Shorts


Interruptus
September 2003
-----------------

Autolycus suppressed an annoyed sigh, knowing it would only serve to make the situation worse. As it was, Hercules didn't look like he'd be stopping anytime soon.

"Don't you ever think before you do things like this? What could possibly have made this sound like a good idea to you?" Hercules wasn't shouting but he was pacing, back and forth in the small room, between the door and the window where Autolycus stood. Autolycus wondered if he'd eventually wear a rut in the stone floor; they'd probably be here long enough to test that idea, given the way Hercules liked to lecture whenever he caught--er, interrupted Autolycus' work.

"This is Iphicles' castle, Autolycus. I can't believe you'd try to steal the crown jewels from my brother!" There was so much self-righteous indignation in Hercules' tone that Autolycus couldn't help rolling his eyes. A mistake.

"You're lucky I was the one that caught you." Hercules' voice took on an undertone of repressed anger. "Iphicles doesn't know I know you--"

"A mistaken omission on your part, I'm sure," Autolycus interrupted with lazy confidence. "After all, who wouldn't want to brag about having the King of Thieves as his friend?" He smoothed out his mustache as he drawled the words.

Hercules clenched his jaw, a visible movement. For a moment he said nothing, just continued to pace, then he let out a long sigh. "I don't understand you, Autolycus; how can you be this--this childish all the time?"

Autolycus bit back a groan of exasperation. It looked like Hercules was heading into round two of the Lecture that Never Stopped. He needed to head this off and fast before he keeled over from boredom. But how to head off an irate demi-god who was stronger than him and carried around way too many morals -- well now, there was an idea.

There was no way Hercules could really be this up-tight; Autolycus was fairly certain there was just something about him that brought it out in Hercules, not that he knew why. So maybe it was time to shake up Hercules' perceptions about him. A glance at the door showed that Hercules had locked it when he'd entered, probably to ensure some privacy for this lecture of his, but Autolycus was never one to pass by an opportunity, no matter how it presented itself.

"You know what, Hercules, you're right," Autolycus announced, throwing his hands up in surrender.

"I--uh, what?" Hercules stopped pacing and just looked at him, frowning suspiciously.

"You're right," Autolycus repeated with an smooth smile.

"Uh-huh. So why don't I believe you?" Hercules' expression turned skeptical.

"Because you really don't know me." Autolycus sighed theatrically. He was telling the absolute truth, but no need to warn Hercules right off by letting him know that.

"Right. You're a liar and a thief, Autolycus. I'd say I know you just fine."

"King of Thieves," Autolycus corrected automatically. Dropping a hand down to his belt buckle, he began loosening it. "And you've got a point, I lie and steal -- and don't forget cheating," he added with a wink. Hercules just glared.

"It was a bit childish, trying to steal from your brother," Autolycus said without a hint of remorse as he pulled the buckle open. "I've just been a bad boy lately, I guess, and you know what? You should punish me for that."

Hercules blinked, confusion replacing his glare. "You...want to be hanged for thievery?"

Pulling his belt free, Autolycus snorted. "No, big guy." He turned and grabbed the windowsill with one hand, opening his pants with the other. "I've been bad, so spank me." He let his pants fall around his knees.

Glancing over his shoulder, he was treated to a look of utter shock on Hercules' face. The way Autolycus figured it, Hercules would either get over it and take up his offer, or he'd snap and run screaming from the room; either way, it was going to be an entertaining night.



This requires a bit of an explanation. I was discussing live action gay tentacle porn in my LJ and I joked about a HtLJ/Harry Potter crossover featuring Deimos and the squid from the Hogwart's lake. Then I thought, "What the hell?" And wrote a snippet just for laughs.

Then Darkamber thought it would be funny if Ron showed up. Again, just for giggles, I wrote a bit more.

Then Candace asked for a cumshot. At that point I plead insanity.

Tentacle Porn
crossover with Harry Potter
September 2004
------------------------------

Deimos leaned back against the tree, tapping his fingers against the side of his thigh. "So, nice digs." He glanced at the castle beyond the lake, the moon rising overhead. "Real mood setter."

He tittered softly, then dropped his gaze when he felt something slide around his lower leg. The tentacle was slick with water and bits of scum from the pond, both dripping onto his boot.

"You're a friendly one, aren't you?" He grinned as he met the large eyes of the squid bobbing just above the surface of the water. "Hey, works for me. Bet all those arms are real...useful, huh? Let's find out."

