves, capped with steel plates. The hairy legs were short and bowed the wrong way, some hunched over on almost all fours. What he at first took for a matted locks of hair were in fact horns. Fucking goat’s horns, protruding from the thick, black hair on their heads, some straight, some twisted, some turning completely until they pointed around and down.

Carl and Steve glanced again at Carl’s tattoo. Satyrs.

“What’s in that fucking stout? Did you drug me?” Steve asked.

“Fuck no!” answered Carl.

“This isn’t happening,” Steve said, looking at the dozen or so cloven hooves, intermingling with the calloused blue toes. “I’m in my sleeping bag. Or I fell asleep at my desk in the office.”

“You’re not in the goddamn office,” Carl snarled. “Get it together Steve.”

A musical instrument played - a flute, it sounded like, and into the clearing stepped one more pair of hooves. More majestic than the others - older somehow - and attached to a satyr taller than the others, more human in his face, the long goatee groomed. He wore the same hoodie, but with a bigger, peaked hood. Like the others, his hoodie hung low, the bottom pulled over his prodigious package. The fur on his shins and goat legs seemed combed and cared for, unlike those of the other satyrs, whose leg hair was clotted with leaves and sticks.

He brought with him a cloud of scents. He smelled of the sourness of goat’s milk, the rich and herbal fragrance of a mountain meadow basking in the summer sun, the intoxicating smell of the sweat on the morning after. All of this enveloped the clearing and made their Carl and Steve’s heads swim.

He raised an arm and jerked back his hood to reveal, extending from his head, two curving goat horns, extending from his skull, each as long as Carl’s arm. He smiled wickedly.

“I’m summoned?” he asked, his voice with a slight vibrating quality. He arched an eyebrow to observe Carl’s tattoo. “My likeness. Fortunate.”

Carl definitely did not feel fortunate.

Artemis pursed her lips at his arrival and said, “Lover of merry noise, shepherd god, unkempt. The bird in flower-laden spring pours forth her lament amid the leaves that not even her honey-laden voice could exceed your art with the reed.”

“Pan?” asked Steve, cringing.

The horned god of the forest nodded, Yes.

He turned to the moon goddess, and spoke. “Hear me, Zeus' daughter, celebrated huntress, in darts rejoicing, on all to shine, goddess over births presiding and yet thyself a maid. These, of the last race of man, whom Zeus will return to destroy, bear my own mark and are then….” he smirked “mine.”

Carl and Steve didn’t understand everything said, but listened. Finally the horned god leaned in very close to them and said, “In this matter of… jurisdiction, there is a conflict. The hunt hers, the forest mine. But by my mark on you is an opportunity.” He seemed to savor his next words, flicking his tongue and adding, “I may represent you, by your consent.”

“I’d rather represent myself,” said Steve.

The goat god frowned. “As you wish, though her anger is great. She is known to me, and I know her ways as well I know each stream in the forest, and can sway it to my will. But if it is your preference to face her wrath alone…”

“Do it,” said Carl, his exposed belly chilled by the night air. “Just get us off.”

He thought sourly about a little trouble he’d had with the law as a teenager, and how he believed in legal representation ever since. Not that he much trusted lawyers, and especially not this one. But he liked his odds better with the goat than the man-hating bitch.

Pan grinned at Carl’s choice of words, nodded Yes, and said “With your consent.”

He turned to talk again with the goddess.

“This is a bad deal,” said Steve. “Don’t fuck with them.”

“Well this is our best bet,” answered Carl. “How else are you gonna lawyer up?”

The satyrs flirted with the Riot Grrrl nymphs and made lewd goat sounds. They lifted their hoodies from the bottom to reveal fully erect cocks and fist sized balls, constantly gripping, groping, scratching themselves. Carl saw the hoodies were hiked up in the rear, to allow bushy tails - actual tails - to flick, revealing their hairy asscheeks.

“Where’d you get the tattoo?” Steve asked, desperate to talk about something more grounded in reality.

“Berlin,” grunted Carl.

“Germany? No fucking way dude. When’d you go there?”

“Junior year. Study abroad.”

“I didn’t know you went to college,” said Steve.

Carl for a moment thought back to the drunken night when he got the tattoo. It was a foolish indiscretion, but he had to admit it looked badass.

The gods conversed, and then returned. Carl and Steve were allowed to rise to their feet for the verdict.

5.

“The goddess has kindly consented,” said the horned god, “for a substitute… fluid. With head and forehead Artemis overtops the rest of her companions, and though all are lovely, there is no mistaking which is she.”

Artemis looked entirely too satisfied for Steve’s comfort. She waved one end of her bow over each of their crotches.

“But as blood must pour from only pain, this must from true pleasure. If it is not, I take what I will,” she said, pulling from her belt a sickle-shaped knife, and showing her white teeth.

“You want us to nut?” asked Steve.

