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To The Victor
by Mary Crawford
"Hercules! Will you give me your blessing?"
Hercules did not turn. He kept moving down the narrow alley, trying very hard to pretend he did not hear the running footfalls and panting breath some distance behind him. Unfortunately he could not move as quickly as he wanted to; Pyrea was crowded with visitors for the games, and although most of the passersby moved out of the way when they saw him coming, he kept having to duck the low-flying items of laundry hanging from ropes strung across the street.
"Hercules! Please!"
It was no use; he had been too well brought up to ignore a plea like that. He sighed, stopped walking and waited for the stranger to catch up with him.
The man looked every inch the well-dressed citizen, except for the sweat that stained his silk tunic. "Please, Hercules," he began. "I need your blessing for my wine business-"
Hercules met his pleading eyes, sighed, and said "No."
The man stared at him. "You deny me your blessing?" He sounded outraged rather than upset.
"No, but I don't have any to give you."
"But you're the son of Zeus! You have divine powers!"
Hercules shook his head. "Not anymore." This was the tenth such request he had received today, and it was not even noon yet. He did not think it would help to explain that he had, in fact, only been a full god for three days and that he had given it up as a bad job. It would probably take months for the rumors to die down, if not years. Now there was an unwelcome thought.
The man's expression wilted, his shoulders sagged. "I see," he said in a low voice. "It's just that my business has been losing money, and-"
"Pray to Fortune," Hercules advised him, then realized what he was saying. "No, on second thought - don't. Just take a good look at where your money's going. Maybe retrench-"
The man's face changed as if someone had showered him with dinars. "I will do as you say, mighty son of Zeus," he said, bowed, and turned away.
Hercules stared after him for a moment, shaking his head. I can't believe I said that. I sound like Salmoneus.
"And you started off so well, too," a sardonic voice said above him, almost seeming to continue his thoughts. "Such a small word, 'No', but so effective when you know how to use it."
Hercules casually flung up his right arm and whacked the criss-crossing ropes strung over his head, not bothering to look up.
The ropes twanged, and then Iolaus somersaulted down from above. He would have landed on his feet like a cat if Hercules had not thrust his left knee forward at that precise moment. Instead he threw himself into an easy shoulder roll and came up to clasp Hercules' arm in greeting. They hadn't seen each other in a week or so; after Hercules returned from Olympus, Dirce had sent for Iolaus to help her deal with a petty warlord, and Hercules had gone off to hunt a man-killing lion in the Arcadian mountains.
"Nice landing," Hercules said drily as Iolaus dusted himself off.
"Nice advice," Iolaus shot back, shrugging his vest back over his shoulders. "Since when do you know anything about running a business?"
"I don't have to," Hercules said. He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, putting on a lofty expression. "I'm the mighty son of Zeus."
Iolaus rolled his eyes, and Hercules felt his irritation ease. Some people might think he should be a god, but he knew better now. He had hated Olympus, and if Zeus had not managed to catch him just after Alcmene's death, at a time when all his defenses were down, he knew he would never have agreed to go there in the first place. Coming back had been like coming home; he was not sure how well he had managed to convey to Iolaus how much that meant to him. How much Iolaus meant to him. He had tried to say something, but Iolaus had walked away from him, and he still was not sure if that was due to embarrassment or some other emotion.
And now Iolaus was walking away from him again. "Hey! What's the hurry?"
"Salmoneus is holding a table for us over at the Drunken Rooster. I don't trust him not to drink my ale." Iolaus' voice was light, but he didn't look over his shoulder or start walking backwards the way he usually did, and Hercules actually had to lengthen his stride to catch up.
They left the alley and turned into the silversmiths' quarter, which was nearly deserted, most shops having closed against the midday heat.
"So, you having fun with your new rep?" Iolaus asked.
Hercules snorted. "Oh, yeah. I'm starting to wish I'd never agreed to be a judge for the Games - I didn't realize the rumors would spread so fast."
Iolaus cocked his head and glanced up at him. "We could still back out, if you want. Find a monster that needs our attention and make our getaway."
It was a tempting thought. "No, it wouldn't be right," he said, not without some regret. "I started the whole Games idea, I can't back out now."
Iolaus nodded as if he had not expected anything else. "Well then, you'd better keep practicing. Repeat after me: No. N-O. Nooooo. C'mon, don't you want to practice?"
"No."
"Oh, very good!"
Salmoneus had not touched Iolaus' ale, but it became evident that he had dipped heavily into his own when he stood and pronounced a toast. "To the Games! To profits! To Hercules, that's the big guy sitting right here beside me, folks, who will make sure there's no foul play! That's right, I said Hercules!"
Hercules sunk further down in his seat. "Salmoneus, can you...take it down a notch?" The crowd in the Drunken Rooster kept throwing him amused glances, and Iolaus sniggered helplessly beside him.
