DISCLAIMER:
The characters belong to Studios USA and Renaissance Pictures and were used without permission. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made.

WARNING:
This story contains explicit male/male and male/female sexual relations, non-consensual sex and bdsm.

This story takes place before the end of, and in the same continuity as, An Audience of One.

You can find more stories by Thamiris at The Ksmithares Archive and Odysseys and Ecstasy

Send feedback to thamiris@mail.com

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Triumvirate
by Thamiris

Part I

"But he's mortal," the black-winged angel hissed.

I said nothing, remaining seated on the scarlet divan, one leg crossed over the other. This tattooed god both intrigued and repulsed me. Unwilling to untangle my response, I decided to let Ares sort this out. If the three of us fucked, wonderful. If not...my war god could satisfy me.

Impatiently, Ares tapped one ringed finger against the hilt of his sword. The noise echoed hollowly in the chamber. "You wanted a threesome. I'm giving you one. No god can match Caesar's depravity, I promise you. He defines perversity in this world. I doubt even your lust for blood can match his, Cupid."

Ares glared at me when I snorted at the ridiculous name. "Cupid? Somehow that detracts from your impact," I said with a pointed smile.

The room darkened in an ebony flash as the violent god hurtled toward me. Before I could react, he'd pinned my arms behind me, hard thighs capturing mine. "Where I come from, men tremble when they hear that name. The name of ‘desire.' Desire for violence, desire for death--" he paused, staring at me with those oddly familiar black eyes, his face inches from mine, "desire for sex."

I inhaled the spicy scent pouring from his heated body, as my cock hardened. He was crude, but effective. I'd made up my mind. I wanted him.

Leaning closer still, he outlined my parted lips with his sweet pink tongue. "You can call me Eros, mortal. When you cum."

His wings rustled, and I wondered if he'd let Ares and I tie him up--assuming Ares was strong enough to lock handcuffs on his counterpart, should Eros not cooperate. I'd love to explore those silky black feathers at my leisure, with my fingers, my tongue...and perhaps a small, very sharp knife.

I let the winged god kiss me, savoring his tongue and Ares' eyes on us. Then I pushed him back. "Delicious as you are, I prefer some mental stimulation before the physical foreplay. A mind-fuck, if you like."

When his onyx eyes began to glow with excitement, I knew I'd found a soulmate.

"What do you have in mind, Caesar?" Ares asked, sitting beside me on the couch, casually draping one arm around my shoulder. His huge cock, permanently erect, looked ready to burst through the skintight leather.

This was going to be a glorious day. "A little pain, a little violence, Ares. Seduction, deception, devastation. An unholy triumvirate. Are you up to it?"

The bearded god took my hand, placing it on his cock. "I'm always up to it."

Eros climbed off my lap to sit on my other side, putting my right hand on his massive erection. I stroked them both, enjoying the double hiss of breath. "Of course you are, Ares," I commented ironically. "But this little plan will take some finesse, some delicacy."

Beside me, the other god laughed--a dark, disturbing sound. Glancing at him, I saw his black eyes watching me speculatively. Less human than Ares, yet more subtle. "Tell me your plan, mortal. Let me hear what kind of game you want to play."

"There's a boy--" I began.

"There always is," interrupted Eros. His fingers were on my upper thigh, lightly stroking me under my tunic. I tried to suppress my shiver.

"This is a very special boy. I saw him during one of my expeditions to Gaul. He's a monk in his early twenties. Very devout. Has visions, he believes, from his god. I want to tempt him. I want to send him one beautiful god," I nodded at Eros, "and one beautiful demon," a nod at Ares. "To stage what you Greeks would call a psychomachia: a battle between light and darkness, good and evil. The winner, of course, gets the boy. But he also gets to bind the loser."

"And what do you get out of this, mortal?" His nails now raked my skin.

"I'm the judge of this contest, Eros. I get to watch, to evaluate, to ensure that the loser is... properly punished. And the winner completely satisfied. It's for this reason only that I didn't raze the monastery to the ground. I reserved it for my future pleasure."

Another rumble of laughter. He reached behind me to caress the other god's shoulder. "Ares. I stand corrected. Your mortal is quite...fascinating."

His hand closed suddenly around my cock, and his teeth found my throat, just as Ares rose to his feet, standing before us. "Let's go. I'm ready for victory."

Eros ignored him, pulling me across his lap, his tongue snaking into my mouth. He kissed me deeply, then looked up from my prone body at the war god. "So am I, Ares. Starting here."

How arousing, to be a contested site between my familiar god, and this new, dangerous one. I wondered which of them would win. Eros' beauty--the grave-dark wings, decorated skin and murderous smile--was as striking in its own way as Ares', with his glossy curls, bronze skin and pouty lips. Hard to choose between such perfection.

The dark head descended again to kiss me. Unused to the passive position, extended on my back with my head resting on his knees, I found myself almost delirious with excitement. I closed my eyes to regain control, but Eros' probing tongue and stroking fingers tantalized me. Then the couch creaked as Ares joined us. While the winged god continued to rub my cock, the other one took the swollen end in his mouth.

With my left hand, I reached down, pulling out Eros' huge erection from its leather confine, and began jerking him off in a quick, measured rhythm. The head of his cock leaked onto my fingers, and I stopped long enough to lick off the sticky liquid. Did his wings taste like that? Honey mixed with cinnamon and cardamom?

The combination of that speculative thought, his fingers and Ares' tongue pushed me to an orgasm so intense I panicked. But no seizure occurred. Just wave after wave after wave of pleasure, as I spilled my semen in the war god's mouth.

When I'd finished cumming, Eros shifted, turning to lie along the length of the sofa, leaning carefully against the armrest. I moved, too, climbing between his thighs and bending to lick his cock. Behind me, Ares pushed up my tunic to poise the thick head of his cock against my ass.

When he shoved himself inside me, the action forced me down on Eros' cock, which slid to the back of my throat. I'm not sure which of us groaned loudest. Me, possibly. Nothing like having your mouth and your ass fucked by two violently seductive warrior-gods to redefine the perimeters of desire.

I tried to focus on the delicious cock in my mouth, while Eros stroked my hair and Ares slammed into me. The winged god murmured promises of what he intended to do to a Gaelic monk under my watchful eye, while Ares moaned his appreciation of my tight heat.

My cock, rubbing against the soft velvet, stiffened. Another contest was taking place, and I intended to win. Wrapping my fingers around Eros' shaft, cupping his heavy balls in my other hand, I then sucked him with all of the practice I'd gained in a very decadent life. At the same time, I thrust back against Ares, meeting him stroke for stroke, using my muscles to milk his cock just the way he loved.

The god in my ass came first, shouting, pumping hot semen inside me, licking up the sweat that pooled at the base of my spine. At the cry, the god in my mouth began to spurt, flooding my tongue with a spicy-sweet liquid unlike any I'd ever tasted.

I sat up, ruining the couch as Ares' seed trickled from me. Pointedly, I took my cock in hand, and stroked myself.

"Ares, let him fuck you."

"I'd like to fuck you," I told him quietly, but loud enough for the other to hear.

"Trying to play us off each other?" Eros asked.

I looked into his cold eyes. "That's only part of it."

"Fuck Ares for now. Maybe I'll let you have me another time." He shrugged. "Maybe not."

During this conversation, Ares reclined at the other end of the couch, his knees bent. I'm not even sure he paid attention. If I'd evoked any jealousy, he didn't show it. Someone would fuck or suck that hard cock of his--he knew it. If we wouldn't do it, thousands were lined up to take our place.

"Will you watch, Eros?" I asked, keeping my tone light.

He nodded, rising to his feet and moving behind Ares' head. His wings unfolded for a moment, and I noticed a faint, incandescent powder fall from them, perfuming the air. As I crawled between the other god's legs, I stared at Eros, as he crossed his arms over his bare chest. The tattoos, blue swords topped by dancing flames, emphasized his curved biceps, and I admired his hard muscles as I slid into Ares' tight ass.

The winged god smoothed Ares' dark curls as I rammed into him. Purposefully, I made my strokes brutal; my war god liked it rough. I didn't even touch his cock, using all of my energy to pound his ass as viciously as I could.

Reaching down between his tensed thighs, Ares rubbed the liquid oozing from his cock onto the head, then began to tug at his erection. "Harder, Caesar. Fuck me harder."

"Yes, Caesar. Fuck him as hard as you can."

Eros' words aroused me, and I fucked Ares furiously, knowing that he would heal any tears I made in his flesh. He was sweating, and so was I. Ares ran his hand down my slick chest, wetting it, then used the sweat to lubricate his shaft.

"I'd like to lick your ass, Ares, after his orgasm," Eros said, looking directly at me. With a harsh cry, I came, as he knew I would, shuddering inside the other god's trembling body. On some level I knew that Ares was cumming, too, could feel his semen spraying my chest and stomach.

When I could, I climbed off the couch, kneeling on the cool tiled floor, as the winged god replaced me between Ares' still quivering thighs. Grasping the other god's legs, lifting them higher, Eros lowered his head and lapped at the creamy fluid running from Ares' ass. I watched it collect on his tongue, before he closed his mouth to swallow.

"Caesar, look forward to the day I'll drink the semen straight from your cock," he told me, as he licked up the last drops. "Maybe in Gaul, after I fuck this pious boy of yours."

"In Gaul," I said, and smiled.

The next day, we went to Gaul, to a monastery in the western province, not far from Poitiers. Here, in this austere complex of grey stone, set on a hill above a serpentine river, the monks worshipped some obscure pagan god: Belenus, the Shining One.

In their pantheon, Belenus' counterpart was Taranis the Thunderer--god of fire, vengeance and death.

We appeared in the monastery's empty church, an arcaded structure with painted walls and carved columns of heavy grey stone occasionally banded with an inlay of red clay. As they looked around, Eros asked why I'd made him the virtuous god, and Ares the evil one. I pointed to one brightly-colored mural decorating the wall to the south of the main aisle. "Don't worry--I'm not implying any beneficence on your part. But look how they depict their adored Belenus."

We moved to the fresco. The talented artist had depicted the god in majesty, ruling over the devout congregation collected beneath him. Belenus' feet rested on a gold sphere made of inlaid gold leaf, obviously representing the sun. His arms were open, a beatific smile on his lean, handsome face. He looked like a mortal in all respects, except one: behind him, extending several cubits, spread a pair of glistening, coal-black wings.

"You'll need to copy the short white robe. And make sure that you accurately reproduce his jewelry. It's not merely decorative; each piece is symbolic."

In a flash, Eros stood draped in the tunic, exposing his long legs, elegant feet now clad in leather sandals. His bracers and silver rings had vanished. Leaning forward, he studied the other god's intricate gold adornments. On one ankle, Belenus wore a linked chain comprised of stylized human figures. An identical one appeared on Eros.

"I think I'll keep this as a memento," he observed, looking down. "I like it."

So did I.

Next, two rings appeared, one on each ring finger. The left one featured a feline-looking owl, with coral chips for eyes and a long, wide nose, with a beard of feathers in place of a body. Three sheaves of wheat were affixed to the heavy gold band of the other.

Two armrings followed. An eel formed the back of one, its head and tail each connected to an elongated griffin, while a ram's head topped with triple horns filled the remaining center section. Slender, it now encircled Eros' left arm, just below one tattoo. The other armring, thicker than the first, covered part of his right one. The goldsmith for this second band had carefully etched a geometric pattern of chevrons and lozenges, intertwined with wavy vines, onto its surface.

"Keep the left one," I told him, my cock hardening as I admired the way it emphasized the rounded muscle above it. "The right's beautiful, too, but you don't want to hide the body paint. It...suits you."

Eros turned from the mural to stare at me, as the rest of the jewelry appeared on his body, including a short, thin necklace of beaten gold depicting a series of intertwined animals. The last piece, a small loop of wound gold wires, appeared in his earlobe. "What about these? Should I keep them, too?"