Pan was delighted at this question. “I take your meaning,” he said, “and yes, this. Cast your seed, but in pleasure only.” He paused. “With one another.”

“Fuck that,” said Steve. “That’s bullshit.”

“It will serve over bloodshed,” said the horned god with a serious look, “but only if in true pleasure.”

“So we can’t just jerk off,” said Carl. “Yeah, I got it. Hell of a plea bargain.”

It was ridiculous, sure. But as far as Carl was concerned, having a dozen guys with goat legs show up can really change the degree of BS you’re willing to believe.

“How can you tell if it’s in pleasure?” asked Steve.

The gods indicated that they and their retinues would vote. Steve counted twelve nymphs, twelve satyrs and two gods.

“What if it’s a tie?” he asked.

“We may invite another,” said Pan. “But there are rules, and rules within rules. To judge an act of lust would by province require… Eros.”

Artemis shuddered at the mention of the brat god whose wings beat everywhere, and even Pan looked uncertain about the prospect.

“Fuck it,” said Carl, “I’ll take my chances. We don’t need another one of these assholes showing up.”

Faster than he could see, the goddess was upon him and slapped him so hard he went down on his knee.

“Be glad for your temporary protection,” she growled like a panther, “oh child of the last race of man!”

“Dude,” Steve said as he helped Carl back up, “watch what you're saying, they’re real gods! You'll kill us both with your trash talk!”

“True,” Pan nodded once, “boasting and bravado are to the tastes of one such as myself, but others,” he glanced towards the goddess, who watched with her nymphs, “are less… forgiving.”

“Proceed,” Artemis instructed.

The satyrs and nymphs backed off, forming a ring in which Carl and Steve were permitted to rise to their feet, with Pan at one end and Artemis at the other.

They sized each other up in full, for perhaps the first time.

“Well,” said Steve, “They say men know better how to make a man feel good. Same equipment.”

“Yeah,” Carl said, exhaling, “they do.”

6.

“How do we do this?” asked Steve. He often took Carl’s lead hunting, and this was a hunting trip after all. “I guess one of us blows the other?”

Pan clicked his tongue. Some of the Riot Grrrls hissed, and Artemis sneered.

“They might need… more of a show,” replied Carl. “Y’know, to convince them.”

“So what do we do?” Steve asked, thinking of Tiffany back home.

“Well - guess we could tell each other what we like,” Carl proposed. “Y’know, like THAT way.”

“Like… I like my dick getting sucked,” said Steve.

“Yeah everyone likes that,” Carl sighed. “But, like, what’s your kink?”

“Like whips or shit? I’m pretty vanilla bro,” said Steve.

“Come on man, give me something to work with,” pled Carl.

Steve rolled his eyes and, mindful of their audience, sheepishly said, “Like Tiffany sometimes - jeez, I can’t believe this - when I’m gonna nut, she puts like the tip of a finger up there. THERE.”

“Okay, that’s good,” said Carl. Perfect, he thought. If the guy goes for that, maybe I don’t have to.

“What about you?”

“Hrrrmm,” mumbled Carl. “I like kissing.”

“That’s it? Kissing?”

“Not a smooch. Like real kissing. A lot of tongue. Deep. Fuck, I love that.” 

It seemed a minor admission, but Carl had never said it out loud to another person, and it felt thrilling to do so.

This seemed off to a good start.

“Should we strip?” Steve asked.

Carl went first. He’d heard of guys in college who did gay porn for cash. Gay for pay. This wasn’t so different, he thought, looking Steve over.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve said. “This is your fault.”

7.

After stripping and sharing a first kiss, they stepped apart to get their bearings. Steve ran his hand over his face that had just been scratched by Carl’s beard. Interesting. Who would have guessed Carl’s kisses would be so wet? Or that he was so built? Of course it wasn’t as if Steve had been looking at him that way, not in the office in his drab clothes or here in his camo gear.

They heard clicking tongues and girlish giggles and were reminded there were eyes on them, watching every move.

“Don’t think about them bro,” Carl whispered. “Fuck them. It’s just us.”

He pulled Steve close with both hands on his shoulders and planted his mouth on his buddy’s. The first kiss had been fumbling, an experiment. This was more real, Carl taking Steve’s face in his hands as he plunged his wet tongue into the other’s receptive mouth. They breathed in through their noses as their tongues intertwined and their hips ground against each others. It is different, but good, Carl thinks, pushing harder into Steve’s mouth. God, he can really go deep.

Carl could feel his cock chubbing against Steve through his longjohns, and the younger man looked down self consciously. Fuck, Carl liked kissing.

“Bro, we’ll just never talk about this again,” Carl said. If they were going to survive he’d have to get to get this guy off, and himself too.

Then Carl has an idea. “Turn around!” he breathed, spinning Steve him around. He slid his hands up under Steve’s thermal shirt and reached up to cup his pecs while he kissed the back of his neck.