Salmoneus looked injured, but finally consented to sit down again. "Well, it's been a bit slow so far, but once people know you're here the betting will go up, I'm sure of it." He chuckled. "Twenty to one against my boy Nikias, can you beat it?" Perhaps feeling that he was losing his audience, he added, "Iolaus, you're a betting man, aren't you?"
Iolaus leaned back in his seat, his curls brushing Hercules' arm. "Not anymore."
"Really?" Salmoneus looked arch. "That's not what they told me in Nemea."
Hercules felt Iolaus stiffen beside him.
"I said, not anymore." Iolaus' voice was distant, and Hercules cursed inwardly. Things were going so well, too.
"I think we should start looking for a place to sleep," he said hastily. "The town seems pretty full up, but maybe the magistrate -"
"No no no no!" Salmoneus' voice went up as he gestured expansively, spilling ale on the table. "You'll stay with me, my friends. I've always got a spare room for you, Hercules. And, uh, for you too, of course," he added, belatedly toasting Iolaus with his half-empty mug. Iolaus raised his eyebrows and turned his head to look at Hercules. His expression was closed, wary; Hercules was not sure how to interpret it, and that was so unusual that it made his stomach knot in worry. I have to talk to him. Sometime soon.
"I'm sure that won't be necessary, Salmoneus-" he began, but again Salmoneus would not let him finish. "No, no, I insist. Besides, there isn't a spare bed to be had in this town, trust me. Everyone who's anyone is here for the Games." He stood up again, clutching the edge of the table with both hands to keep himself upright. "More ale?"
The house Salmoneus had rented stood in a busy street close to the market square, where most of the betting crowd congregated, and several would-be winners followed them to Salmoneus' door.
"Go on in, make yourselves at home while I deal with these people," Salmoneus said distractedly, tugging one footrace enthusiast's hands off his silk tunic. "No, I'm not handling bets for Nephrides, what do you take me for? I'm offering good odds for all the others, though. And I think you'll be interested in these official Hermes-approved running sandals - see the little wings embroidered on the sides? - with new tension stitching and decorative laces ..."
His voice receded as Hercules shouldered past him and through the double doors of the house. Iolaus followed him into the high, shady hallway, pausing to whistle at the jeweltoned woven hangings covering the wall. "Looks like Salmoneus is doing well for himself."
"That's usually a bad sign," Hercules said half-seriously as he opened various doors. "Here, this looks like ours - Salmoneus said something about a blue room."
The room was fairly small, with indigo walls, one large shuttered window and a white marble floor. Apart from several black-and-red clothes chests from Chin, the main item of furniture was the high maple bedstead with clawed silver feet which seemed to occupy the entire southern half of the room. It was stacked high with silk pillows; Iolaus took one look at them, frowned, and started throwing them off the bed. Hercules frowned at this, but Iolaus ignored him and sat down in the space he had made on the edge of the bed, boots dangling. "I think Salmoneus put us in his girlfriend's room," he observed. "Hey, maybe she's still in here?" Without waiting for an answer, he burrowed headfirst into the bed like a mole, throwing more pillows right and left.
Hercules sighed. "Iolaus..." He really was not looking forward to having to play arbiter between Iolaus and Salmoneus for the rest of his stay in Pyrea. And even all by himself, Iolaus could be hard to deal with in this kind of mood.
Iolaus surfaced from beneath the bedding, bounced on the high mattress, picked up a small red bolster and slung it towards Hercules. It hit him in the midriff with a soft whoompf. "You want me to stop? Make me."
This sounded promising. Hercules dived forward, intending to get hold of Iolaus' feet and drag him off the bed, but Iolaus drew his feet up just in time and rolled backwards. Hercules grabbed for him, sliding over the soft mattress on his belly, and caught hold of his shoulders, but Iolaus butted him in the forehead and then managed to evade his next grab by falling off the other side of the bed.
Cursing, Iolaus stood up, looking down at Hercules as if he couldn't decide whether to jump on top of him or hit him. Hercules grinned back at him, hoping Iolaus would go for the first option, and saw Iolaus' challenging expression change into a smooth mask as the door opened. Damn.
"Right, I hope you're settling in..." Salmoneus' voice trailed off as he surveyed the pillows on the floor. His worried gaze came to rest upon Hercules, who realized that he lay sprawled upon the sumptuous bed while still wearing his boots.
He manoeuvred himself off the bed and away from Salmoneus' glare just in time to catch Iolaus' eloquent gestures, which seemed to be saying "He's been like this since he was born, what can I say," or possibly, "Don't look at me, he started it."