He knew, of course, how he looked. The gold jewelry gleamed against his tanned skin, highlighting his dark coloring--made him look exotic.

"Keep it all," I advised.

Ares, who'd been wandering around the church, returned to gaze with desire at Eros. "Nice," he said simply, before sliding an arm around the other god, pulling him close for a deep kiss.

I'd never seen them together, and it excited me. The kiss seemed almost violent, and I wasn't surprised when Ares drew back to reveal blood running down his chin from a bite to his lip. I watched as Eros deliberately licked off the dark fluid.

"Come here, mortal," he commanded.

The hot blood on his tongue tasted almost like semen--thick and salty--and I sucked it, enjoying the flavor of divinity. "Now show us Taranis, the Thunderous One."

I led the two gods up the nave to the crossing. Mote-filled light shone through the few windows high above our heads, and I could smell the incense more strongly, as it wafted toward us from the altar.

Ares glanced around, searching for the figure he would play. "So where is he?" he demanded, his powerful voice echoing through the building.

"Look down," I instructed. "He is the death-god, after all. What better place for him than down?"

All eyes fell to the large, circular mosaic at our feet. The craftsman had used black, red and cream stones for Taranis: black for the eyes, wavy hair, beard and for the full-length robe that clung to his muscular frame, revealing the outline of a long cock; red for the full lips; cream for the skin. If Belenus was handsome, Taranis was eerily beautiful.

Around the god floated his attributes, giving the scene a dreamlike quality. To his left, red and yellow flames burned--a reminder of the followers of Taranis who appeased his appetite for destruction with self-immolation. Their tortured faces were scattered below the god, mouths open in horror, eyes squeezed shut against the pain of their misguided faith. Between them lay the instruments of their eternal agony: a two-headed whip, a dripping knife, a burning brand. A wheel sat to Taranis' right, symbol of his control over fortune. Finally, above the god's head, rested a black horse with ruby eyes--Taranis was also a fertility god, one whose seed produced only monstrous, deformed offspring.

Ares waved his hand, and his leather disappeared, replaced by Taranis' long black robe. His dark curls spilled to his shoulders, and he looked like a priest of death. An irresistible priest. "How come this outfit's so plain?" he asked, looking enviously at Eros.

"Belenus is gold-adorned because when he was killed by a jealous rival, his favorite followers showed their respect by each laying a piece of jewelry on their leader's bloody corpse. They represent not wealth, but loyalty, devotion and victory over death," I explained. "Taranis wears no jewelry because he's not entitled to it."

"How do you know so much about this religion?"

I turned to Eros. "During my last trip to western Gaul, my troops pillaged the mother- house. They brought me the bishop, a corrupt would-be courtier named Theodulf. Between blowjobs, he talked about both gods--he secretly followed Taranis, and wanted to convert me."

"How did you kill him?"

"I crucified him. Upside down, facing the god he dared to worship in place of Caesar."

"I remember that," Ares said. Abruptly, he left the crossing, moving forward to the altar further to the east. We followed him. Standing before the large sacrificial table, he cleared it with one sweep of his black-sleeved arm, sending the candles, incense holder, gold cup and embroidered cloth crashing to the floor, before sitting on it, facing us. His robe, with its slit up the front, slid open, revealing the erection between his spread thighs. "You displayed Theodulf's crucified body outside the monastery, flanked on either side by three of his most attractive monks--after you and I had raped each of them, one at a time, before the whole congregation. On an altar like this one."

Heat flooded my body, and I went to him. Placing my hands on his bare thighs, I leaned forward, licking the head of his cock before closing my lips around it.

"Remember their screams, Caesar?" he whispered above me. "Remember the blood?"

Oh, I did, and my cock stiffened in response. I heard Eros' feet on the smooth stone behind me, heard the rustle as he raised his tunic, then mine. His fingers closed around my shaft just as he pushed his huge oiled cock into me.

The suddenness of the entry made me gasp. The winged god's cock was slightly thicker than Ares', though not quite as long, as it stretched my ass in a deliciously painful way. "Tell me more about this day," Eros ordered.

Ares, hips thrusting up to fuck my mouth, obliged him, and I listened to that bloody, violent story while Eros tore my flesh and rubbed my cock to a massive climax. My shudders brought them both off, and I felt the warm pulse of semen in my ass and in my mouth while Ares, panting, spoke of slitting a monk's throat just as I'd sucked the young Gaul to orgasm.

Eros, when he'd finished, eased his tongue inside me to lap up his semen. I envied him.

"So when do we get to see your visionary?" Ares asked. "I'm looking forward to his lips around my cock."

A bell tolled in the tower at the crossing. "He should be here shortly. We should move. Can you take us up one level? There's a chamber above the altar where the monks display their holy relics. Can you see it? If you make us invisible, we'll be able to watch from there."

The bearded god rose, fixed the altar decorations, then instantly transported us to our lookout just as the church doors opened, and a procession of black-robed monks entered, chanting a prayer to Belenus.

As the congregation took their places in the wooden pews, I studied the crowd of twenty- five or so, looking for Alcuin. I finally spotted him, sitting alone, off to the side.

"I have a little surprise for you, Ares," I said. "Look at him--he's over there. With the broad shoulders and the copper curls."

When the god's searching eyes found the beautiful face of the young man, he laughed. "Caesar, you truly are a genius. No wonder I love fucking you. This monk--he looks just like Iphicles."

Part II

We stood close together in the small treasury, invisible to the praying monks in the church below us, although we could see them clearly through the room's large window. On the window's ledge, over a piece of embroidered blue cloth, a priest had carefully displayed the monastery's few precious relics--the physical objects, each connected with the god, they'd infused with so much power.

I looked at these objects while the other two stared down at Alcuin. Theodulf, my talkative Gaelic lover--whose broken body had been collected from its crucifix by his surviving brethren, and itself turned into an object of veneration--had spoken often of these relics. He'd planned to take them back to his own monastery at Noyon-Sur-Rive. Not for their holiness, of course--the relics attracted large crowds on the rare occasion when the jealous monks allowed public access. Theodulf wanted the gold to indulge his rather exotic tastes for pleasure.

The first object, a heavy silver bowl decorated with human-headed cattle and gold handles shaped like roaring lions, could cure the sick, heal the wounded. Twice a year, on the day Belenus was born, and on the day he died, the monks allowed the neighboring townspeople into their church, where they could approach the altar and drink from the bowl that once contained the hot, red blood of the dying god.

After his spirit left the cooling body, Belenus' disciples had each sipped from the dish, imbibing the divine essence. The blood, still warm on their tongues, had transformed them, and, like Belenus, they'd become gods. One of these followers was Taranis. His murderer.

The second object, a sacrificial knife, with a sharp, serrated edge and a silver handle shaped like a grinning fox, was displayed to advantage on a silver stand, the blade pointing down. Belenus had been slain with this knife, so the monks believed. Taranis, furious over the attention the other man received for his piety, had crept into Belenus' chamber one night, dark eyes shooting flames--as the legend says--and plunged this very knife into his rival's heart. As Belenus lay dying, black blood trickling from his lips as he stared at his betrayer, Taranis had raped him. Then the dark disciple slipped unseen from the room.

By the time the others knew of the attack, Belenus was unconscious, his bed soaked in blood. Collecting as much of the precious fluid as possible, they'd passed it amongst themselves. Taranis had drunk with the others--and only then, with knowledge born of divinity, did the new gods realize they'd given immortal life to a demon.

The final object displayed on the ledge, the one most easily visible to the monks below, was a statue of Belenus himself, seated cross-legged, with animal hoofs in place of human feet. For the god's eyes, the artist had used round pieces of black-and-white glass. Only one, however, remained intact; the other socket was empty.

Reputedly, the gleaming outer layer came from the melted jewelry Belenus' devastated followers had placed on his corpse. This exterior shell supposedly contained the martyr's internal organs, including his savaged heart, preserved for posterity in the statue's flat, golden belly.

Looking down at the eery one-eyed gaze of the god, I sensed that the Shining One didn't approve of our plot to bring Alcuin orgasmic torment.

Eros interrupted my reverie. "He's beautiful, your monk," he observed. "Unusual coloring. And Iphicles...?"

"Iphicles is the king of Corinth," I told him. "A favorite toy of Ares. He's too tame in bed for my tastes but, like the monk, is a lush masturbatory vision. The muse of obsessive desire. I'm surprised you haven't met him."

The winged god glanced over at me. "Jealous, mortal?"

I shook my head, but he knew that I lied. "I have my own gift."

"Which is...?"

"A talent for inventive violence."

Ares, focused on the praying monk below us, interrupted our flirtation. "He doesn't have Iphicles' body."

"No--he's narrower through the shoulders and chest. Leaner."

"Very nice," the dark god noted. "I'll enjoy fucking him."

Eros, stroking my back, flashed Ares a skeptical look. "You do realize that I have the advantage here? When I appear to him as his shining god, he'll beg to suck my cock...It's almost too easy."

I leaned into his hand. "Not quite that easy." I permitted myself a small smile. "One expects the devil to offer physical temptation, and when Ares makes him with that delectable offer, Alcuin's choice will be clear." My hand slid under the sleeve of Ares' robe, and I smoothed the soft hair on his forearm. "Your insistence on sex will confuse him. He's an ascetic, and will be understandably suspicious if someone claiming to be his sexless god demands erotic worship. He may be innocent, but he's far from stupid. I chose him very carefully."

The winged god's hand moved lower, caressing my ass. "You're very clever. Who do you think will win this competition, Ares or me?"

"The more dominant one, of course. The stronger one. The one for whom submission is most distasteful." I paused for effect. "The true god of war."

Beside me, Eros stilled, his rage gathering. With one hand, he picked up the small silver bowl on the shelf before us, holding it against my chest. With the other, he took the sacrificial knife, placing it at my throat. "Don't be too clever, mortal. It makes me...thirsty."

Ares now watched us. "Excess is Caesar's speciality." He pushed the blade from my jugular vein. "It's what makes him interesting. Besides, if you kill him now, the contest will be over." The vulpine smile flashed. "And I really want to chain you to my bed, Eros, and fuck your sweet, helpless ass until you bleed."

"Funny, Ares--I was thinking the same thing about you."

The moment passed, and Eros returned the knife to the stand. I stopped him, however, before he replaced the silver basin on the stone ledge, taking his hand and lowering it until he reached my groin. He tensed when I touched him, but didn't protest. Pulling out my hard cock, I began to jerk off into the bowl.

"You miscalculated, Eros," Ares said, turning back to the window. "Caesar, unlike other men, doesn't believe in his own mortality, so your threat only flatters him." His hand went to his own cock under the midnight robe.

Eros moved so that he stood behind Ares and I, holding the bowl between us. I reached out and fingered the tip of one wing, rubbing lightly. It felt moist and cool, and when I pulled my finger away, the end was covered in a luminous powder, which I spread onto the head of my cock. Then, with one hand stroking the head, the other sliding quickly along the shaft, I pleasured myself. Sacrilege always aroused me.

As I was about to cum, Eros whispered in my ear, "One day, mortal, I'll flatter you into eternal darkness."

I shuddered to ecstasy on his words, covering the bottom of the dish with my semen. Ares followed me, and I watched as the pearly seed spurting from his huge cock mixed with mine. When he'd finished, I took the bowl from Eros. "I want to anoint you."

"Mark me, you mean." But he nodded, lured by the idea of worship. His white robe disappeared, and he stood naked before us, clad only in gold and body paint. A vision.

Kneeling before him on the cold stone floor, I dipped two fingers into the warm semen, and dabbed the liquid onto his left nipple before smoothing it into the tanned skin. I did the same with the right. Eros' thick cock jumped, but I didn't lick it, although the sight and spicy smell rising from between his thighs excited me.

