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Most people, not unreasonably, are at least a little afraid of Ares- mortals and immortals alike. And why shouldn’t they be? He is not a gentle god, not known for graciousness or decency. Even warriors rarely seek his favor, preferring the wise guidance of his sister or the inspiring valor of Nicé. No, Ares does not inspire devotion, but rather grips the world by its neck, and fearful of being choked, it spews back whatever offerings and beseechments it has not already laid bare at the feet of his more beloved kin.
Then again, some people are into that sort of thing. Being choked, that is. Or maybe pushed up against a wall and held in place by massive, strong hands, or forgoing all that and being thrown straight into a satin-sheeted bed and forced up to their hands and knees, or,
mmh
- all of the above, maybe?
Hypnos isn’t afraid of Ares. He likes Ares a lot, actually, and not just because he’s one of the lucky few in any realm to have the war god’s favor. Ares is genuinely a good lover, doting and respectful, maybe a touch possessive, but there’s enough trust in their relationship that he knows Hypnos only ever acts like he does now in order to rile him up and get some extra attention.
And attention he is certainly getting. These gatherings on Olympus are nothing more than competitions between selfish gods to see who can turn the most heads, and right now, it’s Hypnos, and the man whose lap he’s sitting in. A man who, notably, isn’t Ares.
Surely Dionysus is in on the game, or else he wouldn’t be so bold as to run the hand not clutching a never-empty goblet of wine up the thigh of the lithe chthonic god, and he wouldn’t be shooting sharp glances at the silent war god or the slyly giggling goddess of love. It would be one thing if that hand was simply passing over the cloth of Hypnos’s skirts, but it is quite obviously underneath it, caressing the smooth skin that Ares so loves to kiss and bite until it practically glows with blush and ichor. Sure, it’s possible that Hypnos is only squirming against the stimulation of Dionysus’s broad hand, but it seems much more likely that he’s doing it because each time he moves, he passes over the other god’s crotch and makes him groan and pull him closer as the nymphs and spirits attending his company watch with equal rapture and apprehension.
“If you keep up like this, I’m gonna start getting jealous, man, you know that?” Dionysus chuckles, but his words have an air of sincerity. He’s doing this out of an affection for the sleep god and for annoying Ares, but he can’t deny that having the sweet little god writhing in his lap isn’t affecting him.
Hypnos stills for the moment, instead leaning his head into the crook of Dionysus’s neck and huffing as he meets his eyes, his own mischief reflected in them plainly. “Aw. Don’t count yourself out, he might decide to share me some day! And I’m sure you’re at the top of his list.”
“I dunno, I’m not sure I’m his type.” He waggles his eyebrows in a way that makes Hypnos laugh and Ares fume, far away as he is. “Am I yours?”
Hypnos looks him up and down, his eyes unsubtly lingering over a few key places. “Well, let’s see...” he says, playing at concentration, “You’re really nice to me, so that’s a big plus. You hold conversation really well, you’re always such a gracious host whenever I pop by, and, physically? M-hmm .”
“A gracious host, indeed.”
The small crowd gathered around the wine god’s chaise scatters at the sound of the war god’s booming voice, politely excusing themselves to other ministrations or simply fleeing to escape whatever confrontation is sure to erupt between the Olympians.
“ There you are, mate!” Dionysus’s voice is cheerful and relaxed as always, even as his focus splits between Ares’s unimpressed glare and Hypnos’s thighs shifting against his own. “You’re looking as irritable as always, but no worries, none at all! Could I interest you in a party favor?”
Ares’s lips, if possible, grow into an even tighter line, the corners of his mouth just barely quirking as he speaks. “A favor.”
“Yeah, man, you wouldn’t turn it down, right? That’d be pretty rude, if you don’t mind me saying.” He doesn’t mind him saying so, he’s had more than enough time to grow accustomed to the fanciful words that flow from the wine god’s mouth as easily as drink from his cup. What he’s not sure he can get over is the downright impish look in Hypnos’s eyes, the way he bounces his leg idly, just far enough to brush against Ares’s calf, or the way Dionysus is rubbing circles into the sleep god’s lower back and blinking dimly at him like he doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into.
“Go on, get off, you,” Dionysus chuckles, lightly slapping Hypnos’s rear as he practically throws him at Ares, “Here you are, mate. It’s this little troublemaker! Everyone’s been enjoying him all night long while you’ve been standing all alone by yourself- it’s not fair at all, mate, not at all! Now get out of here and go blow off some steam- erm, preferably not the way you usually do it, I’d really like him back in one piece, got it?” Oh, he’d like him back, would he? As if he’s his , as if it’s him Hypnos returns to, him whose name the little god cries out in shattered ecstasy or him he calls love, sweetheart, my lord .
Greedily, and none too gently, he wraps an arm around Hypnos’s waist and draws him closer, his visage finally breaking and a smile curling on his lips as he gives Dionysus a parting nod. “A most generous gift, Lord of Wine. I thank you.”