"Right," Salmoneus said at last in a desperately cheery tone. "If you've quite finished unpacking" - his gaze took in the battered sack Hercules had hung on a hook beneath the window and Iolaus' sheathed sword propped up against the wall - "shall we go have lunch? My treat?"
Iolaus' expression brightened considerably, Hercules noticed. "Are you feeling all right, Salmoneus?" he asked, wondering at this sudden spurt of generosity. First the ale, and now this.
"Oh yes. I'll even introduce you to Nikias. And the other contestants. And perhaps some of the more influential investors..."
The restaurant had put a table aside for them in a small courtyard with a view of the main square, shaded by vines hanging down from a trellis. It was as busy here as everywhere else, but this place clearly attracted a better crowd than the Drunken Rooster; they could actually hear themselves talk, and the few people who had come up to be introduced to the famous Hercules had not asked him for any divine favors. All in all, it was going better than Hercules had expected, and the food turned out to be excellent. Iolaus had practically inhaled the roast lamb with lemon sauce and was now sneaking bites off Hercules' plate, but Salmoneus' plate remained mostly untouched.
"What's the matter, Salmoneus? The food not agreeing with you?"
Iolaus did not sound solicitous; he eyed Salmoneus, who had gotten up to pace to and fro next to their table, with a decidedly sardonic air. Hercules decided he was not going to get involved. He sat back, ignoring a new group of punters who milled around him trying to find a free table, and took another bite of roast lamb.
"I think I'll just go see what's keeping Nikias," Salmoneus muttered. "He should have been here by now - said he'd gotten threats-" And with that he was off, while Hercules and Iolaus stared at each other.
"Threats?" Iolaus mouthed. Hercules lifted his shoulders; it was the first he had heard of it, and at that moment, Salmoneus' schemes were the least of his worries.
"I think Salmoneus may have an ulterior motive in wanting you to be a judge," Iolaus mused. "Want to bet?"
"How about four to one?" "Three to one!" "Five to two!"
The punters converged on Iolaus, yelling and waving betting sheets, until he was entirely lost from Hercules' sight. The siege did not last long, however - after mere moments, the crowd disbanded. Hercules caught a few disgruntled mutters of, "Making bets without a dinar to his name," and "Should've known, he looks like a bum," and tried not to grin.
Finally they were alone at the long wooden table. Hercules swallowed the last of his ale and leaned forward, trying to catch Iolaus' eye. This was difficult, as Iolaus had leaned back on the bench, put his arms behind his head and was staring up at the sky through the vine leaves as if looking for a roc to carry him away.
"Listen, Iolaus, I-"
"Hercules! Help!"
He had risen from the table and was running out of the courtyard and across the square almost before he knew what he was doing - he had been trained for years to respond to that kind of call, and when Salmoneus' voice went up an entire octave like that, it meant real trouble. Throwing one quick, rueful glance back, he saw that Iolaus was right behind him.
He pounded across the square and around the corner of a wineshop, into the narrow alley where the call had come from, and ran smack into a large leatherclad mercenary. The man went down with an "Oof", his shortsword flying from his hand, and the rest of the mercenaries huddling at the end of the alley turned around. Iolaus picked up the shortsword and slid into place at his side, and they were in business.
Hercules' attention was only partly on the fight, since it had only taken one glance to class the opposition as low-grade mercenaries, badly trained and not even wearing proper armor. Although he did not glance aside, he was very aware of Iolaus moving with him as if they were one person, the shortsword flashing out again and again.
As they took out the goons by twos and threes, the crowd at the other end of the alley thinned enough to reveal the young man they had been beating up - Nikias, presumably. He lay on the cobbles, holding his leg and moaning, while Salmoneus knelt at his side and dabbed at various cuts on his face and hands with a bit of cloth.
Hercules punched the last mercenary in the face, held him out at arm's length and waited for Iolaus to finish him off with a roundhouse kick, then took a quick look around. The mercenaries had fled, except for the few who were still unconscious; he would have to wait until they woke up to get some information.
"Is it me, or is nobody hiring quality anymore?" he said, more as an excuse to gauge Iolaus' mood than anything else. Iolaus snorted, threw down the borrowed shortsword and scrabbled at his pendant, which had wound up on his back again.
"Here, let me-"
But Iolaus had already walked away, toward Nikias and Salmoneus, and Hercules could only follow him.
"I'm really sorry," Nikias said for the sixth time as Hercules and Iolaus manoeuvred him into Salmoneus' house, his arms draped around their shoulders. "I thought I'd made it clear that I wasn't interested in throwing the race." He sounded more annoyed than in pain, even though his left leg was broken in two places.
"That never works," Iolaus muttered, throwing open the door to their room. "I can't count the times we tried to make it clear that we just wanted a drink, not a barfight. Sometimes you just have to break some heads before the message sinks in."