I collected more cum on my fingers, and spread it down the center of his chest, flattening the line of dark hair. Ares stepped behind me, cock pressed against the back of my head. Reaching over me, he traced the path of my fingers, stopping, like I did, where Eros' hair thickened. Then he pulled his fingers back. I could hear him sucking them clean.

Wetting my fingers a third time, I smeared the milky fluid onto Eros' balls, coating one, then the other, until they glowed faintly in the candlelight.

"Do his cock," Ares dictated.

His voice had gone low and deep, and I knew his eyes would be half-closed, full lower lip caught between his teeth. I looked up to see the face of Eros, as I slicked cum onto the velvety skin of his perfect cock. He stared back at me, dark brows drawn, cheeks streaked with sweat. His lips were slightly parted, and his tongue darted out to wet them.

I returned my attention to his swollen cock, using the last of the semen to cover it. Then, finally, I licked the head, savoring the combination of flavors. Ares, not wanting to be left out, had moved again, this time standing thigh to thigh with Eros, his cock extended.

Gripping each thick cock by the base, I pressed them tightly together. Then I opened my mouth and engulfed both heads. This was power. To have them both at once, on my tongue. To control their desire at the same time.

The ultimate aphrodisiac.

As I ran my tongue over the hot flesh filling my mouth, the ecstatic prayer from below grew louder, bouncing off the stone walls of the treasury. I sucked the two god-cocks to the cadence of the chant.

When the heads were thoroughly wet, I drew back, then rubbed them together, mixing their semen. They liked that--their breathing quickened. Wanting them more aroused, out of control, I began to lick them alternately: first Eros, then Ares, then back to Eros. My fingers never stopped gliding along their shafts.

Ares lost control first, pushing me back so that I fell on my ass, then hooking his arms behind my knees. With one hard thrust, he penetrated me with the saliva-slick head of his cock.

I watched his face, saw his cheeks flush, then his eyes roll back before closing. Pinching his nipples, I let him fuck me hard, and within minutes he was grunting as his cock pulsed semen inside me.

"He's yours now, if you want him." he said to Eros, pulling his cum-smeared cock from my ass. "I'm finished."

Eros called me clever, but so was Ares. I forgot sometimes, distracted by his beauty. The god encouraged it with his characteristic pose of silent physical power: legs parted aggressively, massive arms folded over his strong chest, fingers gripping the pommel of his sword. He knew the advantages of our underestimation.

What would Eros do? Ares had reversed his own defeat here: Eros, by finishing last, was forced to accept the other god's seconds. Not flattering to me, of course. I waited to see if the winged god could redeem us.

"Oh, I want him," he replied, advancing toward me.

Disappointment filled me. He wasn't going to play. But Eros, rather than mindlessly shoving his cock in my ass, pulled me to my feet and up against his chest. Wrapping his arms around me in a seemingly tender embrace, keeping his back to Ares in a calculated gesture of dismissal, he brushed my lips with his.

"How could I not want a mortal with a ‘talent for inventive violence'? Setting up soldiers for execution on the battlefield doesn't take much...finesse. In my world, war is more sophisticated." He kissed me again, this time keeping his mouth on mine for a moment before continuing. "How could I not want a mortal who dares to challenge me? Eventually I might kill him, but right now I want something else." A third kiss, with a hint of his sweet tongue, as I gently stroked his smooth ass. "I want to make this mortal lose control." Staring into my eyes, he said softly, "I want to make you cum, Caesar."

"He won't lose control," Ares interjected, sounding bored. "He's scared of that, aren't you, Caesar? Ah, the failings of mortal flesh."

I tried not to react. My one weakness. I hadn't realized that he even knew about my illness. I never discussed it with anyone. Ever. Certainly not with a perfect god. My father had ensured of my silence. My hand went to the scar above my eyebrow, a reminder that loss of control merited punishment.

"What does he mean?" Eros asked curiously, catching the other god's inflection and my reaction.

"Yes, Caesar. Why don't you tell him?"

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. It was almost impossible to break the rhythm of shamed silence. I never had. Deny, ignore, bury. My credo.

But Eros waited.

"An illness...uncontrollable. Seizures." I sounded like an idiot, but the words refused to flow, sticky with my humiliation.

"And you haven't cured him, Ares? How cruel. Would you like me to cure you, Caesar?"

An offer to make me whole for the first time in my life? I nodded, hating them both.

He kissed me again, his tongue on mine, his arms tight around me. I felt an intense heat and knew that he'd burned away the broken part of me.

His single word confirmed it. "Done."

Such a simple act to a god. Such a monumental one to me. And while Eros cured me only to annoy his counterpart, he still let me benefit. He still gave me my oldest dream. Unlike Ares, who did nothing, surely knowing I despised the mortification it imposed on me.

I kissed Eros, slipping my tongue into his mouth, running it over his smooth teeth, his delicious tongue. Then I leaned against the tapestry-covered wall at my back. "I want to cum for you," I told him. "Make me cum. Make me lose control."

My tunic vanished. The god placed his warm hands on my chest, letting his palms move slowly back and forth over my nipples.

"Relax," he whispered. "Enjoy the sensation."

I could never relax during sex. I wasn't sure I could now. But I felt unimaginable excitement: reborn to pleasure without fear. Because of him. Eros. Blood shot to my cock, thickening it, as I waited for the winged god to take my virginity.

He was licking my nipples now. Keeping one arm around his waist, under the hard ridge of his wings, I stroked his hair, which rippled under my fingers like black water. His sharp teeth tore into my skin, bruising me, making me bleed, as he attacked my nipples, shoulders, neck, hips, inner thighs...

Each fiery bite pushed me closer and closer to orgasm, especially when the god finally took my cock in his wet mouth. I loved having the barely-leashed violence between my legs, sucking me to heaven. He was so good, skilled...

My body tensed, as I prepared to cum in his incredible mouth, my hips gently thrusting, my back arching...

Never like this before...

"I think he's falling in love with you, Eros," Ares smirked, appearing directly at my side. "How sweet." He reached out, lifting my down-turned head then pulled it to the side so that I faced him. "Cum for me, Caesar," he whispered, just before I exploded in the hot mouth between my legs.

So, shuddering, I came--staring into Ares' green-rimmed black eyes.

Eros stared down at the sleeping monk, soaked in moonlight. Alcuin lay on a straw-stuffed pallet at our feet, ripe for corruption. "I think he's dreaming of me right now."

"Get to it. I doubt you'll succeed on the first try, and unless we decide to rape him, I wanna go back to the town and find another mortal to fuck into oblivion."

The winged god, resplendent in his short white robe, body glinting with gold, leaned forward to kiss Ares. "Later. First, we play. And have some faith in me, Ares."

The night air spilling in from the window of this tiny stone cell felt like ice against my overheated skin as I watched Eros pull back the rough wool blanket. He exposed the monk's firm naked body, covered only by a cloth modestly tied at his hips. Straddling the body beneath him, the god unfolded his sweet-scented wings. Then he bent to kiss Alcuin awake.

I was curious to see how the monk would respond. Still half-asleep, Alcuin slid his arms around Eros' neck, and kissed him back. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, Alcuin," the god replied.

The amber eyes shot open, and he saw the winged divinity looming over him. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

With a slight smile, Eros asked, "Do you know who I am?"

A terse nod.

"Say it. I want to hear my name on those lips."

"Belenus. You're...Belenus. My god."

"Yes. I've heard you call me in your dreams, in your prayers. I know that you've devoted your life to me, and I want to...reward you."

A long silence. "He said you'd say that," the monk responded slowly.

Eros' huge wings rustled, but he didn't miss a beat, even when he heard Ares' laugh. "Of course he did."

"You know he came to me?"

"Naturally," Eros lied. "And he told you what kind of reward I'd have in mind?" He covered his irritation well.

"Yes. He said you'd appear to me in the night, to seduce me. I didn't believe him. He's a monster, after all. I heard what he did to my brothers at Noyon-Sur-Rive, what he's been doing all over Gaul. He rapes and kills and lies. So when he came to me, saying that the afterworld changed you, that death corrupted you, I didn't listen. This was Caesar, after all. But now you're here..."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Yes."

Eros sighed. "I'm still the same god, Alcuin. You simply don't know me. After I died, and my body changed forms, I became desperate for human contact. It created this need in me, this hunger, this ache. Can you understand that?" he asked softly. "I was so lonely, cut off from my friends, from my family, from the sun. All abandoned me in the dark. I believe in love more than ever now. But my understanding of the word has broadened to include the physical." He stroked the monk's smooth cheek, and Alcuin flinched. "I'm sure that horrifies you."

"How couldn't it? You've betrayed everything I believe! I've devoted my life to you. I would've died for you."

Despair is the sweetest song.

"Watch your tone, mortal," Eros hissed. Then he regained control. "How exactly have I disappointed you? Because I want to bring you pleasure? That doesn't make sense."

The monk shifted restlessly. He obviously wanted to sit up, but Alcuin had been a worshipper for too long. Regardless of his crushing disappointment, he still respected divinity. Still craved its sweet soothing touch. "The body only distracts us from the divine," he said impatiently. "You taught us that. We can only achieve purity if we repress our desires."

"Alcuin, I preached those words in my mortal form--I knew nothing. Death proved me wrong. I avoided pleasure my whole life because loss of control terrified me. Now I understand that men can only truly love by giving physical and spiritual pleasure." He paused. "Have you ever experienced ecstacy? Have you ever fucked anyone? Been fucked by anyone? Have you ever had an orgasm outside your dreams?"

The monk, angry and embarrassed, peered through his lashes at the god. "You must know that I'm a virgin. That I don't touch myself--that I never have. I entered the monastery as a boy because I loved you--I saved all of my devotion for you."

"And now I'm here to receive it. I want to taste your devotion, and I want you to taste mine. Because I love you. Because I need you."

Alcuin's expressive face revealed his confusion. And his desire. Under his anger and his hurt, he wanted the winged god. He was so close, so ready...

"I'm your god, Alcuin. I know you've dreamed of giving yourself to me. You've sensed my need for you, and it's reached out to me. If I wanted only my own pleasure, I could take you right now. Violently. The whole night. You couldn't stop me--no one could stop me. But I don't want that. I don't want to hurt you. I only want to share pleasure with you." Another pause, while he stared down at the handsome man beneath him. "Alcuin, can I kiss you?"

As I child, I received a brutal beating at my father's hands for destroying my mother's favorite crystal goblets. I'd discovered the pleasure that came from running my fingertip along the gilded rim, until the glass hummed and trembled--before the pressure destroyed it.

I'd never lost my love for that crystalline explosion. It always made my knees weak.

And now here it was again.

"Yes," Alcuin said, eyes closing. "You can kiss me."

Part III

I admired ascetics, iconoclasts to our religion of the body. They eradicated pleasure, cutting away worldly indulgences. What control. But they had a weakness: these fervent apostates inevitably rejected mundane comforts: a soft feather mattress; the tender, juicy flesh of a roasted chicken; the warm, familiar embrace of a spouse.

But what if you've slept under scarlet silk sheets delicate as skin, topped with a sleek sable fur? What if you've tasted the ambrosial delight of Egyptian duck stuffed with succulent orange, seasoned with cloves and ginger? What if you've felt the hot, wet tongues of two beautiful lovers, bodies slick with neroli oil, as they licked your cock for hours?

What if you've experienced all three at once?

After the rapture of pure sensory delight, you become incorruptible--this level of hedonism is beyond temptation. It is the perfect religion.

And Eros, one of its chief priests, prepared for battle, armed with an unshakeable conviction in ecstasy. How could Alcuin, fortified only with a now-confused belief in somatic repression, defeat the god? The only apparent weapon the monk possessed in this secret war was his sense of betrayal. The next move, however, belonged to Eros.

"Open your eyes," the god told him. "I'm not a dream. You can't escape or hide from the reality of this kiss."

