This was Elysium. Nirvana, Valhalla and Heaven all in one.
Deimos
beneath him, sprawled out on the blood-soaked ground of the fresh
battlefield, moaning and writhing, pushing back against him as Strife
slowly rode him. Easing his cock in, sliding back out, hissing at the
tight grip of Deimos’ ass. Grabbing Deimos’ hips, tilting
them up just
a little more, finding the right-- Deimos cried out, a shudder running
through him, fingers digging into red mud.
“Yeah, right there,” Strife breathed the words, a trickle
of sweat
running down his back as he forced himself to keep up the slow, steady
pace.
They’d been at it for...Fates only knew how long. Hours, maybe.
Deimos
first holding himself open, telling Strife how he wanted it, ordering
him to do it faster and harder, then asking, then begging. Now he could
barely hold himself upright, limbs trembling, sweat glistening on his
blood-soaked skin. His words had long since vanished into desperate,
broken whimpers.
“I could do this for-freakin’-ever,” Strife
said, his voice
ragged.
“Fuck, this is hot.” He couldn’t get enough of
watching it, the sight
of his hands, pale against Deimos’ skin, holding the cheeks of
his ass
spread wide, giving Strife a perfect view of his cock pushing in and
out of Deimos’ wide-stretched hole, slicked with Strife’s
come. He’d
lost track of how many times they’d both come, but he
wasn’t stopping
and Deimos was still hard, too.
Strife’s legs were starting to shake, thighs aching with
exertion; even
as a god he was hitting his limits. He suspected he’d pushed
Deimos
past his. It wouldn’t be too much longer before --
It hit him hard, slamming into him like a war chariot. His vision
flashed red, ears ringing with the scream ripped from his throat.
Coming so hard it burned, slamming into Deimos over and over
and over
and....
When Strife pried his eyes open -- only managing one, the other side of
his face was smashed against Deimos’ sweaty back -- he was
collapsed on
top of Deimos. He could feel tiny tremors running through Deimos’
body
beneath his, or maybe that was his own body shaking in the aftermath of
what had to be one of the best orgasms of his long life.
“Mmmm,” Deimos moaned.
“Uh-huh,” Strife agreed, his voice slurring.
“Urrrr,” Deimos moaned again.
“Yeah, totally.” Strife flicked his tongue out, tasting
salt and copper
and the sharp flavor of Deimos himself.
“Rwrr.”
“Can’t remember how to speak yet, huh?” Strife said
with a triumphant
smirk. Oh yeah, he was that good.
“Orrwr.”
“Gimme a couple minutes and I’ll make sure you can’t
even remember how
to speak. If my cock isn’t broken,” he muttered under his
breath,
wincing as he slid free of Deimos’ ass. Damn, if gods could
bruise....
“What’re you talking about?” Deimos’ voice was
muffled, his face
pressed into the mud.
“You, down there moaning and groaning.” Strife’s
smirk widened. “Not
that it’s a surprise or anything, me leaving you
speechless.”
“Gurrr.”
“Yep, just like that.” Strife managed to move one hand
enough to pat
Deimos’ arm patronizingly.
“Huh?” Deimos lifted his head, spit out mud before speaking
again.
“That wasn’t me,” he said.
“Oh, sure it was--”
“Rarrrgh!”
Okay, that hadn’t come from Deimos.
It took some effort, but Strife slid himself off Deimos. Rolling to the
side, he shoved himself up on his elbows -- and froze.
“Uhhhh.” He meant to say more than that, really, but
nothing coherent
would come out.
“Strife?” Deimos suddenly sounded more than a little
freaked out. “Are
you seeing what I’m seeing?”
Strife could only nod, wide-eyed.
All around them the corpses of dead soldiers were rising to their feet.
Headless bodies stood side by side with corpses dragging their
entrails, others with their heads or chests split open, some impaled
with various weapons, some missing eyes, lips and skin where the
buzzards had feasted. A couple armless and legless torsos were jerking
in place, while others with one arm or two, were slowly dragging
themselves in Strife and Deimos’ direction.
“Are they--”
“Yeah,” Strife cut Deimos off, swallowing hard. All of the
corpses were
focusing on them, walking/stumbling/crawling towards them, gurgling
moans and groans coming from whatever remained of their throats.
“Ahhh!” Deimos yelled and kicked at a bodiless hand that
had wrapped
around his ankle. It went flying into the growing crowd of animated
corpses and Deimos went scuttling backwards -- until he butted up
against a decapitated head. The...thing opened its jaws and tried to--
“Oh shit!” Strife scrambled to his feet, staring in
shock at
the head
that had just tried to take a bite out of a god. Good thing
Deimos
could move fast when he had to, or he’d be missing a chunk of his
ass.
Strife liked that ass.