"I think I got their message, too," Nikias said, then groaned as Hercules settled him on the bed and carefully propped up his broken leg with a couple of pillows.
Salmoneus came in, his face still a little pale. "It's all right, just lie still. I sent for the healer, she'll be here soon."
"What about the race?" Nikias asked.
"Yes, well, I'll have to strike you from the list, and then I'll have to give everybody who bet against you their money back, and since I already invested that money in a caravan to the East, that means I'll have to sell everything and end up a pauper and your parents won't get the share of the win I promised them to buy goats with." Salmoneus took a much-needed breath. "But don't let that concern you. It's not as if there's anyone around who might take your place."
There was a small silence.
"One of those goons said they'd been hired by Kratios. Do you know him?" Hercules asked Nikias, who shook his head, but then Salmoneus stepped between him and the bed before he could ask more questions.
"I said, it's not as if anyone's around who might take this poor boy's place. Someone willing to help."
Hercules sighed. "Salmoneus - I'm judging that race, remember?"
"Besides, nobody would bet against Hercules anyway," Iolaus added. He picked up his sheathed sword and swung it across his shoulders with a challenging look.
"That's true. What I need is someone unknown. Someone like Nikias, who can run like a hare but whom nobody's heard of. Hmmm..." Salmoneus stroked his beard pensively.
Hercules very, very carefully did not look toward Iolaus. Instead he repeated his newfound mantra: I am not getting involved.
"Someone like you, in fact," Salmoneus said, giving Iolaus a million-dinar smile.
Iolaus gave him a narrow-eyed look in return. "No."
"Oh, very good," Hercules said under his breath, and Iolaus turned to glare at him too.
"Why not?" Salmoneus exclaimed. "Nobody here knows you - you'd be perfect!"
"That's not what they say in Nemea," Iolaus said quietly, his gaze sliding away from both of them.
Hercules bit his lip, hating to see Iolaus' resignation. He had tried his best to explain to some of the Nemeans who had met Iolaus when he had lost his memory, but that had not quelled the rumors - people tended to remember a crime lord's enforcer, especially one who had been as good at his job as Iolaus had been. It would be a long while before they would be able to cross through Nemea again.
"Look, if you don't think you can do it, just say so," Salmoneus said, tapping his foot impatiently. "Come to think of it, you're probably too old to run the stadion anyway - speed is all that matters here, not cross-country endurance. Hercules, do you know any-"
Salmoneus' voice cut off as Iolaus stepped into his personal space, his chin up and his eyes as flat and deadly as they had been in that moment on the beach in Nemea where he had aimed his sword at Hercules' heart. Hercules tensed, ready to rescue Salmoneus from Iolaus' wrath if necessary.
"I'll run," Iolaus said softly.
Hercules exhaled, and after a brief, tense silence, so did Salmoneus. "Well, good!" he said affably, patting Iolaus' shoulder. "Glad to hear it. I'll go see about getting you put on the list, shall I? And you'd better go prepare yourself - the stadion starts in two hours!" The door banged shut behind him. Hercules made a mental note: never, ever underestimate Salmoneus.
"Thank you," Nikias said, propping himself up on his elbows. "Salmoneus wasn't exaggerating about my parents, at least. Our flock hasn't done well, and we really needed his help. They'll be very grateful that you stepped in for me."
"No problem," Iolaus said absently, setting his sword down against the wall again. "Herc, you need help tracking down this Kratios guy?"
Hercules hesitated. He did not think it would be more than an hour's work to find him and drag him before a magistrate; the mercenary he had interrogated had claimed that Kratios was just a small merchant with a fondness for racing who had gotten in over his head, and Hercules was inclined to believe him. And Iolaus would need to go over to the race track quite soon. But he did not want to give Iolaus the impression that his help would be unwanted.
"Right. I'll see you at the track, then," Iolaus said.
"Iolaus-" But he found himself talking to the swinging door.
The benches cut into the hillside were slowly filling with people, but there was no sign of Hercules on the wooden judges' stand halfway down the track. Iolaus took one last look around, then went down the steps, through the inner tunnels and into the athletes' changing room, trying hard not to worry. He's a demigod; he can handle it.
After the drawing of the lots, he had gone with the other runners to witness the official sacrifice of a black sheep to Zeus, patron of these races. That had been an odd experience, to say the least, and he was glad he had not had to say any personal prayers; he would probably have risked death by thunderbolt. Then again, what right did he have to be mad at Zeus? That the god had tried to manipulate his son really wasn't anything new. The only difference was that this time, Iolaus had actually encouraged Hercules to believe that Zeus could have changed, even though he had had trouble believing it himself. And very convincing you were too. He might not even have gone to Olympus if you hadn't sent him there.
He threw his vest down on the bench with more force than necessary, and the runner undressing next to him backed away warily.