He began to quickly unlace his pants--

-------

Ron knew he should've stayed in bed. Or maybe he still was in bed. That would explain things, if this were all a dream. He'd never drempt of the squid in the pond before though, and even if he had, he wouldn't have added some naked blond bloke who giggled like a girl when the squid did...that.

If it was a dream, he wasn't waking up. He'd just have to leave. But he couldn't make himself look away, not when the squid was doing things that would make any teenager a little envious.

Then large, luminous eyes turned towards him and it was too late to run. A tentacle rose from the water and slid around his legs.

"Oooh, it's a party now," said the naked blond, clapping his hands together with another high-pitched giggle.

-------
The bark was rough against Deimos' back, scratchy and sometimes painful but he couldn't help rocking back against it, the pain a sharp, delicious counterpoint to the sweet, hot mouth around his cock, the tentacle so far up in him he could feel it wiggle in the back of his throat.

A moan around his cock making him gasp. "Yeah, baby." His voice broke on the last word as that tentacle wriggled and pleasure shot up his spine, nearly making him come in that mouth that was far too experienced for someone that innocent looking. Whatshisname...Ron, that was it, had mentioned something about someone named "Harry" before Deimos had put that mouth to a better use, so maybe that explained it.

Another swallow around him, another moan and Deimos forced his eyes open to look at the young man kneeling in front of him. Tentacles wrapped around them both, Ron shivered and moaned every time one of those tentacles moved and...oh yeah, he was getting the same treatment that squid was giving Deimos.

The tentacle writhed inside him and Deimos' head fell back against the tree. That wiggle again, another deep moan, vibrations around and inside him and Deimos had just enough time to pull out of Ron's mouth before he came, splattering that freckled face, those swollen lips, drops catching on long red eyelashes over closed eyes.

"And Ares says the mortal world sucks," Deimos said, a soft, breathless giggle escaping him.



Kiss
January 2005
--------------

It was easy, kissing Jett. Far too easy. Joxer just leaned forward, cutting off the steady stream of words, the old lecture on handling weapons that Joxer had heard once too often and it was so much nicer to hear nothing at all. Nothing beyond the soft, shocked gasp that he more felt than heard, warm breath against his lips as his mouth closed over Jett's.

He wanted to see Jett's reaction but he was equally afraid of it and Joxer kept his eyes tightly shut. He just stood there, close enough to feel the heat from Jett's body, lips pressing but not demanding.

Anyone could've walked into the armory, their father, the servants, but Joxer didn't let it stop him from stepping just that much closer. Tilting his head for a better angle, he shivered as the leather of Jett's vest brushed against his bare chest, sliding against sweat slicked skin.

Joxer couldn't help the faint moan that escaped him, muffled against Jett's lips. It all felt so...so right in a way Joxer knew should've been very wrong. His own brother.

Jett didn't push him away but there was no response either, other than that first light gasp, and eventually Joxer couldn't drag it out anymore. He had to draw back, open his eyes and face whatever Jett would do to him for daring to presume...so much.

But Jett's expression was unreadable. Eyes narrowed, but not in anger as he looked closely at Joxer.

Breathing harder than he thought he should, Joxer had to look away, at the floor, the weapons hanging along the walls, anywhere but at that intent gaze so focused on him. He could feel his cheeks heating and knew he'd screwed up, same as always. Although he'd never done it quite like this.

"Sorry," he said, but his voice was soft and he didn't really mean it, not for his actions anyway. He wasn't sorry for stealing a kiss, one he'd wanted for...too long now, but he would regret losing his closeness with Jett, that thing, that something that felt like "brother" to him -- felt like it should be so much more than that.

Jett's hand closed around his upper arm, grip firm but not even close to bruising. Joxer's eyes went first to that hand, then back to Jett's face, taking a deep breath as he readying himself for whatever Jett would do.

Jett licked his lips, a slow, drawn out movement that left them glistening with moisture and left Joxer suddenly short of breath. All thoughts of bracing for a confrontation fleeing his mind at the simple sight of Jett's tongue.

"Is this why you watch me, Jox?" Jett asked softly, no judgment there, just...curiousity.

Joxer nodded, not trusting his voice to keep its normal timbre instead of taking on a husky, aroused tone.

Then the corner of Jett's mouth quirked up into a half smirk. "Okay."

Joxer didn't have a chance to respond, to even think. Jett tugged him forward, arm sliding around his waist, holding him tight, close. And Jett kissed him.