Steve gasped. Carl’s beard was the main thing he felt at first, of course, but this guys mouth was bigger, his tongue more assertive, than any he’d ever felt before. And the way his rough fingers scraped over Steve’s chest and nipples under his shirt, that was surprisingly good.

Carl’s hands assessed his buddy. He’s not as big as Carl, but fit, supple. Feline. Smooth as a woman. He ran his hand over the taut belly and into the top of his longjohns, touching his bush, while the other hand slid up and worked a nipple. Steve’s knees buckled involuntarily. Ah, Carl thought, gotcha.

The tree leaves shuddered and then went silent as the watchers faded, almost as if they were not there at all.

Carl pulled Steve’s thermal shirt up over his head and wriggled it off his arms. Steve was so smooth, if Carl ran his hands down his belly with closed eyes he could imagine reaching down to a snatch, but he didn't.

Look at him, Carl told himself, look at him. You’ve got to enjoy this, so fucking enjoy it. Mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it don’t matter.

Looking down he could see Steve was… sculpted was the word that comes to mind. Big pecs with large nipples, small waist, every fluid muscle leading the eye to his crotch. Guess that Crossfit shit pays off. He’s tailored his body to his girl Tiffany’s tastes probably. Carl can work with this.

You’re a lucky shit, Carl affirmed to himself. If you’ve got to do a guy, you hit the jackpot.

“You sexy fucker,” Carl growled in Steve’s ear, darting his tongue in to evoke sighs.

Eyes still closed, Steve chuckled a little. He likes a little flattery. Good to know. Carl squeezed a nipple again and Steve ground his ass against him.

“You have an amazing body,” Carl said, cupping Steve’s tits. “Who knew?” In fact Carl had noticed his ass standing at the urinal in the office restroom, under the silky pants Tiffany had him wear.

Steve was easing into it, but his eyes were still closed. That’s okay buddy, Carl thought, we’ll get there.

Carl raised a hand to Steve’s smooth face, to trace two rough fingers over Steve’s full lips and then slide them into his mouth. To his surprise, Steve opened his mouth like a baby to a bottle, taking the fingers in and sucking on them. That feels good, like a cousin to a blowjob, Carl thought, and felt his cock throb. Carl was mindful of his hands which were unusually large, like his size fourteen feet, but Steve was doing fine sucking those rough fingers.

Carl trailed his wet digits out of Steve’s hot mouth and ran them down his long throat, through his pecs, over his taut belly and then traced over Steve’s trim bush peeking out from the top of his longjohns. Fuck, who knew longjohns could be so hot, Carl’s cock gong near full erect. This was usually Carl’s move to slide his fingers down into a date’s panties for some clit play or even to slide into her snatch. But this wasn’t a chick. His fingers trailed ever so slightly over the tip of Steve’s hard cock, but Carl couldn’t bring himself to actually grab it.

He released his buddy and said, “Let me look at you.” He needed to get worked up a little more. They both did.

Steve sighed and started to turn around, but Carl interjected, “No, like this!”

Steve’s back to him, Carl dropped down to sit on a fallen moss covered tree. Was this here before, part of his brain asked, but the rest didn’t care. He could hear some sniggering at the edge of the clearing, but ignored that, too.

“Steve,” Carl said, wrapping his hand around his cock, “guy to guy, tell the truth. You know you look good, don’t you?”

Steve admitted, “I fucking take care of myself.”

“Yeah you do buddy, good job,” Carl said. “Drop the pants.”

Steve obeyed, and slowly wriggled out of his jeans and peeled off the tight fabric of his longjohns.

Carl’s breath quickened as he saw those two mounds emerge, perfectly round and silky with only the slightest wiggle. Steve had to bend over to get the pants off, and as those asscheeks spread and revealed the dark valley between them, Carl groaned and thought, That ass might save us both. If you squint, it could be a girl’s booty. God bless Crossfit.

As Steve straightened again, Carl delicately reached out to touch the right cheek.

Steve froze, and Carl asked, “That okay, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and Carl ran a hand over his rear, down one cheek, up the other. He squeezed them with both hands, and Steve chuckled. Hearing that, Carl grinned, lifted his hand and slapped that butt. Steve chuckled louder, and Carl slapped it again, like dribbling a basketball.

Carl’s had never touched another man’s ass, outside of a bro swat and even that was over pants. His own ass was more bulky, with baby blond hairs so sensitive they can feel a household breeze when exposed. But Steve’s was buttery smooth even though it’s packed firm beneath the skin.

“It doesn’t even wiggle, you sexy fucker!” Carl noted, and before he could stop himself, he leaned in to plant a kiss on it.

“Oh, wow,” Steve gasped, “That’s new.”

“Sorry, buddy, had to,” Carl replied.

“You like my ass?” he asked.

“It’s fucking beautiful,” groaned Carl. He wouldn’t mind talking his buddy up, but truth works too.