Hercules had been very casual about his return from Olympus, but Iolaus knew that it had changed him, could feel it in the awkwardness that had risen between them since. All his life, Hercules had held that secret hope that Zeus would see him for who he was, would be the father to him he had never been; and that hope had been destroyed for good. Iolaus knew Hercules would forgive him; he just wasn't sure he was ready to be forgiven.
He stacked his clothes together on the bench and put his amulet on top, then reached for one of the small clay aryballoi hanging from a post and began to rub olive oil on himself. Several of the dozen runners surrounding in various states of undress were eyeing him, he noticed.
"Have you been in many wars?" one asked him deferentially, and Iolaus realized they had been looking at his scars. Well, so much for vanity.
Outside, a trumpet sounded and then a great swelling noise, like the sea crashing upon a rocky shore; the crowd, cheering the victor of the diaulos. It was time.
Hercules had arrived at the judges' stand just heartbeats before the stadion was due to begin, getting black looks from the officials. He scanned the runners lined up at the grooved stone markers below and to his right, and found Iolaus immediately. He stood poised second from left, his naked body gleaming in the sun, flanked by two tall young men; but then all the other runners were both taller and younger than Iolaus.
The trumpet sounded, and the runners were off, dustclouds rising in their wake. Iolaus hung back a little, possibly by design, and Hercules found that he had clenched his fists. He couldn't cheer Iolaus on, much as he wanted to; he had to turn an impartial eye on the runners, note that the one on the far right was limping slightly, that the one third from middle was edging dangerously close to the line that divided his track from the others.
Then the runner to Iolaus' left tripped suddenly and fell, directly in Iolaus' path. Time seemed to slow.
"That's a foul," he yelled to the other judges without looking at them, all his attention focused on Iolaus - who pushed off from the track into a flying, leaping somersault that carried him over the fallen runner and back onto the track again, one step behind the last of the other runners. The crowd roared in amazement, ten thousand voices crying out as one.
The stadion was only six hundred feet long, a single-distance race - would Iolaus have time to gain back what he had lost? He watched Iolaus draw level with the three runners at the front as they came closer and closer to the stone markers at the other end of the track, and for a breath's length they ran evenly matched, but then Iolaus drew half a bodylength ahead just before they crossed the marker.
The trumpet sounded again, the crowd whooped and roared, and the race was done. He regained awareness of his surroundings, of the other judges looking at him. "Do you have any proof that Perites' fall was deliberate?" the eldest asked him, a past champion named Leonides.
"If not, we must disqualify Iolaus," another judge added. He gave a little sniff. "Such acrobatics are not permitted on the racetrack."
Hercules nodded, trying not to let his reaction show. "I knew one of the runners would try something," he said carefully. "I just didn't know which one. Ask your court of magistrates; I just brought Kratios before them, the man who bought off Perites. His plan was to buy off all the runners, but when that failed he tried to avenge himself."
Leonides nodded. "I had heard something of this. Iolaus was a last minute replacement, I understand; I assume he was aware of these developments, that he had time to prepare himself?"
"Well, I didn't tell him someone was going to try a foul," Hercules admitted. "I didn't have time."
Leonides looked at him in amazement, then shook his head. "Your friend must truly be an acrobat," he said, deftly turning the accusation into a compliment.
The crowd was turning restless; the runners were craning their necks, looking up at the judges' stand.
"Are you satisfied?" Leonides asked the other judges; some hesitated, but eventually there were nods all round. "Very well." He raised his voice. "The winner of the stadion is Iolaus of Thebes!"
The victors' feast was held in the main banquet hall near the grounds of the Games, and all the athletes were there, but it seemed as though every single spectator had managed to find their way inside as well. Iolaus sat on one of the winner's couches, hemmed in by a press of admirers; he had been wined and dined and wined some more, and kissed and hugged and fondled; this had mostly been very enjoyable, but now he wanted out. He could do with some fresh air, and he wanted to find Hercules. He had spotted him earlier, near the doors of the hall, but lost him in the sea of people.
He shoved the circle of wild celery back for the third time; it kept falling into his eyes, and he would have preferred a nice statue or a victory ode or something, but the celery was traditional and it would have been rude not to wear it. When he looked up through the crooked leaves, he saw a glimpse of yellow and tan moving away from him through the press of bodies.
"Hercules!"
A brunette bent over him and obscured his vision, and for a moment he was distracted by the view as the neckline of her dress dipped even further down, but then his mind caught up with him again and showed him a picture of Hercules standing alone under the eaves of his mother's house, head bent in sorrow.
That image was enough to send him flying off the couch. He stumbled as the rhytons of wine he had drunk caught up with him, and some of the women seemed determined to keep him, or at least keep his vest as a souvenir, but finally he managed to disentangle himself and go after Hercules.
