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The room is perfect – identical to the real one in every way, from the bare bed along one wall to the weapons racks lining the other. The wide window overlooking the expanse of the courtyard fills the air with warm sunlight, bright across the stony floors, gleaming over the well-oiled leather handles of Ares’ tools, and glinting off of the silvery lengths of chain that hang in neat coils next to the padded bench.
Ares inspects the weapons rack. All his favourites, of course, and a few new gifts. He pulls a neat cane with a wrapped-leather handle from its place. It’s been soaked already, springy and vicious, and when he tests it on the meat of his forearm, its stinging bite makes him hiss. Carefully, he re-racks it, memorizing its place, just in case.
There are a few other canes, and a fine selection of straps and tawses, some studded with tiny, wicked-looking beads. A long bullwhip, next to a set of many-tailed scourges. Some expertly carved paddles. A few knives, for show; he’ll have no need of them today, but he admires their finely-honed edges.
And there, laid beautifully across his worktable, some of his most beloved playthings, shining a clean silver – the small, cruel ones, unassuming little baubles that only reveal their teeth when used.
A knock sounds on the door.
Ares pushes down a grin and affects a careless demeanor. He shakes out his shoulders and hands, then turns back to the weapons rack. “Enter,” he booms, heart thumping, and he quickly reaches out to brush his knuckles over the canes as if he’s considering which to use.
The door opens soundlessly (a nice touch), and in comes a neat, sharp set of footsteps, followed by muffled cursing and a second, larger set, staggering behind.
“Well?” Ares says. It’s difficult to sound bored with his mouth so dry. He doesn’t look back, not yet.
The sweet, chirpy voice of Hypnos rings out. “I have a job for you! A real rowdy type. Keeps causing trouble downstairs.” Another string of muffled curses, and Hypnos gives a sharp, warning hey. “I figure you can set him straight. I know how much you love breaking a spirited fella like this one!”
“Mm. I do enjoy a challenge. Let’s see him, then.” With deliberate slowness, Ares turns, and oh. Oh, Hypnos has outdone himself.
He’s foregone his usual scarlet regalia for a long, cream-white peplos, his thin neck elegantly accentuated by a massive, golden gorget, encrusted with poppy-red stones and glimmering drops of darkness. His lithe arms fairly drip with thin gold bangles, fingers laden with jewelled rings. Even his head is crowned with a delicate golden diadem, ornamented with natural pearls the odd iridescent colour of dream magic. And there, in his lovely, nimble hand, is the lead of a golden chain – a short leash that trails up to a thick leather collar bound about Dionysus’ throat.
Hypnos blinks softly at Ares, his golden wolf’s eyes glinting, and grins. “Well, hello to you too. Maybe if you pick your jaw up off the floor we can get things started?”
Before Ares can respond, Hypnos yanks at the lead, and Dionysus lurches forward, nearly falling.
He’s nude, of course, as agreed, but to Ares’ delight Hypnos has him in a humiliating leg tie – his knees have been bound together, sending him stumbling, and his elbows and wrists are pulled together behind his back, pulling his shoulders back and shoving his chest out uncomfortably. Ares eyes him, forcing a look of cold examination. His skin gleams that shiny-rich ochre that comes with his blushes, beautiful in the sunlight of the window; his usual adornments and symbols of office have been left behind entirely, leaving his long, thick hair loose and wild about his back and shoulders, and baring his beautiful prick to the cool air. Hypnos has him gagged, as well, with a clean strip of linen wound about his head that covers him from chin to nose, and something stuffed into the mouth underneath.
Dionysus tries to glare, but his eyes go wide as Hypnos yanks him back off-balance. He totters, but doesn’t quite fall, staggering a few steps forward.
“Lovely specimen,” Ares notes. “And he’s been lurking about?”
“Uh huh,” Hypnos laughs. “Not for long! He wasn’t exactly hard to catch. But he did take out a couple of pretty high-level spirits trying to escape. Watch your fingers – he’s a biter.”
Dionysus growls.
Ares whirls on him, teeth bared. “You will show respect within these walls,” he snaps, and with an open hand, slaps Dionysus hard across the cheek.
The impact sends Dionysus reeling, and he falls to the floor, landing hard on his knees with a muffled yelp.
Ares – bare-footed, as he insisted, even against Dionysus’ whining – follows up with a sharp kick to Dionysus’ ribs. It knocks Dionysus to ground, leaving him wheezing. The sweet-salt scent of ichor bursts into the air; he’s bitten his lip.
“Get up,” Ares barks.
Dionysus doesn’t move.
Rolling his eyes, Hypnos yanks at the lead. “Come on. You heard him.”
Choking a little, Dionysus struggles to get back on his knees. He falters a little, slips once or twice; he has no way to push himself upright. The flush on his skin grows deeper as his movements grow more frantic.