“You like it?” Steve asked again.

Carl laughed, “It’s perfect. Buddy, it’s perfect.” Then his voice deepened. “But let me see your dick. Turn around.”

8.

It’s just skin, Carl thought, just a body part, as he opened his mouth to suck Steve’s cock. You can do this. It’s warm and weird how firm it is - not like a big finger, the way he imagined. There’s no bone of course. But you do what you have to do. In Australia he once ate kangaroo meat so rare it was purple and almost made him barf. This is better than that. And the stakes a lot higher.

Carl opened wide and let Steve’s cock slide into his mouth. Wow, that taste was something different. Carl registered sweat and musk and their last piss on that cock, but now wasn’t the time to chicken out. He made sure to cover his teeth with his lips, and slowly went down on Steve’s member.

Steve moaned, and a gush of precum pumped onto Carl’s tongue, coating it with a different taste. But this taste he knew, and well - he tasted like that, too. Carl found himself almost smiling around Steve’s cock.

Encouraged by their shared taste, their kinship, he took a deep breath and pushed on, till Steve’s cock tickled the back of his throat. He held down as long as he could, then moved back out.

Okay, got the technique, now to perfect it. He slid his lips down it again, going a little deeper, a little more than a tickle, and held it there before releasing. He heard a little gasp from Steve.

“You like that bro?” Carl asked, definitely not glancing sideways at the audience. “It’s okay if you do. I want you to like it.”

“Yeah,” Steve said softly.

“When’s the last time Tiff gave you head?”

Steve scoffed by rolling his eyes, “A while.”

“Let’s get you current then,” Carl said with a confident smile. He opened his mouth and plunged down on Steve’s erection at the same time as he slapped that perfect ass, making his buddy’s hips tense up.

Carl plunged down on it again and again, then slathered his wet lips over it all the way to the tip. He knew how he liked getting head, not that he’d gotten it the way he liked very often. That one prostitute in Amsterdam though, she spoiled him, and he was going to do the same for Steve.

He looked up at Steve, eyes watering but jaw thrust forward and smiling, “Choke me bro. I’m not Tiff. Rough me up.”

Carl went down again, thinking Do it bro, fucking use me. He could feel Steve’s fingers wrap around his head and with surprising strength pull his face in as his cock swelled. Carl gagged hard and snorted, but thought, Kid means business. Good.

His gagging brought Steve up short, and he stopped his assault, but Carl growled in disapproval and slapped his buddy’s ass as hard as he dared. God it felt good to slap that ass hard, harder than he’d ever swat a woman. He wondered how far he could take it, as Steve stopped his retreat, smiled, and pushed in again.

Steve started to facefuck Carl. It was what he’d wanted to do, but obviously Tiff wasn’t the kind of girl who was going to go for it. Carl could sure take it though. Made sense, he was so much bigger than a girl, his mouth and throat had to be too. Not so big it was a walk in the park of course. Carl was gagging and coughing up thick strands of mucus and snot. Tiff would definitely not be down with that, but Carl didn’t give a shit. Every time he gagged he’d just take in another breath and go down on Steve again. It felt as if Carl desperately tried to channel all the fight in his throat towards his strong fingers, and they squeezed Steve’s ass with the same vigor that Steve himself forced down Carl’s face.

And honestly, Steve loved it. Of course he loved the facefucking, but he loved that brutal grip on his muscular glutes just as much, those huge hands manhandling his meaty butt. Steve had noted before how huge his bro’s hands and feet were, and he noticed it again, now, as those huge hands squeezed his hard buttcheeks. How huge they were. He figured that might mean other things were too.

Might as well find out, Steve thought, as he reluctantly dislodged his cock from Carl’s talented throat.

“I’ll do it,” he said, “I’ll suck you.”

Carl wiped the slime from his face and ran his fingers through his now sweaty hair and did his best to recline on the log. This wasn’t for show. He’d earned some reciprocation, and he wanted it. And knowing it was Steve - well fuck, sucking cock is pretty fucking gay for a straight dude, and Carl liked firsts. He liked the thrill. He liked the idea of his buddy going down on him. “Do it bro.”

Steve knelt on the ground and worked Carl’s cock with his hand. He’d seen Carl’s hand around it earlier, but with his big fucking mitt for scale it looked just big. But in Steve’s smaller hand it looked huge. A lot bigger than Steve’s, and intimidating. But thank God it wasn’t an ugly dick, if Steve had to put his mouth on it. Steve had never seen a cock up close before, not from this side, not the whole pink, veiny, throbbing reality of it. It was sturdy and thick, like Carl, mostly straight with just a slight curve and pale skinned. Steve kissed and licked it, and Carl made satisfying moans to encourage him.

He opened his mouth and took it in, not as deep as Carl did his, but he tried. God damn, Carl had a big dirty blond bush. He’d never gone down on a girl that hairy, even the most hairy kept it trimmed, and Tiff liked him to keep his own pubes clipped. She was a big believer in manscaping.