Some people were dancing, which made the banquet hall even more tricky to navigate, and he could not see Hercules anymore. When he had jostled the third dancing couple and shaken off two more enthusiastic race goers, he decided on another tactic. He moved outside to the empty portico, relishing the wash of cool night air against his heated skin, and climbed on top of a dinner couch that someone had evidently dragged out there and then abandoned. Thus elevated, he could oversee both the crowd and the torch-lit gardens, but there was still no sign of a certain overly-tall demigod. He slid back down, nearly falling off the couch, and someone caught him.
He knew the feel of those arms. "Ah. There you are."
"Mmm-hmm." Hercules tugged at him until he was sitting upright on the edge of the couch, then lay down behind him, stretching his long legs, and propped himself up on the bolster. "Having a good time?"
Iolaus hummed affirmatively and leaned back against Hercules' chest, letting his head fall against his shoulder. Hercules took the circlet of leaves off his head and ran his fingers through Iolaus' hair, carefully combing out the knots.
"Ahh, that feels so good." He stretched just to feel his muscles protest, then relaxed against Hercules' chest again, listening to his thudding heartbeat. The wine was working in him, turning his world bright and hazy at the edges. Hercules' fingers against his scalp were hot and sure, and Iolaus felt his whole body reach for more of Hercules' touch.
"I missed you," he murmured, able to get the words out at last. "Olympus? Bad idea."
Hercules nuzzled his hair, and Iolaus turned his head in time to catch his unguarded smile. "I know," Hercules said, and they were silent for a while.
In a hazy way it occurred to Iolaus that the couch back hid them from the view of the banquet hall, but that they were in full sight of anyone who might wander in from the garden. Then again, Hercules would probably pick up on an intruder's footsteps long before they could see him. Unless, of course, he was distracted. Hmm.
He arched upwards at Hercules' next stroke and felt Hercules shift against him, moving until he was no longer lying on the couch in proper fashion but sitting closely behind Iolaus, his chest pressed against Iolaus' back, his legs enclosing Iolaus' like tongs and pressing against Iolaus' sides. In answer, Iolaus splayed his legs and hooked them easily over Hercules' thighs, displaying himself. Hercules' breathing changed, and Iolaus smiled.
"Umm...excuse me?"
Iolaus closed his eyes and swallowed all the curses that leapt to his tongue. When he opened them again, he saw a pink-cheeked girl of eight or so, staring at him - no, at Hercules, with the usual hero worship. He shoved himself away from Hercules with a mental sigh, picked up the discarded wreath and dragged himself up to stand next to the couch, ready to face whatever problem the world was about to throw at them.
"Are you Hercules?" the girl asked, now blushing to the roots of her hair.
"That depends," he heard Hercules say, and Iolaus stared at him. That was a new one.
"Is it a monster you came to tell me about?" Hercules continued.
"No," the girl said in a nearly inaudible voice.
"Warlords? Thieves? Kratios' goons?"
The girl shook her head.
"Any kind of trouble or danger at all?"
More headshaking.
A long sigh from Hercules that seemed to come all the way from his boots. "A message from Salmoneus?"
The girl nodded vehemently and began to speak, but in that moment Hercules stood up from the couch. She shut her mouth again, clearly overwhelmed, and stared up at him.
"Then I'm not here. Can you tell him that?"
Biting her lip, the girl seemed about to shake her head again when he added, "And it won't be a lie, because I'm going away now. See?"
Iolaus bit his lip too, trying to contain his laughter, and then hastily followed Hercules down the steps and into the torchlit garden, leaving the girl staring after them.
The path led them past other revelers, walking in groups or pairs, many of whom greeted them both with enthusiastic cries and congratulations, but as they left the gardens behind and walked past Zeus' temple back toward the grounds of the Games, they met fewer and fewer people until finally they had left the party entirely behind.
They were heading past the race track towards the crossroads that led back to the city when Iolaus finally asked, "So why were you leaving the banquet?"
The cool air and the walk had sobered him, and his mood had turned with the ebb of the wine; he felt gloomily certain that they would never have any time to themselves until the moment they left Pyrea, and he wanted to get his answers while he could.
"I wasn't sure you wanted me to stay," Hercules said quietly. "I didn't want to-- I thought maybe you would like to celebrate with the people who cheered you on today."
"With the women who were falling all over me, you mean," Iolaus corrected him, grinning despite himself. "Did you see that brunette in the low pink dress? I think she's been taking fashion tips from Aphrodite." He shot a look at Hercules, but his friend did not take the bait; was still looking pretty grim, in fact. Oh, Herc. Don't you get it yet?
It was time for another tactic. "How come you aren't celebrating with all those people who think you're a god? Be good for some free drinks, at least."