Ares and I flanked the two on the bed, each bent on one knee only inches from Alcuin's beautiful, upturned face as he lay imprisoned between Eros' thighs. We could smell the humid odor of the monk's body, the sweetness of his breath, the soapy scent of his freshly- washed hair as it trailed over the pillow. Together, we began to stroke our cocks.

When I returned to Rome, I would commission an artist to paint this scene, perhaps on the ceiling over my bed. I'd describe the glistening, dusky wings jutting from Eros' back; the burnished gold of his adornments; the cinnamon curls of the young monk; the silvery hue of Alcuin's moonlit skin; and the symmetrical lines of the waiting spectators.

So much effort for a kiss.

I watched as Alcuin's ripe, rosy lips unconsciously parted. Just a bit. Just enough for the searching tip of a dark god's tongue. My hand glided faster over my cock; Ares matched my speed, eyes darting between the monk's inviting mouth and Eros' thirsting gaze.

At last the winged god began to move, placing his hands, fingers extended, just above Alcuin's naked shoulders, as he slowly lowered his head. When Eros' cruel lips finally touched the monk's soft ones, I nearly came.

The kiss lasted only a few seconds, just long enough for gentle, pouting contact. Then Eros pulled back slightly. "Was that alright?" he asked.

His restraint impressed me. I'd seen the god's temper, felt the force of his desire. I knew he wanted to throw Alcuin's thighs open, rip off the cloth around his hips, and shove his cock inside his ass. The way I did.

"You know it was," Alcuin responded angrily. "How could I object to that? If I did, you'd call me a prude for getting upset over such an innocent gesture. You kept it pure on purpose."

Eros smiled. "Disappointed?"

"What do you want from me, Belenus? You're using my love for you to seduce me. You must know, too, that my feelings are tainted, that I don't simply love you, but that I'm in love with you." Alcuin's impassioned voice rose. "You've seen my impure dreams, seen the desire I have for you, and are turning it against me. You know that I hate you as much as I love you. So don't expect me to beg you. I can't. I won't."

"But you want another kiss?"

The question was unnecessary: Alcuin's desperate need showed in his open lips, his smoky eyes, his tense body. But the monk refused to answer. A small rebellion.

"I take your silence as a refusal," Eros said. "Unless you stop me, I'll leave you to your dreams."

Silence. Only the tightened muscles revealed the man's misery.

The god rose to his feet. His wings, silhouetted against the open window, cast a black shadow over Alcuin's face, hiding his need. "This is your last chance," Eros informed him. When no response came, he appeared to vanish, although he'd only became invisible and unheard like Ares and I. He stalked to the foot of the bed, eyes never leaving Alcuin's. "I'll give him a few days, let him ripen. Then I'll come back. I love it when they beg." He laughed. "Look at him--he's on fire."

"I think he's going to jerk off," Ares said. His hand slowed on his cock, delaying his orgasm.

Why cum for a kiss, when you can cum for a first orgasm born from confusion, pain and broken hopes?

Alcuin was biting his lower lip, almost squirming against the low bed. He gripped the edges of the mattress in an obvious effort to keep his hands from straying over his body, to the hard cock that showed clearly through the thin fabric covering it. But his hips kept thrusting forward in the rhythm of love.

With an angry sigh, he got up, walking to the window to look out over the sleeping valley below. The breeze made his nipples tighten, and he reached up to stroke one, pinching it lightly, before snatching back his fingers.

"I think you're right," Eros observed with a grin. "He's going to jerk off for the first time. I can't wait to see." His hand, too, went to his cock.

"But can you watch without touching yourself?" I asked, letting my tunic fall down over my erection. "You gods are always so quick to gratify yourselves. I'd like to see some restraint--to build the desire. If that's possible."

Ares raised his dark brows, then laughed. His hand didn't stop its languid movement.

"Come on, Ares. Humor him. Wait this out, so I can see what happens when you let go."

"People die," the other god replied. But he let the black robe fall back into place.

By the window, Alcuin, back now pressed against the cell's stone wall, was running both hands over his thighs, thumbs extended and dipping inward, precariously close to his cloth- covered cock.

"Touch it," Eros encouraged. "Think of me, and make yourself cum. That's it," he added, when the monk began to toy with the knot at his hip. "Show us your cock. There's nothing left to uphold. Only desire, since your god betrayed you. You can't even pray. Take it out, Alcuin. Yes, that's it."

The cloth dropped to the floor, revealing the monk's long, thick cock. He did nothing, however--remaining still, hands in fists at his sides, eyes closed, chest rising and falling with each quick breath. Then one hand crept over the hard flesh of his thigh, until it brushed against the side of his shaft. Exhaling sharply, back arching, he ran his hand down the length.

I glanced over at Ares. Like the rest of us, silver beads of sweat collected on his forehead and cheeks, despite the cool autumn air. Beneath the black robe of Taranis, his body would be slippery with moisture. I imagined him lying beneath me, Eros locking the other god's arms behind his back while I licked each shimmering drop of liquid from Ares' bronze skin. Behind me, curls teasing my skin, Alcuin would tongue my ass.

Ares dragged his eyes from the monk long enough to smile at me. "Soon," he mouthed, before looking back at Alcuin, who now--oh so tentatively--dabbed his forefinger into the translucent wetness accumulating on the head of his cock. The bearded god nodded approvingly. "Taste it." As though the monk heard the command, Alcuin's gleaming fingertip touched his pink tongue. Ares groaned.

Then the man turned abruptly, grasping the window sill. The flawless skin of his broad back, smooth ass and long legs made the pose even more provocative. I thought of a copper-haired Caledonian slave I'd recently purchased, who'd developed a taste for the bite of a whip. His body tensed the same way just before my scourge struck.

At the sight of Alcuin's unconscious offering, Eros' eyes seemed to glow, like the flaming gaze of the Thundering One before he raped Belenus. I wondered how close he was to repeating that act.

"Do it," Ares urged roughly. "Take him. Fuck his tight virgin ass."

"I will. But not yet. Only when he begs me. Because I want your ass, Ares," the winged god purred. "I'm not giving up the chance to see you struggling against hephaestian chains, against my cock. A little control is worth that."

"The point is moot," I noted, as Alcuin picked up the fallen cloth, refixing it around his hips. Then he stalked to the bed, throwing himself down on the pallet, face buried in his arms. "The monk has controlled his desire. For now. Let's go to Poitiers."

We reappeared on a street just inside the massive city wall lined with narrow, gabled, wooden houses. In the dim light from the torches planted at regular intervals along the cobbled road, we could see colorful signs hanging above each shop, designating the merchant's trade: a pair of buckled leather shoes for a cordwainer; a bolt of frothy blue cloth for a draper; a fat white candle in a gold candlestick for a chandler...

Ahead, about half a block down, I noticed a pine board decorated with a cluster of purple grapes. A tavern.

"Let's try there," I said, indicating the inn. "First, though, you need to change into mortal clothing and," with a nod at Eros' wings, "mortal form. You're somewhat conspicuous now. And I'll need something less...Roman."

Ares was now dressed in brown leather pants and a wide-sleeved russet jerkin loosely belted at the waist. The open lacing at the front of his surcoat revealed a crisp white shirt that contrasted with his beard and loose dark curls, making him look dangerous and infinitely, perfectly beautiful. This new, casual context for his beauty only emphasized it, playing up the hooded eyes and the seductive smile. He still conveyed power through his aggressive stance, his height, the breadth of his shoulders.

How could Eros compete, especially without those magnificent wings? But when I turned to him, I realized at once that this god's appeal transcended that one feature--arguably, the wings obscured the others.

He wore the clothes of a Gaelic citizen: thick black hose that clung to every contour of his long legs before disappearing into sturdy black leather shoes; a green, long-sleeved tunic, cinched with a wide belt. The tunic, fitted to his chest and arms before falling in relaxed folds about his thighs, and the leggings revealed a tightly-muscled body, more compact than Ares, leaner. More feline. His face, too, reflected this animalistic grace. A triangular, almost pointed chin and a surprisingly sensual mouth were outlined by a very short beard. The face then widened, rising to sharp cheekbones. Smoothly arched brows drew attention to his almond-shaped black eyes, the same color as his sleek hair. They glittered in the half- light, demonic and exotic.

Eros, in his own, barbarous way, matched Ares' beauty, and I wanted them both. But the wind whistled even through my black hose and black hooded tunic, so, vowing to return shortly with an interesting proposition, I hurried through the silent street into the warm tavern.

The heat from the roaring fire flushed my cheeks, and I wondered if the bar's few patrons could feel the sparks of sexual excitement shooting from me. Quickly scanning the customers--a couple of old men, probably farmers, a young man with a missing front tooth and sloped shoulders--I hoped not. I approached the hostler, a short, round man with coarse grey hair and a pug nose.

First, I ordered a flagon of ale, in my slightly-accented Gaelic. Then: "I'm a visitor to Poitiers. I'd heard that the town was lively, but it seems quiet. Can you tell me the reason for this?"

"You must be a stranger, not to have heard of the wedding--the mayor's daughter married the son of the local landlord. The town's celebrating this union at the mayor's house over on Fish Street. Beothild, our mayor, is a man of the people--he invited everyone. Cost him an arm and a leg, I'll tell you," he added, untapping a large keg to fill a pewter stein with ale.

"A wedding...But with the mayor and the lord involved, it suppose it's a marriage of convenience." I took an obligatory sip of my drink, letting the alcohol warm me, waiting for his answer.

The little man vigorously shook his head, as he polished a stubborn stain on the wooden bar. "This's a love-match. Grisela and Richolf are childhood sweethearts. She's a little beauty, that one. And all of the girls in town were panting after Richolf, including my Madelgard. But he has eyes only for Grisela."

I drained my glass. "How...romantic." Confirming the address, I thanked him, tossing down a few coins, before stepping back into the chill night air. I breathed deeply, staring up at the starry sky, before turning to my right.

They stood, bodies pressed tightly together, locked in a passionate kiss. The nearby torch cast a golden glow over the divine lovers, and light bounced off black curls and stroking hands. At first, I did nothing, only watched the kiss intensify. Then I advanced.

Ares heard my boots clicking on the paved stones. Giving Eros a final, lingering kiss, he faced me. "You caught us," he grinned. "What can I say? I love the taste of a god's tongue."

"I never expect restraint from you, Ares," I said. "You're predictable that way. In any case, I've found a target for your desire."

The mayor's house looked much like the others on the street: a tall wooden structure, with two overhanging storeys and matching twin gables. A large, latticed bay window jutted from the second floor. From the third, billowing in the breeze, hung a flag embroidered with the town's crest: a roaring lion above a row of winged birds.

The chief difference between this building and the others surrounding it was that Beothild would own all three levels, rather than letting them out to tenants. So all of the windows here blazed with light, and even from the street we could hear the sounds of laughter and music. I pushed open the round-headed door and entered. Ares and Eros followed me.

We found ourselves in a large, crowded room: men and women in brightly-colored costumes stood in small clusters, fingers wrapped around pewter mugs. Against the back wall, behind a long table on a raised dais, sat the newlyweds and other family members, drinking and talking.

"He's perfect," Eros said. "That thick blond hair will feel like silk against my thighs."

Ares nodded. "The girl's pretty, too. And it looks like we won't have to wait long."

The sight of the three tall strangers drew some attention. Grisela broke off her conversation to smile at us, green eyes shining with happiness.

"We'll split up for now," I said. "It'll spoil the fun if they suspect us." I wandered off to a dark corner to observe the action. Leaning against the timbered wall, beyond the reach of the candlelight, I studied the bridal couple.

The girl wore a simple white dress with a round neck that hinted at full breasts. Her chestnut hair, wound carefully above her head, was lustrous, and I imagined undoing it, letting the curls fall down to frame her wide-set eyes and dimpled smile. She and I would be so intimate by the evening's end.