The room is still largely silent as the two of them exit, but Dionysus affords them some measure of privacy when he bursts open another keg of wine and rouses his companions into an unharmonious rendition of some vulgar drinking song the mortals had composed in his honor.
Only once the vile noise is near inaudible does Hypnos speak, prefacing his quip with a soft laugh and a nudge of his head against Ares’s chest (as high up as he can reach, with the difference in their builds). “What’s wrong, handsome? Doesn’t seem like you’re too pleased with milord’s gift. I’m almost offended.”
And maybe it’s that the clamor of partygoing is finally silent, or maybe it’s that the the little coquette had the gall to call that god of harlots his lord, but Ares steers them into a nearly barren room kept separate from the hallway only by a red cloth curtain. There’s nothing more than a table, a few chairs, and some unmeaningful tapestries hung against the stone walls in the name of decoration- hardly the lap of luxury, but it will do.
All he needs is a surface, really, and he soon confirms that the table will do just fine. In a lightning swift motion, he grabs the little god by his hips, making him yelp in surprise and pain, and bends him over the tabletop, one hand against the back of his neck and the other holding his wrists together firmly behind his back.
“You,” he growls, “ You . Explain yourself.”
Hypnos scoffs defiantly, but ruts his hips against Ares’s groin nonetheless. “Explain what? I was just being social.”
Ares laughs humorlessly as he rubs circles against Hypnos’s pulse point with his thumb, feeling it throb with ichor and excitement beneath his touch. “Is that what you call it, then? Sitting in that harlot’s lap, letting him grope you in front of those degenerate devotees of his, writhing and moaning like a bitch in heat- all just a bit of politeness for your gracious host , is that it?”
As well as he can with Ares’s hand pressed against it, Hypnos cranes his neck to better meet Ares’s gaze. The way his pupils are blown wide with lust, almost eclipsing the blood-red of his irises, only spurs him on further. “Alright, maybe I took it a little farther than some would have,” he admits, biting at his bottom lip only to suppress a grin, “But his cock felt so good against my-”
That irritation, that frustration, that jealousy that’s been boiling away in the pit of his stomach bursts near instantaneously, the resulting flame only fanned by the simultaneous realization that the cunt rutting against his rock-hard erection is dripping wet, likely from the earlier stimulation as well as the minx’s foreknowledge of what he gets when he acts like this. Whatever decency he had in the first place is gone entirely as he tears entirely through the silky garment preserving the little whore’s modesty, revealing an entirely bare body, smooth, flushed skin and at its base a plump, soaking cunt just begging to be destroyed.
Hypnos’s feet don’t touch the floor in this position; rather, he dangles helplessly over the edge of the table, held up only by Ares’s bruising hand against his back.
“That’s all that’s been on your mind tonight, little lamb, don’t deny it. You’re in no position to be bargaining or spinning more of your flowery tales, I think you’ll agree.” He has fallen hard for the sweet thing, that is something he cannot deny, but all that means is that he knows how to marry cruelty and ecstasy exactly to his liking. He doesn’t bother to divest himself of his own garments and armor, only unlacing what he must to pull out his cock and rub the head against the wetness of Hypnos’s folds, gathering the slick which will be the only preparation the little god gets, since he’s decided to be so difficult tonight. “Admit it, and you’ll get what you want.”
Hypnos’s lithe form rumbles with playful laughter. “Okay, you got me. Now be a proper gentleman, stop putting a dent in my hip bones and put those fingers to better use, please?”
He considers it. His cock is approximately the size of Hypnos’s forearm, maybe even thicker. A little stretching would be nice, wouldn’t it? If he were in a love-making mood, he’d probably even start with his tongue, fuck it inside his sweet hole until his legs shook with pleasure and anticipation before gently scissoring him open, kissing between his shoulderblades and whispering sweet words to him when he showed even the slightest sign of discomfort.
But this isn’t love-making. This is conquest, the reclamation of a stolen prize, or what someone a little less depraved than the pair of them might even call a punishment.
“No,” he says simply, and pushes inside him.
Hypnos cries out loudly, tears almost immediately welling up in the corners of his eyes as his hands scramble for purchase against the hard surface of the table, a feeble attempt to brace himself for the massive length shoved inside him fully in one fell thrust. Mercifully (or not), Ares is still for a few moments, unsympathetically hushing the whimpers of the little god beneath him.
“You were so desperate for cock just a moment ago, don’t act so ungrateful,” he scolds, though he finds his free hand moving of its own volition to stroke the curls on the top of Hypnos’s head, “Do I not deserve the same ‘politeness’ you showed our host tonight?”
With what should be the unbearable pain of being forced open by the massive god comes unimaginable pleasure, though which force makes him unable to find words now is unclear. “Th- thank you, Lord Ar- ah- AH! ”
His attempt at speech is cut off entirely when Ares begins to pull back, brushing past every sensitive and raw nerve inside of him once again. He thrusts back in no less brutally, moaning deeply at the choked cry his lover gives as his cock kisses the opening of his cervix.
“Does it hurt, little one?” He knows it does. And he knows they’re both fairly perverted to find it so beautifully pleasurable, and that neither of them give a damn.