Hercules actually looked pained and did not answer, and Iolaus bit the inside of his cheek to hide his expression. "That doesn't appeal to you?" he prodded.
"Of course it doesn't." Hercules' nostrils were beginning to twitch, now.
"Because it would be under false pretenses?"
A tight nod.
"Then why do you think I want to?"
Hercules stopped walking. That had gotten his attention, all right. "What? Iolaus, whatever some of those jerks were saying, you won that race fair and square. I-"
That was not the direction Iolaus wanted to go in. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Calm down."
Hercules sputtered a bit, but Iolaus went on regardless. "What I mean is, winning the race was fun. And it's great to get a moment in the candlelight and everything, but-" He gestured with one hand, running the other through his hair distractedly. "It's really not a big deal when you think about it, about what we do. Running ten times that distance with your arms shackled behind your back and a dozen goons with javelins breathing down your neck, now that's a challenge."
Hercules blew out a long breath. His frown lessened, but didn't vanish altogether. "And you don't get as much credit for that as you should."
His tone was tentative, and Iolaus shook his head. "No, that's not what I mean. I know I used to gripe about that, but believe me, I'm over it. Better a little peace and quiet than having people come up to me asking for blessings."
He got a smile this time; that was good. But Hercules still looked troubled, and Iolaus knew that he would have to come right out and say it, since Hercules was even worse at this than he was. He looked away, taking a deep breath. "No, what I mean is - I'd rather celebrate something real. Like getting my best friend back." The one person I don't have to prove anything to, he meant to add, but he couldn't get the words out; he had been trying to prove himself, trying to prove that nothing had changed.
Hercules' hand clamped down on his shoulder, the grip hard enough to leave bruises, and Iolaus huffed out his breath in relief. That small loss of control spoke eloquently enough to him. They'd always done better without words, when it came to this.
By unspoken accord, they started walking again, Hercules' hand still clasping his shoulder. When they came to the crossroads, they didn't choose the footpath that led down to the city and Salmoneus' house, which would be crowded with wellwishers and hangers-on, but the one that wound into the hills.
The pine and cypress grove on the west hill overlooking the race track was as quiet as the banquet hall had been riotously noisy. They walked to the edge of the grove, where the needle-covered ground sloped away to meet the edge of the empty spectators' seats, and stood there for a while, breathing the clean night air and watching the first stars come out over the valley.
Hercules reached down and settled the wreath of wild celery leaves more firmly in Iolaus' hair, then left his big warm hand resting against the back of his head as if he'd forgotten it was there.
"You ran a good race," Hercules said, but the words were meaningless; it was the softness of his voice that set something humming in Iolaus' stomach. He leaned into Hercules' side, just a little, just enough to feel that strength that could carry the world if it needed to, breathing deeply to catch the familiar scent of well-worn leather and clean sweat and feeling the knots in his stomach ease. It seemed he was finally getting used to the idea that Hercules was indeed back, that their partnership was alive again. It wasn't as if he could lay some kind of claim at Hercules' door - he himself had broken up their partnership twice in recent memory - but ever since they met up again he had felt uneasy, jittery, unsure of his own reactions or Hercules' response. That insecurity was melting away with every touch of Hercules' hands.
Hercules' right hand wandered down from his shoulder to his chest, drawing aimless patterns on his skin, and Iolaus sucked in a breath. He drew his shoulders back and wriggled, grinning as he heard Hercules draw in a quick, unsteady breath of his own. His vest slid off his arms and fell to the ground behind them. The cool night air felt good on his bare chest, and he could not stand to wear clothes a moment longer. He reached for his belt hook, but he felt Hercules move behind him, and then Hercules' hands came down to wrap over his.
"No. Let me." That same soft, intent voice, and Iolaus closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.
Hercules' left hand clasped his waist as he unhooked his belt with the other. A kiss landed between his shoulderblades, and then Hercules' warm presence moved away from behind him.
Footsteps, a rustle. He did not need to open his eyes to know that Hercules was kneeling in front of him, and he lifted his left foot almost before Hercules nudged it, shifting his weight while Hercules drew off his left boot and again for his right. The pine needles prickled his bare feet, soft and sharp at the same time.
Hercules' fingers dealt easily with the lacing of his pants. Iolaus had not laced them very tightly after the race. He had not really done a thorough job of scraping the olive oil off himself, either; he could still trace its peppery scent and feel the smoothness of it on his skin.
He lifted his feet again, letting Hercules draw his pants off his hips and down, and breathed in slowly, expecting to have his breechclout follow the rest of his clothes, but instead Hercules caught his calves in both hands and rubbed them slowly. Warmth and lassitude spread from that touch, leaving him rocking on his feet. Hercules' hands moved upwards to grip the back of his thighs, then gently pushed his legs further apart.