Pulling back, Steve asked, “Why’re you so hairy bro? Never heard of grooming?”

“I’m a man, bro.” said Carl, with a serious tone. He was missing Steve’s hot tongue on his junk. “Taste my balls."

The way Carl said it, his eyes and the set of his jaw, made Steve gulp. He opened wide to take one of those big pale hairy balls into his mouth, and let it slowly roll against his tongue, and then did it again. He did it with both balls, the one tender spot on his tough sturdy bro. He felt some power over Carl, for the first time, and that made him hungry for his buddy. He wanted Carl and wanted Carl in him. He opened his mouth around Carl’s meat, and went down and down, and when he felt that oversized knob pushing against his throat, he just swallowed and went further, till his sealed his lips as close to the base as he could get and let his throat swallow the head.

As he let Carl’s beast of a cock slide into his throat, Steve’s own balls churned out a load of precum. His nose buried in Carl’s wild bush made his heart race. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t believe what he was doing, it was that smell. Tiff smelled nice, like roses or cocoa. Sweet. Chemical. Steve never questioned it, thought that was what he should be smelling with his face between her legs. Carl smelled natural, like earth and sweat and pine needles.

Without thinking, Steve’s hand crept slowly towards where his own dick swayed back and forth. His hand slowly jerked his own cock as he released Carl’s from his throat, coughing. When it finally snapped out of his mouth, he mumbled “Honestly, I kinda dig it.“ His voice was thick with the buildup of mucus and precum coating his throat.

A wide grin spread slowly on Carl’s face. “Yeah?“ he asked.

For the first time in fifteen minutes, Steve met Carl’s teary eyes. “Yeah,“ he nodded.

Carl leaned in and planted a sloppy kiss on Steve’s mouth. His tongue rammed his buddy’s mouth that was filled with cock just moments earlier. Steve took every thrust, wrapping his own tongue around Carl’s on every withdrawal, begging for more. Fuck, Carl did love kissing, more than fucking in a way. And kissing a man’s mouth, especially one slick with his own precum, turned out to be even better. He didn’t have to worry about breaking Steve. He wondered what it would be like to kiss him while… but that was getting ahead of himself

“Well, you weren’t doing a bad job there buddy,“ Carl smiled, punctuating every few words with another kiss. “Fuck it, honestly, it feels amazing.”

Behind him Steve could hear Pan’s tongue clicking and something like a low growl.

“HE’s into it too,” Steve said, cocking his head back to indicate Pan. A few other throaty cat-calls indicated that Pan wasn’t the only one enjoying himself, and not all of the voices were male. “I’ve never done anything like this, but I’m so into it right now.”

“I think so too buddy,” said Carl. “The lawyer’s trying to get us off.”

“Heh, in more ways than one.”

“Just one thing,” Carl said, remembering what Steve said earlier about Tiff getting him off. He wrapped a hand around Steve’s ear, “Get your throat on my cock again, while I finger your hole. If that’s cool.”

To affirm just how cool it would be, how totally balls out fucking cool, Steve leaned in and took his buddy’s stiff cock as close to the musky root as he could get. The fat head hit his throat, and he simply pushed further. Just like Crossfit, he thought to himself, quitting is not an option, you can do it baby. With his nose in Carl’s bush, his eyes blinked open in wonder at how deep he’d taken it. Mesmerized by the feeling of that veiny fucker filling his throat, he stuck his tongue out and slobbered over Carl’s hairy balls.

9.

Carl gasped out loud as Steve swallowed him, “Fuckkk bro, oh my fucking God!”

He reached over with his big hand to slap Steve’s smooth ass, and then let his fingers trail down into his crack. He could feel a surge of precum gush out of his boner into Steve’s hungry mouth.
He lifted his hand from that meaty asscheek and spat on it to lube it up - and missed. He chuckled. Steve’s sucking had him off his rails completely. Carl pulled his hand closer, spat again and this time hit his fingers with a nice, thick, slimy batch, which he carefully brought towards its destination.

He hadn’t fucked an ass. He’d wanted to, of course. Funny thing was the girls skanky enough to do it didn’t interest him that much. Seemed somehow weird to Carl, knowing they didn’t have a prostate to make it feel good. Carl didn’t like games. He wanted to know where he stood. He wanted to do things with people who wanted to do them.

His fingers brushed Steve’s pucker, encouraging his buddy to swallow harder. In fact every time Carl touched his hole, Steve buried the erection deeper in his throat.

“That’s so good bro,” Carl, “you’re really getting me off.”

I can get off like this, thought Carl. That ought to satisfy those assholes. It was the best option, Carl decided, because even though Steve admitted he likes a pinky in his browneye when he nuts, no way was he going to want Carl’s 8 incher in his chute. Not if the goal here was pleasure. That meant only that Carl would have to bottom, unless they found another way.