And Richolf, the boy. His dark blue eyes and blond hair would contrast to erotic perfection with the two dark gods. I saw his eyes follow Ares, even while he talked to his bride. Good. Even better. A little desire on his part would make this all the more pleasant. I enjoyed watching internal conflict.

Eros joined me in my shadowy corner. "You're a genius, Caesar. ‘Inventive violence,' indeed." He stroked my arm; I could feel its heat through the woolen sleeve of my tunic. "And maybe later you and I can fuck. Just the two us."

"And Ares?"

Eros shrugged. "He can watch. Look--they're ready. It's nearly time." The undercurrent of excitement in his voice sent blood coursing to my cock.

Grisela and Richolf were leaving the table, much to the noisy applause of the assembled company. We joined the others trailing the couple up the narrow, winding stairs until they reached a bedroom on the uppermost storey.

Two scarlet-clad bridesmaids helped the girl off with her dress, while a third held up a blanket to cover them, and Grisela slid onto the large bed and under the heavy patchwork quilt. Richold, naked under his red and blue wedding clothes, climbed in beside her.

The mayor, a heavy-set man with a kindly face, kissed his daughter solemnly, then embraced his new son-in-law before departing, the laughing well-wishers at his heels, eager to return to the free drinks below. We left with them, exiting the house, before Ares returned us to the bridal chamber.

The couple, embracing under the layers of wool blankets, didn't notice us at first, until Ares sat on the bed at Richolf's back. "We're here to congratulate you," he informed them, expression serious. He reached out to stroke the boy's straw-colored hair, but Richolf shook him off.

"You should be downstairs," he told us. "This is how things are done."

"Where I come from," Ares replied, "it's customary for strangers to watch the consummation. Only we can verify impartially if the girl is a virgin."

Grisela blushed, pulling the sheet higher over her breasts, but said nothing. They still weren't quite sure of our intentions.

"You can't watch," Richolf explained, glancing at each of us. "If you don't leave, I'm afraid I'll have to call the mayor and his friends to remove you."

Ares laughed. "They won't hear you. They're all downstairs, tactfully leaving you alone while they get drunk. And we're not about to let you leave. Not yet. We haven't given you our... gifts."

"Please leave," Grisela pleaded. "If you have gifts, leave them with my father."

"But these gifts aren't for your father. They're for you both. Isn't that right, Eros?"

The god walked over to Ares. "Yes. Here's mine." He pulled out his thick, engorged cock.

Richolf tried to leap to his feet, but Ares held him down. "Relax. You're not going anywhere. And if you fight, we'll hurt your little bride." I had taken my place on the bed beside Grisela, putting one arm around her. Terrified, the girl did nothing. But tears had begun to trickle down her cheeks. The bearded god reached out, taking the linen sheet in his hand, and pulled it roughly off the pair, exposing their nudity.

Grisela tried to cover her breasts, but I caught her wrists. "Rope." A piece appeared in my hand, and the girl's eyes widened in shock.

"No!" Richolf shouted, but his struggles meant nothing to Ares.

I bound her hands together above her head, securing the end of the cord to the nearest bedpost.

"Don't hurt her," the boy said aggressively, but we all knew that his words were for show.

"No one will hurt her, if you do what we want," Eros said. "Do everything we ask, and we won't brutalize her. Show him what I want, Ares. Watch carefully, Richolf."

Ares knelt on the floor, and we watched as he took the other's cock in both hands, licking the head in slow circles before sucking it gently. At the same time, he pulled off Eros' black leggings, while his counterpart removed his tunic.

The only sound in the room now was the noisy sucking and Eros' encouraging murmurs as he tangled his fingers in the dark curls between his thighs.

Grisela's green eyes closed.

"Open them," I whispered. "Watch. Richolf will want you to do this to him--if you haven't yet."

She obeyed, and I put a hand on her left breast, lightly squeezing the nipple. "And make no sound of protest at any time, or I'll slice your lover's heart from his body," I warned her quietly. "Let me touch you, or I'll cut out his eyes. Remember this."

She nodded and I bent my head to lick the rosy skin of her right nipple. It tightened under the wet pressure of my tongue, and I wondered if her pink cunt was getting wet. Despite her fear, the sight of Ares sucking Eros' cock was erotic. And my concurrent manipulation of her body would confuse her response--layering her terror with desire.

"Oh...that feels so good," Eros moaned. Then, looking at Richolf with half-closed eyes, he said, "It's your turn now."

"No," the boy said loudly. "I can't." He turned to Grisela, and saw my mouth and fingers on her generous breasts. "Get off her!"

In a flash, Ares straddled Richolf's narrow hips. "Don't move, or I'll kill her," he growled. "Besides, the little slut likes it. You don't hear her protesting, do you? She likes his mouth and can't wait to feel his cock. He's an expert lover, and she can tell. So don't worry about her. My friend will teach her how to please a man--you should be grateful." The god remained in place, tugging off his clothes until his naked body gleamed in the candlelight. Then he moved down between the boy's thighs. "We're not here to hurt you. We only want you to feel pleasure." To prove his point, he circled Richolf's semi-hard cock with his fingers, and kissed the thick head, pressing his full lips against it until it swelled in his hand.

"Look," I said in Grisela's ear. "You don't have to worry about your husband. He likes what's happening--he's only protesting because he doesn't want you to know how much this excites him."

Ares slowly took the full length of the mortal's cock in his mouth, while lightly running his fingers over the heavy sac between the boy's legs. Richolf's back arched, and he moaned. "I'm sorry, Grisela," he said, between gritted teeth. "It...feels...too fucking good."

Recognizing his cue, Eros climbed on top of the boy. "Try to do what you feel on your cock," he advised. "Please me the way he's pleasing you." Richolf's mouth opened, and the god eased only the head inside.

"I'm going to untie you," I told Grisela. "We'll make our own pleasure until they're ready for us." I unbound her, then took her wrists in my hands, licking the red skin. "Look how much your husband likes what they're doing to him. Do his groans of pleasure excite you? They excite me." I took her pale hand, and placed it against my erection. "You excite me. Help me out of my clothes, Grisela." In seconds, they lay piled on the floor. I pulled her against me. "I want to lick your skin--taste you."

I sucked her nipples first. Most women can't resist the feel of a wet tongue there, the tiny, stinging scrape of teeth. Grisela was no exception, especially as I pushed her breasts together, so that the pink tips nearly touched, and sucked each in turn. Beside me, I could hear Eros, his voice thick with desire, telling Richolf to look at his bride, see how her slender arms were wrapped around my back, hands caressing me.

Leaving her breasts, I licked a path down her flat stomach, before placing one hand possessively on her mound. Her cunt, covered in chestnut hair, felt warm under my fingers. Then I removed my hand, and took her clit in my mouth. She couldn't restrain a whimper.

"Look what he's doing now," Eros said. "He's sucking her clit. Look how her hips are thrusting." He let out another low moan, and I knew he was going to cum. "Yes...don't stop."

I sucked harder, and Grisela's hand tentatively touched the top of my head. I could hear creaking on the other side of the bed, and I glanced over to see Eros joining Ares between Richolf's thighs. As they passed his cock back and forth between them, I took the delicate inner lips of the girl's hot cunt between thumb and forefinger and opened her to my tongue. As I lapped at her, I stroked her swollen clit until she writhed under me.

"You want to cum, don't you, Richolf?" Eros asked. "So does your wife. But we won't let you unless you give our friend permission to fuck her virgin cunt. She wants him to--look how she's rubbing herself in his face. Just say the word, and you'll both get to cum."

I'm not even sure Grisela understood the god's words--her mind could process nothing but the unfamiliar sensations burning her skin. Her cunt grew wetter and wetter, juices dripping down her thighs and onto my tongue. When I slipped the tip of one finger inside her, she clamped down around it, chewing on her lower lip.

Richolf never stood a chance against the two tongues that laved his cock, the two mouths that alternately sucked him, the fingers that stroked his balls. His ragged breathing filled the chamber, as sweat covered his smooth chest as Ares and Eros pushed him to the brink of orgasm, only to pull him back just before his cock exploded. "Fuck her," he gasped. "Oh god...Please fuck her..."

Getting to my knees, wiping the salty liquid from my chin, I lifted the virgin's legs, placing them around my neck. Before I penetrated her, I rubbed the head of my cock over her clit, then along the length of her slick cunt, coating myself in her wetness. Then I spread the tender lips and rammed my cock into her.

She cried out at the pain, as her hymen tore, and my thick cock filled her tight cunt, but Richolf didn't notice--the gods had finally let him cum, and he was spurting semen into Ares' mouth. I ignored her suffering, and began to fuck her, making sure to squeeze her clit so that she'd return to her original height of pleasure. It didn't take long; soon she was thrusting back against me, nails raking my back as I sucked her nipples.

The orgasm took her by surprise: her rosebud lips parted as her body trembled. "Oh god," she called. "Oh god..."

Grisela's fevered response and rhythmically contracting cunt made me cum, and I shoved deep inside her, hoping my semen would take root in this lush, fertile body. When I'd finished, I rolled off her. "Ares is going to fuck you now," I told the girl. "He'll make you cum again, so just relax and let him."

As the beautiful god climbed onto the girl's still quivering body and shoved his huge cock into her cunt, Eros pushed his cock into Richolf's ass.

"Touch me," Eros whispered, extending his hand.

I complied, and felt an odd heat shoot through me. My cock stiffened at once. I could smell the spicy oil now covering it.

"Fuck me," the god said. "Now."

I crawled behind him, then rose to my feet. Grabbing his left hip for support, I positioned my cock at the tight ring of flesh. To fuck a god. To fuck Eros. I savored the power, before sliding inside him, letting him appreciate my size, my hardness. He'd stopped fucking the boy, but now he began to thrust into him. I followed his rhythm, loving the way his ass felt around my cock, loving the way he pushed back against me.

Sweat trickled down his back, and I licked it off, wishing his wings were back in place so I could taste them while I fucked him. I looked over at Ares, watching his perfect ass rise and fall as he fucked the moaning woman beneath him. It excited me to know how much Grisela would hate herself for allowing so many men to use her body, for every orgasm we stole from her. And when she became pregnant, as she undoubtedly would from so much semen inside her bleeding cunt, she would hate herself even more. And Richolf, panting at the front of this line, would hate himself for not defending her, for sacrificing her for his own pleasure. And when the child was born, he would hate it, too. He would hurt the child as the symbol of this dark wedding night.

I came.

Part IV

I stood in a tent pitched on the muddy banks of the Loire. Clausus, leader of my troops in Gaul, pointed with one elegant finger at a map, showing me the territory we'd acquired that morning: a strip of arable farmland just west of Angers.

"The locals mounted a rebellion led by the count of Anjou. He'd brought men from Orleans, but we managed to crush the army. The count's flayed skin now hangs with the others on the stone bridge outside the Angers city wall, well within sight of their sentries. Another few days, and the siege will break the citizens. Their food supply is almost depleted..."

As Clausus described our triumphs in this barbarous land, looking down at the scroll on the table, his thigh under the leather tunic lightly touched mine. He smelled of war, and I remembered the previous night when I'd fucked Eros in that Poitiers attic. The winged god, like Ares, exuded the seductive odor of violent death, as though the blood of his victims seeped through his pores, then fermented to produce a hybrid fluid rich and fragrant as Catalan wine.

I'd never fucked my handsome general, although his hazel eyes and penchant for cruelty always attracted me. I preferred to flirt discreetly with my commanders. It ensured their loyalty, since the chance then existed that I might favor them. Simple flirtation, moreover, precluded the messiness and possible betrayal that might arise from an affair. Far easier to fuck slaves and prisoners who could be discarded without any fuss.

The memories of last night, however, stiffened my cock almost painfully, and I considered making an exception for Clausus. I could always arrange an accident for him if it didn't work out.