“Blast ‘em!” Strife said, feeling the edge of pissed
off. No one and
nothing attacked a god and got away with it! He raised his hands,
concentrating, focusing his power.
Nothing happened.
Gritting his teeth, he reached deep and pulled, tapping his
reserves
to carve out an escape path.
Still nothing.
“No!” Standing now, Deimos was shaking his hands, giving
them a
betrayed look. “I’m tapped out!” he said, his gaze
startled, frightened
and bewildered all at the same time when he looked up at Strife.
“I got nothin’,” Strife said. “We must’ve
blown all our power when
we...blew.”
Which left them naked, weaponless and surrounded by rapidly closing
corpses.
The nearest shambling thing reached out towards them, dragging a nearly
hacked off leg behind it. “Braiiins,” it gurgled out the
word, fingers
grasping, teeth snapping hungrily.
Strife looked at Deimos. Deimos met his gaze, eyes wide with dawning
horror.
The thing touched them, fingers trying to grip their hair.
Strife was screaming before he realized it, echoing Deimos’ own
terrified shriek, and they were both running. Trying to. Shoving and
kicking aside corpses that tried to hold and bite them, stumbling over
writhing body parts. They fought for every step and no matter how many
they took down, there were always more. And the ones that went down
just got right back up again.
“How do you kill these things?” Strife shouted, and
only got a
high-pitched whimper from Deimos in reply.
Suddenly, the mass of groaning, grasping corpses in front of them
just...froze. No movement, no sound, just instant corpse statues.
Strife and Deimos exchanged bewildered looks, but the corpses behind
and beside them were still pressing close, there was no time to wonder
what happened. Strife shoved forward into the frozen corpses, and they
fell like blocks of wood. One falling into another and another and they
all went down in a stiff pile, leaving the way clear -- right up to
where Hades stood in his chariot.
“Hades!” Deimos cried out in relief, running right over the
frozen
corpses.
Strife was close on his heels. “Get us out of here!” he
yelled,
flinging himself at the side of the chariot when he was close enough,
trying to climb inside. Deimos was right next to him, though,
scrambling up and there wasn’t enough room for both of them and
their
hands slipped. They dropped to the ground, Deimos landing on his back,
Strife landing half way on top of him, knocking the breath out of him.
“What the shit is this?” Hades demanded, glaring
down at them,
one
arm swinging out to encompass the battlefield. “I come here to do
my
job, and what do I find? You two running around naked, reanimating my
dead!”
“What--? No!” Strife scrambled up to his feet, grabbing
hold of the
edge of the chariot. “We didn’t do anything!”
“It’s not our fault!” Deimos was beside him again,
giving Hades an
earnest look. “We were just -- and then they were -- and--and
grabbing
and biting and they want to eat our brains!” He
shuddered hard.
Hades snorted. “Well, they wouldn’t have found much to eat,
would they?”
“Hey--!” Strife started to protest, but Hades cut him off.
“Maybe Ares falls for your lines, but the air is thick with your
powers,” Hades said angrily. “Do you have any idea
how hard it
is to
undo another god’s work?” He jabbed a finger behind them.
Looking over his shoulder, Strife couldn’t repress a shiver when
he saw
the pile of frozen corpses starting to move again. The other, unfrozen
ones were slowly shambling their way closer.
“Their souls are still trapped in those bodies, you idiots! I
should
make Ares assign you to me until you work out how to sort
through
this mess!”
Strife cringed back; Deimos whimpered. Both of them kept glancing back
at the steadily approaching corpses.
“But if I did that, I’d probably end up with a country full
of walking
dead inside of a week,” Hades said in disgust. “Just get
out of here,
now, before I decide it’d be more entertaining to toss you to
those
things.”
“Our powers are kind of on the fritz,” Strife admitted,
inching closer
to the chariot. “It’s over ten leagues to Ares’
nearest temple. That’s
way too far to hike it; can’t you just take us?”
“Does this look like a rent-a-chariot service to you?”
Hades’ eyes
narrowed dangerously.
Strife quickly shook his head and stepped away from the chariot, Deimos
mirroring him.
Then Hades’ gaze moved away from them, focusing behind them and
he
sighed, a put-upon sound. “Oh, wonderful; they’re organized
now. This
is definitely going to make me miss dinner. Persephone probably
won’t
speak to me for the rest of the week.” He shook his head
resignedly.
“Organized?” Deimos mouthed the word apprehensively.
Together, he and Strife reluctantly looked back at the corpses.
The things surged forward in unison, hands extended, growling and
roaring.
Strife didn’t know whose scream was louder, his or Deimos’.
Deimos was
definitely quicker, though, ducking around the chariot and taking off
so fast it was a struggle for Strife to keep up.
Ten leagues suddenly seemed like a very, very reasonable distance.