“H- hurts , yes- ” Hypnos practically sobs, “S-so big… f-feels like it’s in my- my stomach…” Hot tears roll down his cheeks as he mouths, silently, “ so good” .
Ares’s lip quirks upwards, because they’ve done this dozens of times before, and they both know that he’s right. Nonetheless, he indulges his lover and slips a hand underneath him to stroke the bulge his length makes where it presses against the usually taut skin of his stomach.
“I am in your stomach, little one,” he moans softly, drinking in each hushed cry and roll of tears, “In your womb. And do you know why?”
Hypnos nods, now beginning to push against him, begging for stimulation, for him to just move already and let him have what he wants.
“Because all of this is mine , pretty lamb. Perhaps I should leave you a reminder of that, hm?” His voice goes lower as Hypnos’s rutting becomes more frantic. “Shall I fuck a godling into you, my sweet whore? Will you still be throwing yourself in others’ laps with my babe at your breast?” Without giving him much time to consider, Ares begins to pump in and out of the tight hole, setting a brutal pace that might break someone less fortified than a fellow god.
“ Yes! ” Hypnos shrieks, “Yes, yes , cum inside me, breed me, please, make me yours, PLEASE- ” Each thrusts punches into the soft tissue of his sweet spot, so it’s not wonder that he’s cumming within a few thrusts, his cunt gushing slick liquid and a broken cry being torn from his throat.
Ares, naturally, does not stop, does not give his now oversensitive and yet still aching insides a break; he growls as he lifts his hips up slightly with one hand, finding even deeper purchase inside the little god, who wails as moans feverishly as he is given no choice but to endure the torturously pleasurable fuck. He thinks he might be talking, but it all sounds like babble as his entire body seems to throb and thrum with delight at each pass against his overstimulated sweet spot, the place his merciless lover so delights in abusing. When he cums a second time, his eyes roll back into his head and his mouth falls open in a silent scream, his legs shaking and toes curling in sheer ecstasy.
Now, that is an irresistible sight; Ares knows he cannot last much longer inside the wonderful heat of Hypnos’s body, still so tight for him despite his rough treatment. He pulls out, flips him over onto his back, and pushes back in just as quickly as he left, pinning Hypnos’s wrists against either side of his head and staring into his lust-blown eyes. How he can look so adorable like this, fucked-out and drunk on a climax that never seems to actually end, is beyond him, but it warms his oft-cold heart nonetheless.
“Take my seed, sweet little thing,” he groans, mouthing openly at Hypnos’s exposed throat, “Take what you deserve.” Hypnos’s mouth, hung open wide, closes into a little smile, adoration in its purest form; and with that, Ares knows he can last no longer, and he bucks his hips wildly, ferally, a few more times before coming to rest as deep inside his lover as he can be, hips flush against his pelvis as he cums. The amount that now swells the belly of his sweetheart is proportional to his size, so much so it’s always surprising to see the dear little god take it all in without bursting.
He lies there, panting against the nape of his neck for a few blissful moments, releasing his wrists and allowing them to shakily rub the tense muscles of his shoulders. When his strength is regathered, he pulls out, watching with something akin to fascination as his seed spills from his hole and mixes with the copious slick that coats his cunt.
It’s such a beautiful sight. He can’t possibly resist.
He presses a few cursory kisses against Hypnos’s still heaving chest and swollen stomach before his lover realizes what’s about to happen. His attempt to sit up, to hold Ares back from his conquest, is utterly ruined by the first pass of his tongue against his folds, and he’s sent reeling backwards as a guttural moan leaves him.
“ Hah- I- WOW , you’re really going for it, h-huh, big guy?” Something like a laugh tries to make its way out, but it’s more a wheeze than anything else.
Ares doesn’t respond, verbally at least, but switches his attention to Hypnos’s swollen clit, taking it between his lips and suckling at it, flicking his tongue against it, making his little god’s legs clench around him as a climax takes him by surprise. Were his voice not destroyed, he would probably be screaming, but instead he just grunts and hisses animalistically as Ares refuses to relent, continuing to suck his clit even as his legs turn from squeezing to kicking out at random, anything for mercy, for release from this ceaseless barrage of overstimulation and pleasure. Where the previous orgasm ended and the next one, or next ones, began, he couldn’t say, only that after some set amount of time his vision went white and his legs stopped moving entirely. Coos of praise and admiration faded into nothing as gentle, familiar blankness overtook him.
-
Hypnos awakes in a considerably more comfortable lodging, tucked under a fluffy quilt that felt heavy enough to hold down a titan. Against his neck is Ares’s gentle breathing, and around his waist, his arm curls protectively. The Olympian’s much larger form eclipses him entirely, and despite the soreness between his legs and the weightless feeling that still followed him, he swears he’s never felt more comfortable.
Ares is certainly asleep (he should know, that’s kind of his thing), but he whispers it anyway. Love you . He brings his own hand to cover Ares’s considerably larger one, and lets his eyes close as well.
Distantly, he thinks he might hear Aphrodite giggle once more.