Lips pressuring his open, Jett's tongue sliding across, over his, wet and slick and anything but the neat and chaste kiss Joxer had given him. And where had Jett learned to kiss like this? To hold someone so tight that it hurt to breathe in a good way? To get someone hard with a flick of his tongue, a twist of his hips? Joxer had thought his fumblings with the servants had given him experience, but Jett knew this, in a way Joxer's imagination hadn't touched on, a way no one had ever touched him.

Eyes falling shut without conscious decision, the image of Jett's intent, hungry gaze burned into his mind, Joxer dug his fingers into Jett's shoulders, into hot skin and slick leather, wiry muscles flexing beneath his grip. He just held on. And let Jett show him.



Bondage Fun
Written while in withdrawl from LJ during the system crash.
January 2005
--------------

"So," Deimos said, fingers steepled in front of him, "what do you think?"

Strife would've told him exactly what he thought, that it lacked originality, that it'd been done a hundred thousand and one times before, that it really wasn't that impressive at all. He would've said it in his most scathing tones, sneering as he spoke to give Deimos the full effect of his contempt -- but Strife found it difficult to do more than growl and even that was muffled around the leather gag in his mouth.

"You don't sound too appreciative there, cuz." Deimos rubbed his hands together once, then leaned over Strife, the brown leather of his shirt filling Strife's vision. "It's...some of my best work." His voice lowered as he lightly dragged two fingers up Strife's bare arm, lingering a moment below Strife's manacled wrist before sliding his fingers up to the cool Hephaestian metal.

"Not the chains." Deimos drew back just enough for Strife to see his face, see the satisfaction spark in those heavy lidded eyes. "You, I mean." Deimos smiled, something close to a smirk, one that looked too familiar. Just how long had Deimos been watching him, studying him? How long to know enough to trap him?

The fringe of Deimos' shirt was trailing over Strife's bare chest and Strife didn't think for a moment it was accidental, not the way it was slowly brushing back and forth, again and again over his nipple.

"You're easy, cuz," Deimos said, his fingers drawing back from Strife's arm. "Just in case you want to know."

What Strife wanted to know was if was possible to choke another god, but there was no give in the manacles around his wrists, around his ankles even, no slack, no room for the slightest movement, no escape.

The tip of Deimos' tongue flicked out, wetting the corner of his mouth as he tilted his head to the side, staring closely at Strife. "Maybe too easy?" One hand rested on his bare knee for a moment, fingers tapping once, twice, then stilling. "Did you want me to catch you, Strife?"

The growl didn't sound any less muffled the second time around and Deimos didn't pay any more attention than he had to the first one. He swung a leg over Strife, straddling his waist. He felt...light, or maybe Deimos was taking most of his weight on his legs.

"You're a total tease, cuz." He laid his hands on Strife's stomach, spreading his fingers out in a slow slide that sent an involuntary shiver through Strife, spreading from his belly outward.

"The way you move, how you talk, those eye fucks you're always giving me -- I think you were just waiting for me to do something about it, weren't you?"

Deimos leaned down, close, and Strife willed himself not to flinch back when Deimos' cheek brushed against his. He had the odd, fleeting thought that Deimos had surprisingly soft skin, just as Deimos began speaking again.

"Well, I'm here, Strife, and I'm doing something now."

Deimos' lips pressed against his cheek, high up near his ear and Deimos' hands were sliding upward, nails dragging against Strife's skin; he could feel the marks they were leaving, the burn of scraped flesh -- and Strife moaned.



Talent
Written for the "Deimos Short-short challenge" on strife_lust.
March 2005
-------------

The rain slid down Deimos' naked skin like a wet waterfall. The ridiculous thought skittered through Discord's mind and she almost laughed, but then Deimos' fingers pushed deeper and she could only gasp, pant and arch her back.

Naked, powers scattered to the four winds along with her rational thoughts, on view in a half burnt out shell of a house where any mortal could wander by and see her. See her splayed out on a mud floor, nipples peaked and glistening from the rain and Deimos' mouth, reddened from the pull of his fingers. Legs spread wide, trembling on the cusp of yet another orgasm as Deimos held her down, fingers and tongue buried in the damp curls between her legs.

She tried to grip his hair, to pull him in more, but she couldn't get a grip on the short blond strands. They slid through her fingers like wet silk. She would've moved, sat up and grabbed him by the neck, forced him closer, but he had her. His free hand was tight on her waist, fingers digging in hard enough to turn her skin a bloodless color where they gripped her. As if he could bruise her, a goddess, his superior in every way.