Carl reached his hand down to his dripping cock and slid his first two fingers back into his buddy’s mouth. All that saliva was good lube, but the mix with precum was probably better. Then he ran the fingers back to Steve’s smooth ass and smeared his hole.

“Going in buddy,” Carl said, “Let me know if it’s not okayyyayyyyyAYYYYY”

Carl thought he’d gone as far down his buddy’s throat as he could, but when his fingers slid into his hole, Steve’s other side opened too. FUCK, Carl thought, trying to steady himself, that’s a talent.

“Oh my GOD,” Carl gasped, “I’m gonna lose it here. I hope - unffffff - you guys - are keeping fucking score!”

Steve arched his back and gave greater access to Carl’s fingers, as if to agree.

“If certain you are,” came the strange clicking voice of Pan. “that it may soften the heart of the revered virgin, huntress who delights in arrows and who sends out grievous shafts. The tops of the high mountains tremble and the tangled woods echo with the outcry of beasts when she raises her supple bow.”

“Fuck,” Carl said, his breath catching as Steve tries to deepthroat him, “Are you saying this isn’t enough?”

In response Pan just clicked his tongue.

Carl pulled Steve off his cock, slimed with mucus. It’s about the hardest thing he’s ever done, to stop this. But there’s a harder thing to come, he’s sure.

“Bro, I think we have to do it,”

“IT it?” asked Steve. “You seemed really close.”

“Fuck, I was gonna blow the top of your head off,” Carl answered, “But the lawyer seems to think we need more.”

“Well fuck,” Steve replied, looking down at both their dripping dicks. “There’s only… Have you ever…?”

“No man. Never.”

“I figured you would have… you’re so…” Steve gestured “manly.”

“Yeah so… bro. Look, bottom line, I’m bigger than you. A lot. If this is pleasure I don’t see how you’re gonna… I guess, bottom. So I’ll take it.”

“Are you sure bro?” asked Steve, astonished.

“Just… y’know, go easy on me buddy.”

10.

Carl got down on all fours and hiked up his ass for Steve. His buddy knelt behind him and brought his face down to Carl’s hairy crack.

“Whoa bro… you’re a little RANK down there,” complained Steve.

“Yeah sorry this is such a big sacrifice for you bro, I’ll just be here on my goddamn knees getting my guts rearranged while you suffer through fucking my ass.”

“Hey fuck you,” barked Steve, “this wasn’t my idea, You’re the one who shot the fucking deer---”

“Stag! It’s a STAG!”

“What the fuck ever Carl. You shot it, you lawyered up, it’s your tattoo!”

“They’re YOUR gods Steve! Stefanos!”

“Fuck you Carl. I’m only half Greek anyway.”

“That’s it,” says Carl, turning around to face Steve, “Just fuck my fucking ass so we can fucking go home. You Greeks invented ass fucking too, right? Then forget this ever happened, and do me a favor, don’t talk to me at the fucking office.”

“Yeah no problem bro. I really was looking forward to another weekend with your shitty beer and your shitty tent and your big giant feet that smell like rotten eggs!”

“SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP. You goddamn pussy whipped boy child.”

“No, you fuck ME if you’re going to be so pissy about it. I don’t even care.”

“You can’t take my dick. This is about pleasure, asshole.”

“Oh I can take your dick. You’re not as big as you think. Tiff has dildos as big as that.”

“Yeah well she’s not here is she?”

“I didn’t mean we use them on HER, dumbass.”

They went silent as what Steve said settled in to Carl’s head. “Oh,” he says. “Well that’s a different story.”

“Yeah, well, so now you know.”

“That’s cool, that’s cool bro. No judgment.”

“It’s cool of you to offer,” Steve said, “But I’m going to marry Tiffany. So if I don’t do this now I never will. And just, y’know, to know - to really know - what it’s like.” Steve leaned in to whisper to Carl, “And no offense dude, I’m a lot cleaner down there.”

Carl turned Steve around and gazed at his smooth ass, plying open the cheeks to expose a pink hole. “Looks like you could eat right off it,” he said.

“Chow down man,” Steve answered, bending over.

How much different can it be than eating snatch, thought Carl, though in truth he’d let his tongue make a sweep or two of the extra hole while doing just that before. And man, Steve had a sweet looking ass for a man or a woman. Kudos to Tiffany for whatever she did to get and keep him this way. I’ll have to buy her roses, he thought, as he spread her man’s cheeks apart and pressed his tongue into his tight bud.

The nymphs in the trees ululated their approval.

11.

Carl had made it a practice to eat pussy vigorously and for a long time before fucking. Not that he loved it that much. But you do what you have to do, and don’t owe anyone anything. Last thing he’d ever want to hear from a chick was he didn’t pay enough attention to her orgasm. Fuck that shit. So he always paid his due and then some to be safe.

