Reconnaisance
By Rusalka

The battle at the city walls was drawing to a close.  The corpses outnumbered the survivors now, and the incessant flow of blood had turned the ground to sticky, reddish-brown mud.  Clouds of oily black smoke -- the city's defenders had poured burning pitch from the walls -- drifted over the field, adding to the thick slaughter-house stench.  Vultures circled low, black against the pale gray sky, waiting for the feast to begin.

From a rise at the edge of the battlefield, a solitary figure watched the unfolding action with eyes far sharper than any scavenger's.

Cupid took a deep, contented breath, savoring the blood-scented air as he absentmindedly stroked the hilt of his sword with one hand.  A stray breeze ruffled the coal-black feathers of his wings.  He liked this strange new world he'd found; the people here really new how to throw a war.

He looked around curiously, searching for any sign of his counterpart.  He *had* to be present, at a battle of this magnitude.  What would he be like, Cupid wondered.  How strong was he?  How well would he be able to defend this fine world of his?  Did he have a weakness that could be exploited?  He just had to know…

The last of the attackers scattered, abandoning their shields and weapons, trampling the bodies of their fallen comrades in their desperation.  The defenders made a half-hearted attempt at pursuit, but they were too exhausted to do a proper job of it.  One by one they slowed, halted, and turned their efforts to the grim but necessary task of recovering the wounded.

Only one man kept moving.  Cupid had spotted him earlier as the leader of the besieged city, set apart by the quality of his armor and weapons, as well as by the way the men had deferred to his orders during the battle.  He looked like just another common soldier now, his breastplate dented and dulled, his hair matted with sweat and blood.  His tunic, a brilliant blue at the battle's start, was muddy-brown now.  He was bleeding from several cuts, swaying with exhaustion, barely able to keep a grip on his sword.

He was beautiful.

Even from a distance, Cupid could see it.  The mortal's head was lowered, hiding his face, but that didn't stop the god from appreciating the broad, powerful shoulders, the lean hips, the hard-muscled arms, bronzed by the sun and slick with blood and sweat.
Cupid made a sound deep in his throat, half-growl and half-purr, as he moved his hand from his sword hilt to his bulging crotch.

The mortal lifted his head, and Cupid caught his breath.  The face lived up to the body -- high, elegant cheekbones, strong jaw, a lush, sensual mouth… Something about the features struck Cupid as familiar.  He frowned for a moment, concentrating, then caught his breath as the realization sunk in.

*Ares?*

It wasn't really him, of course.  This was a mortal, not a god; and his face and body held no trace of Ares' softness.  Still, the resemblance to the God of Love was unmistakable.

The recognition only served to increase Cupid's arousal.  He rubbed the heel of his hand up and down against his erection, gasping slightly as his cock twitched against the leather.  He had fucked Ares a few times, and enjoyed it well enough, but there was always something missing.  The Love God was too soft, too compliant, too easily persuaded to indulge his dark lover's every whim.  There was no fight in him.  There would be fight in this mortal…

Cupid's pulse quickened at the thought.  His cock was painfully hard now, his trouser laces stretched almost to snapping point.  A moment's impatient thought, and the pants disappeared, leaving him clad only in his boots and the studded leather harness that held his sword.  Cupid moaned softly as he wrapped his fingers around his shaft and began to slide his hand back and forth.  The mortal was still moving.  In a few moments he would be out of sight of the others, and then Cupid would come down to the field and take him.  He would push him to his knees in the dirt and shove his cock between those soft, beautiful lips.  He would tear the clothes right off that gorgeous body, rake his nails across that smooth skin, fuck that perfect, tight ass over and over and over and…

A flash of blue light seared the air, and suddenly there was a new player on the battlefield.  His back was turned toward Cupid, showing off an impressively muscled body and a shoulder-length tangle of black hair.  Cupid's eyes narrowed as he forced himself to focus through the dreamy haze of his arousal.  This had to be *him*, his future adversary, this world's God of War.  Even if the black leather and the massive sword at his side hadn't made it clear, the newcomer's aura of dark, violent power was unmistakable.  Cupid wove a quick concealment spell around himself, not yet willing to be detected by his counterpart.  This was a reconnaissance expedition only.  He would fight when he was ready.

"Congratulations, Iphicles," the other god growled, raising one hand to cup the mortal's face.  "Victory is yours."

"No."  Iphicles turned his head slightly to brush his lips against his god's palm.  "It's yours.  I fight in your name, as I always have.  For the glory of Ares."

*Ares?!*  For a moment, all Cupid could do was stand and stare in blank disbelief.  Then he spread his black wings and rose into the air, circling around until he could see the other god's face.

It was true.  Even with the beard, there was no mistaking that face.  Ares was the God of War in this world.  Cupid threw his head back an laughed.  Oh, this was just too delicious.  Too perfect.  And if what he was beginning to suspect was true…  He hovered, watching and waiting.

God and mortal stood with their arms around each other, their bodies pressed close together, gazing into each other's eyes with palpable desire.  As Cupid watched, Ares put one hand on the back of Iphicles' neck and drew him into a deep, passionate kiss.  His other hand slid around the man's hip to cup his ass.  Iphicles groaned and rocked forward, twining his fingers in Ares' dark hair.  Ares shuddered and closed his eyes.  Even through the dampening effect of the concealment spell, Cupid could feel the god's desire for his lover -- an intense, consuming need that went far deeper than simple lust.  And the burning look in Iphicles' eyes spoke of far more than ordinary run-of-the-mill worship.

Cupid's mouth twisted into a slow, feral smile as he reached down to stroke his cock once again.  This was going better than he'd hoped.  Not only had he found the other God of War, but he had discovered his weakness.  All he had to do now was to get his hands on the mortal, and this world was his for the taking.  And this lovely matched pair of lovers would be his trophies, the spoils of victory.  Ah, the things he would do…  Cupid closed his eyes and let his imagination run wild, filling his mind with images of future pleasures, until the present pleasure grew too intense and his cock pulsed in his fist, spilling a warm stream of semen over his fingers.

When he opened his eyes again, Ares was naked, and Iphicles was on his knees in the mud, bending his head toward his lover's erect cock.  Cupid would've liked to stay and watch, but he restrained the desire.  The longer he stayed, the higher were the chances of his being detected, and he wanted surprise on his side.  There would be plenty of time later, both for watching and for doing.

With one final, regretful glance, Cupid, God of War returned to his own world to plan his next conquest.