I allowed my hand to brush his over the map, and felt him tense. About to kiss him, I paused when the air crackled behind me. A god had joined us. "Leave," I ordered Clausus. "We'll talk later. And tell the sentries not to disturb me."

With a bow, the general masked his disappointment and left. When the tent flap closed behind him, I turned to the far corner, waiting.

Ares appeared.

"My favorite war god," I said with a smile.

He raised an eyebrow. "Favorite?" he repeated, voice tinged with irony. "It seems like Eros is displacing me in your affections."

I leaned back against the table, spreading my thighs. "Le me show you how much you mean to me."

"Actually, that's why I'm here," the god announced, advancing. "For a little demonstration." He stopped at the tent's central support: a thick, oak pillar. "Come, mortal."

Cautiously, I stood up and walked over to him. He was in a strange mood, oddly excited. His heat crashed over me in oceanic waves.

"I'm going to fuck you," he said abruptly. "I haven't fucked you alone since Eros cured your illness, and it's time."

His words sent a pulsing white heat through my body. "So fuck me, god."

Silently, he grabbed my wrists, and bound them above my head to the pillar, then fixed my ankles as well. He didn't usually restrain me, preferring my hands free.

Bondage made me...uncomfortable.

"You look very sexy like this," he observed, circling me. "The captive emperor." Then Ares drew his sword. Brilliant silver flashes--and my clothing fell to the floor in strips. "Even sexier now." He kissed me then, roughly, and I could taste his excitement.

I was confused when the god stepped back, and a small table appeared to his right. On it sat a small clear jar containing red liquid, next to an odd stylus in a wooden stand. Ares grabbed the bottle, twisting off the lid.

"It's dye. Permanent, non-poisonous." He dipped in a finger, then sucked off the scarlet fluid. "Not bad." Picking up the stylus, he let me see the needle-sharp tip. "This is going to hurt, Caesar."

Rage, coarse and thick like rope, wound about my heart. He was going to mark me--imprint me with his jealousy. And I couldn't stop him. His revenge for wanting Eros. "Ares--this is excessive, even for you. Not to mention childish. Is your ego really this fragile?"

"This isn't about my ego, Caesar--it's about yours. I'm only giving you a permanent reminder of your mortality, since Eros cut out the other one. Be thankful I'm putting it in a discreet place on your body--only your lovers will see it." He knelt before me.

The first painful jab of the stylus hit my right hip under the bone. Ares pierced my skin repeatedly, and when the blood began to flow, running down my leg, the god lapped it up. My fury grew with every tiny, painful new hole in my skin. The arrogance of this bastard fuck of a god to claim me like this. To hurt me like this. To brand me like this.

At last, a thousand wounds later, he grinned up at me, blood smeared around his lips and chin. "You want to kill me, don't you? I'm looking forward to feeling that anger inside me." With a laugh, he laid one hot hand on my bloody, stinging hip, shooting that familiar healing warmth through me. Then the god rose to his feet, pulling off his vest, deliberately provoking me with the sight of his sweat-soaked golden skin. "I bet you'd like to see what I've done," Ares said with a smirk.

Wearing only the leather pants and high boots, black curls brushing his shoulders, he strode to the full-length mirror in which we often watched ourselves fucking, then wheeled it over to me. "I can't wait for your reaction." His leathers disappeared, and he stood naked behind the glass, gleefully assessing my response.

Just a small symbol. In red. The color of pain. Of violence. Of war. And the mark he'd chosen to grace my body? The first letter of the Greek alphabet. Alpha. To signify the beginning. The point of origin. The source of all that follows. Ares.

He stared into my eyes, then paraphrased a familiar Latin line. "‘Noli me tangere quia Aresis sum."

Do not touch me, for I am Ares'.

I'd had a similar inscription engraved on the collars of the hinds roaming free at my estate outside Rome--a warning to hunters that the animals belonged to me. A mark of possession.

"You fucking bastard!" I hissed. "You son of a bitch!!!" Any mortal would've cringed in terror before my murderous wrath.

But Ares only laughed, returning to his knees before me. The mirror reflected his broad back and ripe ass, skin gleaming with moisture in the dry heat of the tent.

I despised my body for responding to him. I despised him for this unimaginable humiliation. "‘I hate you most of all the Olympian gods...If you'd sprung from another god, believe me, and grown into such a blinding devastation, long ago you'd have dropped below the Titans, deep in the dark pit.'"

About to suck my cock, he froze at the words. Zeus spoke them first to Ares on the field of Troy, and a blind poet recorded the bitter recrimination for posterity.

The god jumped to his feet, seeming to grow a cubit in height. "I should kill you now!" he snarled. "Remind you once and for all that you're mortal. That you're nothing. That you'll be dust while I live for eternity."

I'd never seen him so furious. Good. "Do it!" I responded. "Send me to Tartarus. I'll laugh at you from the depths of hell, watching you go mad from boredom!"

He drew his sword. "You arrogant bastard!" He cut the ropes at my feet. "I don't need you!"

"Yes, you do! You're nothing without me!" I spat out, as the blade split the ropes at my wrists. "Nothing," I repeated, just before he shoved his tongue in my mouth, and pulled me forcefully into his arms.

Lust and anger fused, and I could barely see or think as he ravaged my body with his sharp teeth, while I viciously pinched and squeezed and scratched his bronzed skin. Nothing but his cries would satisfy me, and I tried to hurt him, clawing his back, biting his cock, ramming my fingers into his ass until he groaned between curses.

Slippery with sweat and blood, we fell to the floor, knocking over the mirror, which shattered into an infinity of sharp, shiny slivers. As we fought, my head struck the leg of the long table, cutting the skin above my eye, knocking maps to the floor--and I didn't care. Or when we upended the smaller table, spilling the red dye onto the tapestry beneath us. It meant nothing.

All that mattered was my overwhelming need for Ares' huge cock.

And when he finally forced himself in my ass, pounding so hard that I would've fallen if he hadn't gripped my hips so tightly, rubbing my cock almost abrasively, I shouted his name, and came in blinding bursts of pleasure.

Eros found us lying in a tangled heap on the floor of my tent, covered in smeared streaks of red and white, my head on Ares' shoulder, his hand on my marked hip.

Noli me tangere quia Aresis sum.

The winged god said nothing, merely surveyed the destroyed room: scattered scrolls; shattered glass; spilled dye; cut rope. Then he looked at us lying curled before his feet. Ares shifted, and his fingers dropped from my hip. Deliberately, no doubt.

When he saw the red symbol, Eros laughed. "You really are a child, Ares. Is that a warning? Should I keep my hands off your favorite toy? And this must please you, Caesar. After all, it marks you as the special one, unless this Iphicles also has a red tattoo somewhere on his body..." Bending down, he ran his fingers over my decorated skin. "It suits you, mortal."

He was already climbing over me, pushing his cock into my mouth. I caressed his hips while I sucked him--and when Eros suddenly grunted, thrusting deep into my throat, I knew that the god had penetrated him. I wanted them both to cum at the same time, to feel that double vibration of divine pleasure directed at me, so I let Ares direct the tempo, and simply ran my tongue over Eros' cock as it slid back and forth between my lips. Grabbing my cock, I stroked myself to Ares' thrusts.

And when Eros came in my mouth, moaning as Ares moaned behind him, I joined them, spurting semen onto the smooth, firm skin of the winged god's stomach.

"I don't think he slept last night. Two nights now, where he's lain in bed thinking of me," Eros said, staring at Alcuin over the hood-covered skulls of several brothers eating in the hushed refectory.

Shadows darkened the monk's amber eyes, and he gazed blankly at the fresh slices of apple on the pewter plate. With a sigh, he picked up a piece, holding it between his thumbs and forefingers, before breaking it in two. Juice oozed from the split fruit, and he licked each dripping, fleshy end before eating both halves, one then the other sliding past his ripe lips. Next, he sucked clean his sweetened fingers. A seductive ritual.

"He's wasted here." As he spoke, the winged god absently stroked my tattooed hip. Ares' sign fascinated Eros; he never stopped touching it with his fingers or his tongue. The skin around the red mark was bruised and tender from his constant attention. "Alcuin hasn't called me yet, but every gesture begs for sex."

"If he doesn't beg you soon," Ares said, "it's my turn to toy with him. He just needs some force."

"That's your solution to everything," Eros snorted. "I could take him now, here on this table before his brothers. But what's the point? This delayed teasing is much more exciting--when he finally sucks my cock, the orgasm'll be incredible."

"Show me how you want Alcuin to suck you," he told Eros, his voice already thick with desire, then dragged the other god into the recessed space beneath a large bay window made of elaborate stained glass panels. Leaning back against the waist-high stone wall, Ares pushed Eros to his knees.

Above him glowed multi-colored scenes from Belenus' life. The morning sun lit the one depicting the god's murder by Taranis, and the spilled ruby blood shone down on Ares' dark curls, just as the winged god freed the other's thick cock. Eros, playing submissive, held it in one hand, looking up at his counterpart. "He'll be hesitant at first. Slow and unsure--but eager. His tongue will just touch the tip of my cock. Like this." Eros licked the engorged head once, covering the whole smooth surface, then stopped.

Ares bit his lower lip. "I bet that'll turn you on, make you want more. Just that little taste will make your cock get even harder. Will you stroke his hair, to encourage him?" He ran his large hand over Eros' sleek dark head.

The other god nodded. "And he'll like that, knowing that I'm excited, that he can bring me that much pleasure. So he'll suck the head of my cock, moving his tongue around it in wet circles, each hot revolution taking an eternity."

While Eros demonstrated this, Ares gripped the stone ledge at his back. The position showed the curved muscles of his powerful arms and the matted dark hair under his gaping vest. He spread his legs wider, hard thighs tensing. "You'll start fucking his hot mouth," he said, eyes closing for a moment as he thrust his hips forward. "Not too hard. You don't want to scare him. Then you can't stop yourself. It feels so good."

Behind us, the monks continued to eat their breakfast, oblivious to the sacrilege so close to them.

When the winged god took the other's cock from his mouth, telling him what he would do next, I looked at it with desire. It glistened with saliva, swollen almost red with blood--irresistible.

Ares saw me watching. "Yes, Caesar. You can be me in this scenario, helping Alcuin suck Eros' cock. He'll resent my intrusion at first, be disturbed by my tongue so near his, but he'll want me, too. And he'll be turned on by the decadence of two mouths pleasuring his god."

I knelt beside Eros, who pretended to glare at me resentfully. He took Ares' cock deep in his mouth, and while waiting, I licked the standing god's inner thighs, ran my tongue over his balls. Then I began to move up the shaft. Our tongues met for a moment, and Eros recoiled. I quickly licked the head, then I pushed it toward him. He sucked it slowly, looking into my eyes.

"Please let me taste him," I whispered. "I love him, too. Let's make him cum together." Begging for the cock of my god.

Eros- as-Alcuin hesitated. He glanced upward, seeking permission, and only when the bearded god nodded did he hold out Ares' cock for me to lick. But he wouldn't let go, jealously keeping his fingers wrapped tightly around the length to control the duration of my sucking. When the breathing above us grew heavier, or the god moaned too loudly, Eros pulled the cock hungrily back into his mouth.

I put my hand over his, holding the thick cock between us, and lapped further down the shaft, leaving the head for Eros. When he began to flick his tongue over it, I carefully moved my tongue higher, higher, pausing when I felt Eros tense, until finally our tongues both tasted the clear liquid leaking from the slit, until we alternated between deep kisses and long licks of that sweet cock.

Ares' thighs were quivering, his breath coming in sharp bursts. His clothing had long since disappeared, and dewy silver rivulets decorated his skin. "I think..." he gasped, "that when you come, Eros, you'll cum... first in Alcuin's mouth...then in mine...And you'll be....so ready after... you've felt.... us both... on you."

Eros closed his lips over the god's cock just as the creamy semen began to shoot out. He drank it thirstily, then quickly pushed the throbbing head into my mouth, allowing me to experience the god's orgasm on my tongue.