Discord jerked, uncontrollably, a high, thready cry escaping from her as she clenched around his fingers, coming again, and again after that. Fingers digging convulsively into the mud as she trembled beneath him.

Deimos lifted his head, stared up at her, cheeks and chin wet with her juices. He licked his lips. Slowly.

She just stared back, gasping sharply for air.

"More?" He finally asked, already moving his fingers again, rocking them in and out of her, steady, slow pace. Building.

Discord nodded. "You're not bad at this," she said, pleased that her voice didn't sound as breathless, as eager as she'd thought it might.

"So, I'm not totally incompetent, huh?" Deimos grinned, although, it was more of a sneer.

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," Discord said, pushing herself up on one elbow. "I mean, if this is your only talent, I doubt Ares is going to be all that impressed."

Deimos giggled, and that was definitely a sneer now. "Oh, you'd be surprised." He bent his head again before she could reply, tongue swirling around her clit, flicking against it before he set to sucking at it like a favorite treat, fingers pushing even harder into her.

Discord fell back with a helpless cry, barely feeling the mud as it squished beneath her, splattering over her heated skin.

Maybe she'd let him bruise her after all.



The Watcher
Written while testing out an old email addy, to make the post more on-topic.
August 2007
--------------

Jason woke abruptly, knowing--feeling that something was very wrong. It only took opening his eyes to find out what.

"Morning," Strife whispered, his face so close that Jason's eyes nearly crossed trying to focus on him.

Jason was all too aware of the weight of Strife on him, Strife's leather-clad arms crossed on top of his bare chest, straddling his waist, pinning the covers over Jason's legs. Strife wasn't heavy enough to keep him down if Jason fought to free himself, and Jason tensed further, ready to throw Strife off, call out at the same time, wake Iolaus and Hercules.

"You don't really want to do that." Strife's voice was still a whisper, but he pulled back a little, giving Jason a better look at him.

The early morning sun, only just now peaking into the dorm windows, gave Strife's skin a hint of warm color, made his eyes seem less like chips of blue ice and more like the pale blue of a cloudless sky. He was...smiling. Not the taunting smirk they'd all become used to seeing from him, but a small, knowing smile.

"You think I never knew?" Strife asked.

Jason frowned, not understanding.

"You used to watch me when I 'slept,' when you thought I was Nysus."

"We--we all watched you those last few days," Jason protested, although he kept his voice as low as Strife's. "We knew something wasn't right."

Strife made a little hum of agreement, his smile widening. "True. But," he leaned forward again, even closer than he'd been before, and when he spoke, the warmth of his breath ghosted over Jason's lips, "you, Jason, were the only one who went back to your bunk and whacked off afterwards."

Jason went tense all over, his breath stuttering in his throat, eyes widening. It--he--no. He shook his head in denial, but he still couldn't help turning his head slightly, enough to see across the small room, check that Iolaus and Hercules were still deeply asleep, hadn't heard any of that, weren't witnessing...this.

Strife chuckled, a sound Jason felt all down his body. "Don't worry." One of Strife's arms shifted on Jason's chest, and a moment later, long, warm fingers slid over Jason's chin, turning his head back. "This isn't about them," Strife said, his face filling Jason's vision once more.

"This is you." His thumb stroked slowly down Jason's jaw line, sending a shiver through him. "This is me." His weight shifted, hips rocking down, just once. Once was more than enough. Jason gasped silently, his body instantly reacting to the motion.

"This is us." Strife leaned even closer and there was no way to focus, Jason had to shut his eyes. But it remained vivid in his mind, the image of blue eyes being slowly eclipsed by inky black pupil. And even as Strife's lips touched his, so much softer than he'd imagined, Strife's eyes were there, intense in his mind's eye, watching him.



Written for the 2nd Deimos Short-Short Story Challenge.

Love and War
September 2007
---------------

In all his long, immortal life, Deimos had never heard the words, “I love you,” after a quick fuck. Cupid, however, heard it all the time. From gods and mortals, male and female alike, they all gasped, spoke or screamed it, and always with devotion-tinged awe. It was a form of worship Cupid had obviously come to expect from everyone he “graced” with his attentions. So Deimos made a point of never saying it.