There in Pan’s forest, with a dozen satyrs and as many nymphs watching, and two Greek gods in judgment, he applied the same dedication to Steve’s hole. He licked and sucked and prodded, moving on to tongue fuck his bro to within sight of a quaking orgasm. Steve didn’t want him ever to stop, beard burn or not.

And Carl could have gone on a lot longer. He got off on Steve’s appreciation, and the musky taste, and the surprising silky skin on his firm mounds. But he also needed to impress the judges, and couldn’t risk a misfire.

He got up on his knees and spat into his hand three times, and smeared his cock with it. He’d been oozing for so long there was a lot of precum too, more than he’d ever noticed himself make before.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he groaned, dropping down on Steve’s back so his chest and belly hair scraped against his buddy’s smooth skin, “if you want it still.”

Steve arched his back to turn his ass up and softly said, “Something Greek to satisfy Greek gods.”

Carl was almost giddy when he finally pressed the firm flesh of his cockhead against Steve’s dripping hole. He didn’t know how, but it felt so right, as if his entire life was fated to bring him to this moment, to slide the fat cock he was so proud of into his bro, knowing he wanted it - REALLY wanted it.

Fuck the gods, he thought as his meat plowed into Steve, I’d fucking do this for nothing.

Carl moved in slow, knowing this couldn’t be easy. But Steve rose to the occasion, his hole and chute stretching with each stroke, giving Carl open access to plow him.

“Unhhhh you like that bro?” asked Carl, managing a regular slow stroke.

“Ohmygod,” groaned Steve, fingers digging into the soil and leaves beneath him, “Yeah bro, it’s good.”

“As good as your dildos?” Carl asked, kissing Steve’s back, his beard scraping the smooth muscles there.

“It’s different,” Steve muttered between gasps, “easier honestly.”

Made sense, Carl thought. No dildo is going to be as flexible as even the hardest cock. Still, there’s a matter of pride. “Oh yeah?” he chuckled, popping one good hard thrust between otherwise steady strokes, pulling back and then driving in again.

“Oh FUCK!” Steve gasped, digging into the earth beneath him.

“It is different, bro” Carl said with a smile, masterfully shifting to a slower more tender stroke. “It’s tighter…” Steve squeezed his sphincter catching Carl by surprise “...unf buddy that’s good... then more open.”

Carl ran his furry arms around and under Steve to feel his supple muscles and cup his pecs. He didn’t know how to say the rest, the stuff that wasn’t about sphincters, but about how their bodies fit together. How it felt, after all his stag weekends and the closeness with other guys he enjoyed to being this close. This intimate.

“I want to cum in you buddy,” moaned Carl, truly meaning every word as he probed as deep as he could inside Steve, “You just feel soooo fucking good bro.”

“On my back,” replied Steve.

Cum on your back? Carl thought, but then he got it.

They worked together to turn him over, without Carl sliding out even once. It was tricky and they both laughed. Carl pressed himself down on Steve, both of them smeared with gritty dirt and crushed leaves and each other’s sweat. He kissed Steve tenderly, then more aggressively. Steve wrapped his legs around Carl’s strong waist and reached for his neck.

“Bro, I wouldn’t have picked this whole thing to happen,” Carl said, filling Steve up, “but if it had to happen, I’m glad it was with you,”

“Just fuck me,” answered Steve, surprised by his own words. He ran his fingers through Carl’s sweaty hair, leaving a matted peak on either side of his head, like horns. Someone in the darkness chuckled.

Carl was so used to holding back, not using his full strength. But Steve could take it - fuck, the harder Carl slammed him the more he moaned and jerked his own cock. And when he did, Carl felt more like himself than he had in a long time. He gulped and started a strong rolling fuck into Steve now. The satyr tattooed on his side gleefully waved on every thrust.

Carl’s big hardon deep in Steve felt incredible, but seeing what he was giving his buddy was putting him over the top. The plain pleasure in Steve’s own face, no games, no guile, his hard nipples and one hand stroking his own cock, the other one buried in Carl’s chest hair - it was almost more than Carl could take. But he needed to get Steve off. Not till you go buddy, he thought, not till you go.

“I’m gonna fuck the cum out of you buddy,” Carl said, struggling against his own churning balls.

Steve nodded yes, and Carl pounded him with everything he had. Their breathing was fast, almost hyperventilating, and Carl was just a snorting fuck machine, biting at his own bottom lip to fight his own cum. His swollen cockhead hit Steve’s prostate so hard it triggered a volley of hot white cum, painting Steve’s chest and abs, leaving Steve gasping and rolling his eyes.

“FUCK!” roared Carl as Steve’s spasming hole milked his cock. He could let it go, and he took in the sight of Steve, spewing his nut. Good God, the cum his buddy made with his own body like no woman could. Seeing his pleasure made into matter, Carl seized. All his muscles worked to push his own cum into Steve. He couldn’t believe he was really doing it, pumping a load INSIDE his buddy. Holy fuck, every pulse of it felt like he was filling Steve up.