"Finally," Ares said, as the pulsing ceased at last, "when you've finished cumming, Alcuin and I will fuck each other. And it will take hours."

My skin felt flushed, as desire pounded through my veins, my arteries, my heart--until I could barely move.

"It will be so good, won't it, Caesar?" Eros asked hotly. "To see Alcuin fucked by us? And maybe we can convince him to fuck you too--as the ultimate celebration of the body. To fuck the man who destroyed him. Yes--that's perfect."

The scrape of wooden chairs on a tiled floor and the ringing of the church bell alerted us to the monks' departure from the timber-roofed hall. The black-robed figures silently glided off, some to fulfill their duties on the estate, others to worship their god.

Alcuin walked into the sunshine, and we followed. The dried russet leaves crunched under our booted feet--the only sound on this still, autumn morning. With measured, almost heavy steps, he took a well-worn path that led behind the main buildings, toward the orchard. The season's recent end ensured privacy; no brothers gathered red and gold apples in tall wicker baskets, leaving the young monk to wander under the barren branches.

The monk didn't stop until the line of trees suddenly ended, and we found ourselves at the edge of a small hill, overlooking the valley. He settled in the grass against a gnarled trunk. Eros lay down on his stomach beside him, propped up on his elbows, his face inches from Alcuin's left thigh, black wings hovering. Ares sat at a right angle to the monk, resting his back against a smooth rock. Spreading his legs, he waved me over, and I lowered myself between his thighs, my back against his chest, my ass against his hard cock.

"Think of me, Alcuin," Eros said. "Feel the warm sun, breathe the fresh air, and think of my lips on yours. Remember your dreams of my hands on your body--and touch yourself."

The monk brushed back the red-gold curls falling in his eyes. Then he didn't know where to put his hand. It dropped to his thigh, then he lifted it again, rubbing his full lower lip with one finger, then slipping the tip of that finger into his mouth to suck it. The gesture seemed to embarrass him, and he crossed his arms with a sigh.

Ares reached around me to caress my upper thighs. "Wouldn't you like to help him out?" he asked in my ear. His warm breath sent shivers down my spine. "Wouldn't you like to feel his cock in your ass? Maybe while I sucked you?"

"Eventually. But I like this time of indecision just before he falls, before he breaks like a child's toy under a father's angry foot. That excites me. But best of all is seeing his face when it happens--in this case, when Alcuin, hating himself for it, jerks off for his first orgasm."

The god laughed, then leaned forward to lick the side of my neck while he lifted my tunic to grasp my cock. I was achingly hard because I knew that it would happen at last. Alcuin was ready.

Abruptly, he rose to his feet, kicking off his sandals before pulling the robe over his head, then spreading it on the ground under the sun, away from the tree. Still standing, he untied the knot at his hip, letting the flimsy cloth flutter to his feet. Naked, his skin gleaming under the sun, cock full of blood, he lay on his back and began to explore his body.

He started with his face, running his fingers over the smooth cheeks, over his forehead, into his silky hair, then back in his mouth. This time, he slid several fingers in, sucking them, letting his tongue wander over the salty skin, appreciating the contact between their roughness and the slickness of his lips.

Behind me, Ares let go of my cock to slide three fingers into my mouth, and I imitated Alcuin's actions on the god's skin.

Still licking his fingers, the monk ran the palm of his other hand over one tanned nipple while his eyes closed against the sun and the pleasure. When the skin tightened under his touch, he scratched it lightly with a short fingernail, obviously experimenting to see what gratified him most. Next, he pinched the nipple, gently at first, then incrementally increasing the pressure. His hips rocked the whole time as he imagined fucking the god, and his perfect cock throbbed against his flat stomach.

Ares waved away our leather clothing, then repeated Alcuin's actions on my right nipple, scratching and pinching the sensitive skin as I drank in the monk's growing lust.

Pulling his fingers from his mouth, the monk rubbed his other nipple, groaning at the unexpected sensation of cool wetness on his hot skin. More deliberately this time, he licked his finger, letting the saliva gather on the tip, then spread it onto the brown tip. He did this again and again, as though enthralled by the feelings it evoked in his neglected body.

Ares' own wet fingers teased my nipples while he ground his cock against my ass. My cock, so hard, demanded release, but I waited for Alcuin. He, however, was delaying that pleasure, though his nipples must be burning, as mine were.

The monk's hands now moved lower down his body, stroking his stomach, the outside of his thighs, the tops...Close, so close to his cock, but never touching it. Spreading his legs wider, Alcuin touched his balls, hesitantly at first, then with surer movements as he discovered how to roll them between his fingers, manipulating their place in the soft sac. Then, with one finger only, he traced the receptive line of skin beneath them, his breath coming in short exclamations of need.

I wanted to close my eyes, give myself over to the pleasure of Ares' stroking fingers, but I needed Alcuin's desire more. "Touch your cock," I begged. "Touch it, Alcuin. Make yourself cum. Let me cum with you."

At last, he let his long fingers play over his swollen cock. He outlined the thick head, while his back arched and he moaned up at the golden orb in the sky. Wetting a finger tip, he ran it over the blue vein that snaked down his shaft.

"I love you like this," Ares whispered in my ear. "So desperate to cum, so turned on by my fingers and your own depravity. Your control's almost gone--you can't stop rubbing against me like an animal. It's making me so hot."

Then I did close my eyes for a second. When I opened them, Alcuin was stroking his cock. Slowly, so slowly it was killing me, so slowly it was driving me crazy, so slowly I wanted to cut his fucking heart out. "Faster, you bastard," I hissed. "Do it faster!"

But he wouldn't--only stroking himself to this agonizing rhythm until my body shook uncontrollably. About to cum, finally, he gave in, shouting, nearly weeping, for his god: "Belenus!"

Eros, black wings extended like the arms of death, appeared at his feet, casting a dark shadow. ‘I'm here," he said softly, and Alcuin cried out, shuddering as semen spilled onto his chest.

"I love you," he called in ecstasy. "I love you."

"I love you," I repeated, finally closing my eyes and leaning back against Ares to cum. "I love you."

Part V: Conclusion

Eros, black wings etched in charcoal against the turquoise heavens, stood still and proud as death. "You're still scared of pleasure. One orgasm's not going to change that."

Leaning back against Ares, dazzled by the burning sun, I believed that Eros spoke to me, although he stared down at Alcuin's lust-stunned face.

Something was happening to me, had been happening since the winged god burned away the rotted piece of my brain that made my limbs suddenly contort in a grotesque dance. No, even before that. Since I was a child.

And when Ares engraved his sign onto my skin, the thick blood flowing from the stinging punctures filled the charred void the other god created. It...confused me. Could this end the way I'd planned?

Now Eros' cloudy voice echoed in my head, as he spoke of dreams, how only in these sleepy visions could true desire be found. Only there, the god avowed, could fear be overcome. Then, later, after we'd tasted true pleasure, scraped clean of conventional morality, could we experience it in this world.

"What does he mean?" I asked Ares. "How can I enter Alcuin's dreams? He'll see you as Taranis, but he'll know I don't belong..."

"He's met you, Caesar, when you set up this seduction and told him lies about Belenus. You don't think he's dreamed of the handsome green-eyed emperor who spoke sacrilege? Even I dream of you." He continued before I could evaluate those words. "Eros' power is different than mine. Now sleep, Caesar." He stroked my hair, and my eyes closed...

I awake to emerald darkness. Green-walled paths surround me--I'm lost in a cultivated maze. As I walk quickly through boughed alleys, my panic rises. Where are the others? Then sounds begin to swirl like smoke around me...

A child crying. He's alone, but not for long. Someone will comfort him. His beloved father...

Thunder.

Under it--that deep, cajoling, threatening voice. His voice.

Turning a corner, I see him, black robe open to reveal his golden body. My pounding heart stops.

He smiles. "I've been waiting for you."

"Where are the others?" I ask.

He says nothing, only takes my hand in his large one. A right turn, then a left...Flashes of leafy- greenness. Then we're in the maze's heart. A basalt altar stands in the center. I'm lying on it. It's cool under my bare, sacrificial skin.

"You can't tell anyone about this," he whispers, placing a finger on my lips. "This'll be our secret. People would be jealous if they knew how much I love you."

I nod obediently, my mouth opening for his kiss. His tongue meets mine, tasting of crushed grapes, while his fingers explore my body.

"That hurts," I tell him plaintively.

"Shhhhh," he soothes. "Relax. I know you want this." He passes me a jar of sandalwood oil. "Spread this on me. It will help." When he moans, I hesitate. Have I hurt him? "No, keep doing it--your hands feel incredible..." His breathing changes, becomes almost raspy, and he spreads my thighs further apart. "I'm only doing this because I love you," he says, then begins to push himself into me. When I cry out, he covers my mouth with his big hand. "Quiet! I don't want anyone to hear us! And don't struggle--that'll only make it worse."

Even with the oil, he stretches me painfully. I want him to stop, but I'm scared, so I do what he says. He loves me, after all.

Only when he's finally, fully, inside me does he take his hand away. He waits now, allowing me to adjust to his size, licking my nipples to distract me from the burning. Then his fingers go around me, and he strokes my length for every thrust inside me.

"Tell me you love me."

I can barely hear him--the pleasure blocks out everything.

"Tell me."

He fucks me harder, and sweat drips from his dark curls onto my face.

"Tell me, or I'll kill you."

My body tenses, and then I cum, sobbing. My betrayal is complete.

Crumbling stone walls rise before me--a turreted castle. I'm alone again, but wearing the black robe. I pass under the arched doorway and down a darkened hallway. Tapestries on either side. I'm drawn to one. Belenus, caught in the embrace of the beautiful lover who betrays him. Taranis.

I can almost feel the traitor's feverish kiss, his violent need to consume the man about to reject him, feel the demanding touch forcing a response...And a third figure lurks there, in the corner, face turned from the artist's gaze...

Slowly, a distant sound breaks my reverie, and I move toward it, toward the door that appears before me.

Belenus is sprawled on the four-poster bed in a room that glows red and black. "I've been waiting for you," he says accusingly. His thick cock is hard against his thigh. Above it, on his hip: a red tattoo. "You've been with him again, haven't you?"

"You're the only one," I lie, moving forward, eyes focused on his lush mouth.

He stares up at me. "I can't do this anymore."

"Of course you can." I tangle my fingers in his curls, pulling his mouth over my cock. He sucks me obediently, like he always does. His hot tongue wreathes the head of my cock, and he wraps his arms around my waist. Then he begins struggling. I refuse to let go, forcing him to keep sucking. When he bites me, I slap him. His head jerks back, and a red mark appears on his cheek. My rage builds at his silent suffering.

I'm on the bed, bruising his hip as I hold him crouched before me, fucking him with deep, steady strokes. There is a long scar running the length of his spine; I've never noticed it before. He's crying now, and I hate the sound, so I ram into him, drowning it out with my orgasm.

"Shut up!" I hiss. "Stop crying! Someone will hear you!"

But he won't stop. I push him onto his back, straddling him. A knife appears in my hand, and suddenly there's blood everywhere. Horrified, I pick him up, shake my lover's silent form. He's dying, heart pierced, and I cradle him on my chest like a father holding the son he's just raped.

The scar on his back feels oddly alive, and suddenly the skin splits. Recoiling in confusion, I let him fall face first onto the mattress, and I watch as huge wings burst from his body.

Then he rises, staring down at me with hellish black eyes. "I've been waiting for you," he says with a smirk. "Let's go find the others."

I breathe a warm, almost sticky golden haze, like evaporated honey. Darkness blurs the outer edges of the room. At the center lies Alcuin, naked, stretching luxuriantly, his skin gleaming against the sable fur beneath him. Perfection.