He’d shared Cupid’s bed more than anyone else over the centuries, and it wasn’t due to any great sexual skill on his part or any emotional attachment on Cupid’s, it was simply a matter of control, persistence, and Cupid’s never-flagging determination to get those three little words out of him. Not that Cupid had ever come straight out and said that -- that would smack too much of begging, but the extra effort he put into their encounters, the way he worked at it, leaving them both gasping and near exhausted, that said it as clearly as words.

And it wasn’t easy on Deimos’ part, either. Oh, he didn’t love Cupid, but damn if he didn’t love what Cupid did to him. The way Cupid could arouse him to the brink of coming, then hold him there, for hours at times, before sending him tipping over into the most incredible orgasms he’d ever experienced. There was no one as good in bed as Cupid, no one who could make Deimos come so close to passing out from pleasure. But if Deimos ever said that, ever mentioned love in any way -- even if it was just to say that he loved what Cupid could do with that ridiculously mobile tongue of his -- it would be over. Cupid would interpret it as the declaration he’d been looking for, he’d consider the battle won, and he’d move on. Deimos would never get near him again, at least not with any nakedness and fun touching involved.

“Leaving so soon?” Cupid asked, although he was breathing hard and his arms visibly shook with the effort it took to push himself up. His wings were limp, one hanging over the edge of the bed.

“If I don’t show up soon, Ares’ll lose his temper.” Deimos shuddered dramatically -- and ended up staggering into the wall when his wobbly legs proved too unsteady to hold him.

“Well, hurry back, dude,” Cupid said, his eyes narrowing with renewed determination. “I’ll clear my schedule for tomorrow. All of tomorrow.”

“Oooh, how can I resist?” Deimos grinned as his leathers appeared, sliding their way up his body. It wasn’t a nice grin, more of a challenge, really.

Cupid smiled back, showing teeth. “Looking forward to it.”

“Mmm, likewise.” Deimos waggled his fingers in farewell before transporting himself away, the imaged of a naked and sweaty Cupid locked firmly in his mind.

It was worth the intense control it took to keep his mouth shut, biting his tongue, forcing his mind to blankness, paralyzing his voice, whatever it took to stop those words from spilling out, because no way was Deimos losing this.



Written for the 2nd Deimos Short-Short Story Challenge.


Declarations
September 2007
------------

In all his long, immortal life, Deimos had never heard the words, “I love you,” after a quick fuck. He’d sure as Tartarus never said it, either; sex was just sex, after all. It was just fucking, just bodies and sweat and come and emotions didn’t enter into it, except for how good it felt. It was all about getting off -- all about him getting off. The other guy was just a convenient hand/mouth/hole and what did Deimos care if whatever his name was came or not? Well, okay, if it was another god, Deimos at least made some effort to reciprocate, otherwise he’d never get that piece of ass again. But if it was just some mortal, then who gave a crap?

So why the fuck -- why in Kronos’ name -- why -- just--just why had those three little words slipped out? He’d just...said it. He’d opened his mouth and there they were, spilling out without any conscious thought, hanging in the air like a bad smell, like an ugly wound, like dirty laundry, like--

“Well, of course you do.”

What?” Deimos jerked upright, sending the pillows flying off the bed. He must’ve looked as appalled as he felt, because Autolycus was chuckling as he dropped down beside him, leaning back against the headboard.

“Oh, come on now, you aren’t really surprised, are you? Of course you’re not,” Autolycus said with supreme confidence as he stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles.

“You’re a mortal!” Deimos said, shuddering in disgust. Well, he made an attempt at it anyway. The shudder...didn’t quite happen, it was more of a shiver, and that had a lot more to do with the sight of all that tasty nakedness laid out before him.

“And not just any mortal, the King of Thieves. The most talented in the business, and best looking if I do say so myself, and I do,” Autolycus said as he smoothed out his mustache. “Ah, face it Deimos, you’ve had the good sense and excellent taste to fall in love with the best of the best.”

Autolycus grinned at him, a thoroughly possessive look, and Deimos recoiled backwards. Or, at least he tried to. The arm Autolycus dropped around his shoulders held him in place.

“You’re about to lose that arm,” Deimos warned, raising a hand, blue sparks dancing around his fingertips.

“Sure I am.” Chuckling again, Autolycus yanked him close.

Deimos fell against him with a yelp, surprised enough that he lost his concentration and his hold on his powers slipped; the sparks disappeared.

“Are you insane?” Deimos stared at him, wide-eyed.

“You know, it’s amazing how many people mistake genius for insanity,” Autolycus said with a sigh and a shake of his head. “Now gimme some sugar, baby.”