Oh buddy, you’re beautiful, Carl thought. This is what we were made for.

He stayed in Steve until his body stopped quaking, and only then slid his erection out. He didn’t know if it would ever go down.

12.

Pan and Artemis stepped forth. Artemis looked none too pleased. Her violet lips were turned to the side as she assessed their naked bodies.

Fucking pissy Riot Grrrl. She reminded Carl of the b-list celebs who appeared on that talk show he worked on in LA for six months. Every day was a guessing game of which fragile ego felt disrespected or needed flattering. Worst six months of his life. Came scurrying home to Kentucky as soon as he could. He’d rather dig ditches than put up with that shit.

“Dread guardian Goddess,” said Pan, “with benign mind, auspicious come, to mystic rites inclined, what say you to this pairing? My terrain is greatly reduced from olden days, but I found such pleasures here as  I would gladly see again. I am most… inspired! Will you accept the sacrifice, to wash away past transgressions committed so grievously against your divine grace?”

“Here is more passion than the boars and mountain lions,” she said, smirking, “but for pleasure - for pleasure I am undecided.”

He looked up at her, still breathing hard. “You’re unsure?” he asked. “Lady, and I do say this with all due respect, but do you know anything about sex at all?” You look like an asexual bitch to me, he wanted to say, but restrained himself. Instead he ran a hand down Steve’s belly, scooping up his buddy’s cum on two fingers - the same fingers he’d earlier had in Steve’s holes, front and back. He held them up for Artemis to see Steve’s cum running down them, then slurped it into his mouth and swallowed. “Because THAT was pleasure right there, and if you can’t see it, I feel sorry for you.”

The goddess considered.

“There is Eros,” Pan advised, “if the matter stays undecided. To settle the score.”

Artemis recoiled at the thought of the winged one who respects no man or god or vow.

“Stay out of my hunt,” she said to Carl, with smoldering eyes, “if you are wise.”

She turned and departed, her nymphs with her.

Pan looked to Carl, and with a long finger pointed to his satyr tattoo. 

“You who bear my mark,” he said, “for my advocacy, payment is required.”

“Yeah, I figured,” answered Carl.

The horned god leaned in close and whispered in Carl’s ear. His musk, his animal scent of passion’s afterglow thick in the air.

“Okay,” said Carl, clear headed despite the heady odor. “I pay my debts. You’ll get your fee.”

Pan stepped back and said, “By my mark, where you go, so go I. As you do, so do I.” He pulled up his hood and asked, “But is it a heavy debt to do for the fee that which you would do anyway?”

Carl didn’t answer. He didn’t want to add another billable moment to this shyster’s account.

The god of the forest smiled his wicked smile and turned. He and his ashen satyrs faded back into the shadows of the forest, but the sound of a flute could be heard long even after they could not be seen.

13.

Carl pulled up to a stool at the Stumbling Goat bar. It was an isolated pub, closer to hunting grounds then the more populated areas of Killarney. Andy, the bartender, recognized him from stopping in a few days ago.

“Guinness stout?” he asked in his rolling Irish accent, and Carl nodded. Good bartender remembers what a man likes.

“Deer hunting?” Andy asked, taking note of Carl’s heavy coat and hoodie.

“Nah, don’t hunt much anymore,” Carl answered. It had been a few since he’d been out with Steve from work, and saw a silver stag. “Not for deer.”

Steve had announced his engagement, or more accurately Tiffany had announced it and instructed Steve to repeat it. He’d be having some lame stag party this week, so Carl had a good excuse to not go, though he didn’t tell anyone where he was going. Steve wouldn’t be taking any guy weekends for quite a long time by Carl’s estimation. What a disappointment he turned out to be. But if he wants to spend his life getting bossed around by the wife like a chump, what are you gonna do?

Carl watched Andy hit the tap. Looked like a stand up guy, a man’s man. Good V cut to his back. Nice strong haunches on him. Real nice.

The bar door opened as the only other patron left, and a chill breeze swept in. Carl could feel the tell tale draft on the hairy crack of his ass, beneath the jock strap band. He’d wondered if the strap would show when he sat. The small hairs say Yes, dude, it shows... it, and a lot of other stuff.

He looked to his phone and ran his finger over the apps. Grindr and Scruff installed. Not the scopes he’s used to. He’d need a hookup id, probably. SatyrCarl?

Andy placed an embossed beer glass, twenty ounces down on the bar. Carl could see he had good forearms. Thick and strong, well shaped. He’d noticed them last time he was in.

“From the US?” Andy asked, and Carl nodded yes as he raised the glass to his lips.

“Could tell by your accent,” Andy said. “Not that many from the US go for them. The stouts.”

“Yeah,” Carl replied, flicking the foam off his mustache with his tongue. 

“It’s an acquired taste.”