I'm vaguely aware that Ares and Eros stand beside me, of their desire as they stare down at the damp curls, parted lips and hard thighs of this beautiful monk. Even more, I'm aware of my own desire, so powerful it lights the room. I want Alcuin, to be his mortal lover. His only lover.

"The triumvirate." The monk smiles while his voice wafts over me. "I've been waiting for you. Watching you. I understand so much now."

He means the blood-soaked bed, Belenus killed by his lover. And he means my story, my history. My plots. Alcuin knows it all. Knows our mortal connection in betrayal. We trusted. We believed. And the result was pain. It binds us.

"I want...him to fuck me," Alcuin says softly.

Not even the smudged lines of a dream can contain Eros' anger. "No! You're mine!"

Before he can swoop down, Ares stops him with a hand on his arm. "You can fuck your virgin when he's done. A mortal can't compete with a god."

I can see the tiny pieces of colored stone that constitute them: glossy black for eyes, hair and wings; blood red for lips; burnished gold for skin...

"Not good enough."

Ares sighs. "I know what you want. Here you go." A pair of handcuffs materialize in his hands. "Inescapable. Forged by a god."

Eros' laughter echoes in the still room. "How could I turn that down? It's what I've wanted all along. Victory. Lucky that you're so hot for your mortal, Ares."

The other god says nothing.

A grin. "First we watch these two, then you will suck my cock, Ares." He gives me a little push, and I almost fall. "Go on, then, mortal. Fuck him. But make it good."

Alcuin sits up and catches my hand, pulling me down beside him. "I hated you so much that day," he says.

"You should still hate me. I set you up so they could fuck you. So I could watch them ruin you."

"I know that, Caesar. But now I know why. You and I are one."

The kiss warms me, and I realize how cold I've been. I'm shivering, teeth chattering, but my frozen skin heats wherever Alcuin touches me: at the center of my back; my thighs; my chest. This fiery inverted seduction excites me--his inexperienced caresses, fueled only by need, arouse me more than anything before, and I lie back, letting the innocent monk make love to me.

He sucks my tongue into his mouth, which tastes of apples and wine. Insistent but gentle, this kiss lasts an eternity, while Alcuin licks my tongue, trying every conceivable speed and action to discover what I like best. Realizing from my moan that it's a quick, repeated thrusting, he does it until I grind my hips against him.

His thick cock rests beside mine while he lies on top of me, giving me this deep, incredible kiss. I won't touch it, though--I want Alcuin to direct this scene, and he's not ready. First, he is going to explore every inch of my body with his tongue and fingers.

Our lips are swollen from the kiss before he finally pulls away, moving down to my neck. Again, it's the same exploratory actions: licking, sucking, nibbling, biting, then a combination of all four, which pleases me most. As his teeth close over my skin, I see the two gods above me, watching us, while each slowly strokes the other's cock.

The bruised skin of my throat burns before Alcuin turns to my nipples. The monk remembers from the orchard how much the wetness turned him on, so he first sucks on a finger tip, before brushing it over my sensitive skin. When it tightens in response, he smiles, repeating the gesture, while Eros sucks his own finger, preparing to rub the wetness on Ares' skin.

Alcuin seems unsure what to do next. While he pauses above me, I lean forward and lick the brown flesh of one taut nipple. He groans as I keep licking, knowing how good this feels, especially the first time.

"Don't stop," he begs.

I suck each one until he's rubbing his cock against me and I know that he'll cum if I continue. Then I lie back down. This time, his actions are less leisurely--and less gentle. He uses his teeth on my shoulders, my arms, my hips. Like Eros, Alcuin is fascinated by my tattoo--his tongue slides back and forth over it.

My cock is so near his mouth--his smooth, flushed cheek keeps brushing it. Eros deliberately provokes me by kneeling before Ares, and sucking the other god's cock, letting me see his tongue collecting the clear fluid that leaks from the head. He wants me to force myself into Alcuin's mouth, but I don't. Instead, I stay in this deliciously torturous position, on the verge of orgasm.

Alcuin's now between my legs, biting the tender skin of my inner thighs. I think I'm moaning, but I can't tell--all sound is muffled, as though I'm underwater, as though I'm drowning in desire. His fingers are on my balls, carefully stroking the soft skin. He wants to suck them, but isn't sure how I'll react.

In my head, I can hear Eros ordering me to force him...force him...force him... Instead, I bring up my knees to give the monk better access. The first touch of his tongue is hesitant, but when he feels the quivering in my thighs, Alcuin gets more daring, and takes one of my balls in his mouth. At my quickened breathing, he sucks both, while with one finger he rubs the line of skin beneath. I imagine his finger inside me, but I don't think he even knows that I want this.

When he finally runs his tongue over the head of my cock, I don't care about anything else. I can't. It feels too good. I'm so aroused that every tiny, colonizing flicker of his tongue makes me gasp, as Ares gasps for Eros. The hot mouth sliding over my cock is almost too much; I have to push Alcuin back, or I'm going to cum on his searching tongue.

He looks startled, then hurt, thinking he's done something wrong.

"I want to save my orgasm, " I explain, kissing him, "so we can cum together." We switch positions with me. Now it's time to pleasure him.

Alcuin's skin tastes salty from his sweat and mine. I lick the moisture from the hollow in his throat, from the hot skin over his heart, from his navel, until he's writhing beneath me.

"Watch me," I tell him. "I'm going to suck your cock, and I want you to look while I do it."

He raises himself, resting his weight on his forearms. The position brings his chest forward, and I can't resist licking his nipples. Then I circle the base of his cock with my fingers, holding it up to my mouth. His amber eyes are on mine, his whole body tense with expectation. He's so hard--I hope he lasts long enough to enjoy this, his first time.

The head of his cock is wet, leaking with need, shiny in the wavering light. When I finally run my tongue across the smooth surface, Alcuin can barely stand it. He's repressed his desire for so long, fighting his flesh, that my tongue on his cock must exceed the level of pleasure for most men. He must feel the pleasure of a god.

This is why tears fill his eyes, crystalline like the liquid seeping from his cock. He's overwhelmed. I've never seen anything so beautiful as this enraptured monk.

I lick him very softly, savoring his velvety skin, pausing whenever he thrusts too deep into my mouth. Soon he is whimpering, body shaking. I make one final pass over the throbbing blue vein on his shaft, then I pull away. "Roll over," I whisper in his ear.

Straddling his thighs, I use my hands and mouth on his broad back. I've wanted to do this since he stood, so desperate, at the window of his cell. But I'm more gentle here--I don't mar his slippery skin. Alcuin's fingers tighten around the edges of the fur throw beneath him when I begin to squeeze his ripe, satiny ass.

A small vial of oil appears beside me--from Ares, undoubtedly. I ignore it for a moment, preferring nothing between us when I slide my tongue inside Alcuin. He loves that, pushing back against me, wanting more. Only then do I break the wax seal on the vial, coating my hands and my cock with the fragrant oil.

With one finger, I slowly, slowly, penetrate him. His breath leaves his body in a loud hiss when I'm fully inside. I wait for him to adjust, then stroke him where it feels best. Alcuin rewards me with a sharp cry, and so I add a second finger, stretching his tight skin.

"Caesar, please--do it. I want to feel you inside me." His panted request goes straight to my cock. It's time. But from the front. Not like this.

I turn him over this last time, pushing his knees up and apart. A whisper of movement, and the two forgotten gods flank us to watch me fuck this virgin. When they each take one of Alcuin's ankles, I allow it. The monk doesn't mind--he doesn't care about anything except feeling my cock inside his ass.

It's going to happen now. My cock is pressed against him, and I take his in my hand to distract him from the pain of that first penetration. Holding onto his thighs, I pull him closer to me, and that pushes the swollen head inside him. Ares and Eros each wet a finger and rub the moisture onto Alcuin's nipples, and I stroke his cock for a few seconds before I push further into him. Again I wait, letting him relax.

His face is glowing with sweat, and he's biting his lower lip so hard that blood trickles down his chin. That breaks my control, and I thrust forward to close the gap between us. Then I fuck him: long, deep strokes that match the movements of my hand on his cock.

He's howling now, keening, screaming--and it's too much for me--it's too much for him....I cum in his ass just as he cums in my hand....Burning wet pleasure.

"I love you," I say.

Now we're in the bedroom where Taranis killed the Shining god, although the blood has disappeared. Ares is on the bed, his arms manacled above his head. He's done this for me. I'm not sure either of us knows why. Guilt? Love? Pity?

It's almost enough to change the path I've chosen. Almost.

He looks so beautiful like this, so helpless. He must hate it. Ares thrives on control, on power. He is like a father--I mean, like his father. Like all fathers.

Eros stares down at him, dark eyes shooting flames, huge wings extended. His cock, thick and purple with blood, juts from between his thighs. "Alcuin, fuck him," he commands.

I smear the oil on the monk's cock, and then he takes his place between Ares' thighs. I move behind him--together we'll fuck this war god who looks so much, too much, like our devils. With one quick thrust, I'm inside Alcuin--the shock of the penetration startles him, and he rams his cock into Ares.

Holding his hips, I dictate the pace--fast and furious, just the way Ares likes it. Above us, Eros has climbed over Ares' chest, shoving his cock into the other god's mouth.

"Touch him," I gasp into Alcuin's ear. "Give him pleasure."

The monk begins to stroke Ares' cock.

"Faster! He likes it fast."

While he jerks off the god, I fuck them both. There is such finality here, an odd sense of closure so dense I can almost see it. Because Ares reminds us all too much of the past, of our weaknesses, of our pain. He is my father, Belenus' killer, Eros' rival. We are exacting vengeance when we fuck him, when we cum on him, covering him with our semen.

Does he know what we've planned? Do Eros' words now echo in his mind? "In my world, war is more sophisticated." The winged god, of course, hadn't mentioned to his counterpart just how he fought, how he relied on dreams to win his battles. But he told me as he fucked me inside the church. A whisper of death and power. He was Ares and Morpheus together.

Eros climbs off him, and Alcuin follows. It's time.

Ares reaches out for me, but only succeeds in cutting my back with the razor-sharp point of his silver ring. The long wound, running the length of my spine, will never heal.

What is there to say? I've always hated him as much as I loved him. And when I met Eros, and he cured me... Finally, I could have vengeance..

"Good bye, Ares."

We disappear to his screams of rage.

Epilogue

Alcuin, covered in sweat and semen, lay spent beside me on the bed in my Roman villa. He stroked my scarred back, staring at the mural above us. It depicted the four of us: the glistening, dusky wings jutting from the wargod's back; the burnished gold of his adornments; the cinnamon curls of the young monk; the silvery hue of Alcuin's moonlit skin; and the symmetrical lines of the waiting spectators. Me. And Ares.

Only Ares' face was obscured, blackened under the shadow of Eros' wings. I wondered what he thought of his betrayal, his dream-prison. If he knows there is a new god of war--a fierce, brutal god named Mars. Sometimes I awoke screaming, seeing Ares above me, eyes blazing fire, just before he plunges a knife into my heart.

I hated those nightmares. But they were becoming fewer and fewer in the past few weeks. The past was finally closing, like the two bloody sides of an open wound. I could finally look, without fear, to the future. And Alcuin was part of that future.

Turning to my beautiful lover, I stroked his copper curls. I've renamed him; he is a Roman patrician now with a name to match. We discarded his Northern one--the last vestige of a broken past. Of his betrayal by a religion founded on lies and twisted logic.

Kissing his full lips, I whispered my command: "Fuck me again--one more time, Brutus. One more time."

The End

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Belenus and Taranis are actual gods in the Gaelic pantheon. Their respective names, "the Shining One" and "the Thunderer" are also historical. The poet Lucan writes that these deities, including Taranis, were allegedly encountered by the Caesar's army in Gaul in the mid-first century BCE. Loose inspiration for Belenus' jewelry and Taranis' mosaic comes from Ruth and Vincent Megaw's Celtic Art. The rest is fiction.

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