Anything Deimos might’ve said was cut off by Autolycus’ lips covering his. Deimos started to shove away, but when his hands touched Autolycus’ chest, they just kind of...stayed there. Fingers rubbing against a nipple, another hand sliding down low and Autolycus murmuring encouragement into his mouth the entire time.

What the Tartarus, Deimos figured; they could “discuss” this later. A lot later.


Written for the Spooky Strife Halloween 2007 Challenge.

Bad Moon Rising
October 2007
------------------

“Why am I out here?” Discord flicked wet leaves off her chest, grimacing at the damp patches left behind on her leathers.

“I told you, I had some fun last night,” Strife said, hopping over a decaying log.

“I mean, why am I out here with you?” Discord walked around the same log, careful not to let the rotted wood touch her boots.

“Because you’re curious.” Strife smirked at her, ducking around a tree.

She wrinkled her nose in response.

Not that she’d ever admit it, but she was curious, just a little. Strife wouldn’t ask her to come for a walk at dawn, in the rain, out in the ass end of Greece if he didn’t have something interesting to show her. But so far there was nothing but forest and damp and if she didn’t see something soon, she was going back to Olympus for a hot bath.

“I went to see Hecate a couple days ago,” Strife said casually, dragging his hand against a thorny bush as he passed.

“Good for you.” Discord yawned with pointed boredom.

“I played a few rounds of dice with her.”

“With Hecate?” She snorted. “Have I ever told you that you’re insane?”

“Often.” Strife’s smirk widened.

“Somehow, I don’t think it’s sinking in -- and what is that smell? It’s...familiar.” Frowning, Discord sniffed at the air.

“If you spent more time on the battlefields, you wouldn’t have to ask that,” he taunted.

Before she could formulate an appropriately scathing response, something landed on her head. She reached up to yank the leaves out of her hair -- and came back with a stringy hunk of overripe flesh.

Strife giggled brightly when she tossed the thing aside with a disgusted sound. “Recognize the smell now?” He grinned and waved a hand around them.

Stopping to clean off her fingers and hair with a flex of power, Discord glanced around, her eyebrows rising as she took in the carnage. Bits and pieces of flesh hanging off tree branches and stuck inside bushes, most of it unrecognizable, but there was a part of a hand on the ground near her, a bit of bloody hair with some scalp still attached in a bush a few paces away. A single ragged piece of blood soaked clothing was stuck to a tree trunk.

“This is the ‘fun’ you had?” She raised an eyebrow, making certain not to look too interested, even if it was a little impressive. Slightly.

“Mmm-hmm.” Strife slid a short way across the dead leaves, stopping abruptly at her side. “Isn’t it delicious?” he whispered in her ear.

“It has a certain...artistic appeal,” she conceded. “What did it used to be?”

“Well, that’s the cool part.” He linked his fingers and cracked his knuckles one at a time. “So, I challenged Hecate to a game of dice.”

“You said that already.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell you that I won.”

You? Against Hecate? I don’t think so. You cheated, didn’t you?”

“Me cheat? With Hecate? Do you think I’m insane or something?” he scoffed and twirled away from her, wrapping an arm around a tree to slow himself to a gradual halt. “I had a streak of good luck. Two out of three throws; I won.”

“And what did you win?” Discord prompted, because, with the expectant look he was giving her, she doubted he’d say any more unless she asked.

“I asked for her to curse Hercules.” He smiled sweetly.

“How, exactly?” She crossed her arms, giving him a skeptical look.

“An oldie but a goodie.” Shoving away from the tree, he strolled back towards her. “I wanted him to turn into a ravenous wolf at the full moon.”

“Hecate would never agree with that,” Discord said dismissively.

“True. Not permanently anyway. But I only asked for one time.”

“What’s the point of that?”

“The point,” Strife stopped in front of her, “is who does Zeus’ brat always hang out with?”

Discord’s eyes widened in comprehension. She looked around them again, seeing the carnage in a new light, a far more appreciative one.

“Yeah.” Strife laughed softly. “Oh yeah.”

The air was suddenly split by a nearby scream of deep horror and grief. “Iolaus!” Hercules shrieking his friend’s name, over and over, his voice breaking on deep sobs.

Discord normally didn’t care to show Strife that she approved of him or anything he did, but there were exceptions, and this was definitely one of them. She laughed brightly, the sound nearly drowned out by the continuous wailing.

Strife sighed happily. “Ahh, the former children of the night; what awesome screeching they make.”



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