Soft strands of hair caressed his left knee, and he shivered, trying to anticipate the next touch of Hercules' hands. It was getting more and more difficult to keep his eyes closed, but he loved the intensity of it, the not-knowing. And just the mental image of Hercules kneeling before him, still fully dressed, was enough to turn him on.
Hercules' hands roved over the back of his thighs, dipping under the cloth and quickly away again. He groaned and heard Hercules laugh softly, a mere breath. Then Hercules' grip on his thighs tightened and a soft heat traced his balls where they lay hidden within the cloth, jostling them gently.
"Ah...Herc-" He'd meant to say something encouraging, or maybe pleading, but the name trailed off into a moan as Hercules slid his hands up to cup his ass and slowly mouthed his cock.
The breechclout slid off, a flutter of cloth down his legs, and Hercules' hair swept over his thighs like a swan's wing. Then Hercules' mouth took him again and he swayed forward helplessly, held up only by the hands that anchored his hips.
He wrapped his hands in Hercules' hair, allowing himself to touch at last, and listened to the satisfied sounds Hercules made deep in his throat.
Shaking all over, Iolaus finally let Hercules draw back a little and untangled his fingers from his hair, but then Hercules moved off his cock entirely, drawing a deep sigh of disappointment from him.
"Iolaus. Iolaus, look at me." Hercules' voice was a little hoarse, now, and it struck straight to his heart. He opened his eyes.
The stars shone brightly enough to limn the plane of Hercules' suddenly bare shoulders, but his face was a shadow in the starlight. Hercules' hands tugged at him and he followed, kneeling down on his discarded leathers, until he was at a height where he could meet Hercules' mouth with his own, but he got only a quick taste of himself before Hercules turned and stood up to take off his boots, then wrestled with the leather strips that held his pants shut. Iolaus smiled at Hercules' frustrated mutter. He really should do something about those pants.
But Iolaus didn't tell him, because all such thought fled from his mind when Hercules sank down to hands and knees in front of him. His heart turned over when Hercules turned his head, tossing his hair out of the way to look at him with mute, hungry eyes, and he quickly swiped his hands down his chest and legs and coated himself with oil, trying to touch himself as little as possible, trying to make it last.
He knelt behind Hercules, steadying himself with a touch on his back, and slowly pressed into him; Hercules shivered, once, and bowed his head. His breathing sounded like the roar of the crowd. Then he pushed back, and Iolaus sank further into him, taking it slow, rubbing his hands up and down that strong, beautifully muscled back. It was hard to pace himself like this, but he loved the slow groans it wrung from Hercules, who had dropped his head down on his arms and was shaking all over.
"Come on - Iolaus -" Hercules voice broke off on another moan, and Iolaus finally slid flush against him, then halted, panting, until Hercules began to swear; then he clasped Hercules' waist and moved, and Hercules pushed back with all his strength. It was like riding an unbroken horse, like climbing a mountain that kept shaking itself apart under him, like wrestling a tiger; his heart thundered in his ears and his blood was singing.
Hercules reached back and caught his right hand, and both their hands wrapped around Hercules' cock, moving in rhythm.
"I think - I'm going to win this race, too," Iolaus panted, then grinned at Hercules' somewhat uncoordinated headshake. Maybe winning isn't the point, for once.
True to his word, Hercules won the race, if race it was; he yelled as he came, then sank back down upon his folded arms, shuddering and moaning as Iolaus followed him.
"We need to go claim our bed from Salmoneus," Iolaus said thoughtfully, untangling yet another pine needle from Hercules' hair.
"'S not that cold," Hercules murmured, sounding half asleep. He lay with his head on Iolaus' shoulder, still completely nude, and he didn't seem interested in moving at all.
"Well, maybe not for you." Iolaus kissed his ear, which drew a protesting snort. "But we don't get to sleep in feather beds all that often. Although, come to think of it, maybe Nikias is still in ours."
"No," Hercules said, "The healer took him away to get his leg splinted." He drew back and propped himself up on his elbow, looking suddenly serious. "I'm sorry I didn't warn you about that foul, by the way. I knew Kratios had arranged something, just not what, and there was no time-"
"You were late," Iolaus said, but he had to admit that his tone was fond rather than accusatory.
"Yeah," Hercules said, laying his head back down with a sigh. "Kratios heard we were involved and decided to run for the hills. I hate it when they don't stay put."
"At least he didn't try to run you through," Iolaus said, then paused. "He didn't, did he?"
Hercules snorted. "Nah. That takes guts. He didn't have any."
A cricket chirped in the stillness. Iolaus said, "Next time, I'll be at your back."
"Yeah," Hercules said with infinite satisfaction. "I was hoping you'd say that."
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