Pity
By Strandia

Your eyes are wide and shocked, shocked like I've never seen them before. You were always prepared for everything I threw at you, and you always bested me.  No, you didn't just best me.  You laughed at me, stepped on my attempts, made me a joke.  It had come to the point where nothing I did ever seemed to affect you.

Until, I dare say, now.  I touch you harder, keeping it slow and deliberate, and those eyes that were wide seconds ago flutter and close, then open again, locking with mine.  Keep them open.  I want you to watch me.

You pity yourself, living between worlds.  You're not a god, not a mortal. You think of yourself as a freak, an outsider, someone who cannot belong anywhere.  That's why you never took me seriously, knowing that you, a mortal in so many ways, could best me, a god.  You wanted to be me, then, when you realized you were as strong as I was.  You would do better at the job; you would appreciate the people, be compassionate.  You would understand where they were coming from.

That's your problem, Hercules.  You think you're smarter than me, smarter than everyone. So you laugh, and you pity, and you play hero.  You're not a hero.

"Ares," you say as I drop to my knees, as I close my lips around the head of your cock, as I swirl my tongue around the tip, slowly tasting you.  You're leaking for me, aching for me.  Your hands bury in my hair, clench, unclench, pull, and it doesn't matter because I feel no pain.

You stopped hating me a long time ago, and instead began to pity me.  But I never stopped hating you.  Everything about you drew me towards you, yes, but repulsed me at the same time.  You have beauty, strength, heroism, morality, and a family that loves you.

Yes, I hated you.   And every time I lost to you, every time I left not wanting to reveal my weakness, every single time, I vowed revenge.

No, not revenge, but vindication.  I don't just want to make you pay, Hercules.  I want to prove how weak you really are.  I want to knock you down, make you grovel.  You can feel my pain, for once.

I know it's working when I pull away and you reach after me, a wordless exhalation of need falling from your lips.  I've made you need me.  Good.  I 'll make you crave me.

But no, I won't leave you like this.  This, you could brush off in a few days, write off as an aspect of my mercurial nature.  Gods live by different rules than mortals, right?  No.  I'm going to make you realize how much you need me, how much smarter I am than you.

You smiled when I appeared before you, today.  You smirked, actually, on the verge of rolling your eyes.  You said something like "What's wrong now?" like I was some kid coming to ask you for help.  An annoying brother.  But now, here you are, blinking at me with your big wide eyes, begging me without words to continue.

I reach out and caress your cheek, being sure not to smile as I do so.  I move both hands to your shoulders, urging you to your knees, and offer you my hard cock.  You take it into your mouth without resistance, your eyes straining upwards to meet mine as I look down at you.

I told you, earlier, that I was just there to offer some brotherly advice. Then you did roll your eyes, because obviously there's nothing I could teach you, is there?  You know everything, you can handle everything, you're ready for everything.

You're sucking me with an inexperienced abandon that impresses me, and when our eyes catch, it's electric.  Are you thinking that if you'd only known it would be like this, this might have happened earlier?  Are you thinking about how beautiful I am?  How strong?

I can't help but close my eyes as your tongue sweeps around my cock, and I growl at the light scrape of your teeth against me.  I bury my hands in your hair and hold your head still, and I begin to thrust into your hot mouth.  I can feel your need, feel how much you want this.  I hear you whimper, and you take my cock down your throat on my next thrust, and I can't help it, I' m coming in your mouth, groaning your name, clutching your head hard enough to hurt you.

I slowly unclench my hands, and you pull back, panting.  You look like a desperate worshiper, one of the men who show up at my temple willing to do anything just for an audience with me.  You lick your lips, catching a drop of come leaking from the corner of your mouth, and then you smile at me.

I smile back, convincingly because now you're grinning, pushing yourself off the ground, reaching up to me.  You want to say something, but can't decide what, so you kiss me, and I let you.

Are you thinking that you're in love with me, Hercules?  I hope so.

The End