Finally, with an overloud sigh, Ares hooks a finger in the thick leather collar and hauls him upright, ignoring Dionysus’ instinctive thrashing against the pull on his throat. “A challenge indeed. Let’s hope he’s smarter than he is nimble.”
Hypnos laughs, a sweet, bright sound that sets Ares grinning. “Oh, I’m sure he’s smart. Smart enough to know what’s coming. Aren’t you, boy?”
Dionysus, almost tip-toe trying to keep the pressure off his neck, flinches.
“We’re going to train you up properly,” Hypnos chirps. “You’re gonna be real good for us, aren’t you?”
At that, Dionysus snarls, shouting something incomprehensible.
Ares frowns. “May I remove the leash, Lord Sleep?”
“Yeah, sure,” Hypnos says, yawning a little. “Whatever you like. Doesn’t matter to me.”
A weak, agonized noise slips from Dionysus’ blocked mouth. That sweet, soft prick is starting to plump up deliciously.
Careless, Ares slips the lead chain off of Dionysus, keeping one hand hooked in Dionysus’ thick leather collar. He tosses the leash to the bed, where it lands with a soft, musical jingle. Then, with a jerk to the collar, Ares tugs Dionysus forward far faster than he can hobble along, forcing him to half-skip across the room all the way to the padded bench. “Down,” Ares snaps.
Dionysus half-drops to his knees before the bench, glaring impotently.
“Do you know what this is?” Ares says, quiet and even. Dionysus says something rude, and Ares shakes him by the collar. “Nod yes or no.”
Mutinous, Dionysus shakes his head.
Ares smiles, showing teeth. “This is where you’re going to learn to listen.”
With a single harsh movement, Ares hauls Dionysus over the bench until he’s balanced overtop of it, knees on the floor, belly pressed to the padded leather, with head and shoulders hanging over the other side. Dionysus squawks and wriggles, but Ares only holds him steady, pulling at a short chain embedded in the floor until – click.
Ares steps back, just a little, to survey his prize. Dionysus’ collar is fastened to the floor with barely a few inches of leeway, leaving him curled uselessly over the bench, supported on his bruised knees. “Squirm all you like,” Ares says. “You’re not going anywhere. Not until I’ve finished with you.”
Hypnos, having sat himself on the bed, claps gleefully. “Would you look at that! Got him speechless already. It’s a treat to watch a master at work, it really is.”
Dionysus tugs hard at the chain, but he’s well and truly stuck.
“I was thinking, to start,” Ares drawls, stalking over to his table of playthings, “I will teach you some manners. This is one of my favourite toys.” He picks up a small, thick hinged ring. The inside of it is ridged all over with rows of vicious spikes. “I call her the Teeth. She’s a biter, too,” he says, grinning at Hypnos.
He carries the Teeth over to Dionysus and crouches, showing him the cruel device in the flat of his palm. “Can you guess where she’s going to go?”
Dionysus’ eyes go wide, and he yanks wildly at his bonds.
Ares chuckles. “That’s right. And, if you… misbehave,” he murmurs, looking pointedly at Dionysus’ burgeoning erection, “she’s going to bite you. Hard.” Finally, Ares smells that decadent waft of smoky, fire-bright fear in the air, heady and delicious. He licks his lips. This is going to be fun.
Dionysus yanks at his bonds, shouting something unintelligible. The bench stays put. So does Dionysus.
Ares clicks his tongue. “Until your lessons take, you’re mine. You’re not going anywhere. Get used to it.” Smoothly, he stands, and trails the cool metal side of the Teeth along Dionysus’ side, from his collarbone to his hip. Dionysus struggles to pull away; his muscles tremble prettily under the silver’s cold kiss.
Casual, Ares kneels beside Dionysus’ bound legs, just out of easy view. He runs a fingernail from the pit of Dionysus’ knee all the way up to the crease where thigh meets hip, marveling at the rush of gooseflesh that follows his touch. “Normally, I’d clamp her to your prick, but I have a use for that thing between your legs, today, so she’s going on your sack,” Ares says. “Prepare yourself.”
Dionysus lets loose a string of undoubtably foul muffled curses.
Instantly, Ares slaps him vicious-hard on the back of the thigh. “What did I say about respect? If you speak to us that way again, you will not enjoy the consequences. Now hold still.” He reaches between thighs and bench, getting a firm hold of Dionysus’ hardness, then yanks it sideways, squeezing hard.
Dionysus yelps.
With a grin, Ares holds it there, letting Dionysus squirm and pant and, finally, half-sob into the gag. “Come on. My associate told me you were spirited. Don’t tell me a little tug is going to break you,” Ares sneers, releasing him only to grab Dionysus by the sack, pulling down sharply.
Dionysus yells. The hot, bright perfume of pain bursts into the air like a plume of sweet pollen, and Ares closes his eyes to savour it. Dionysus smells so good, already – smoke and wine and greenery, the heady smell of human bodies and sweat – and panic and agony braid through the familiar scent into a blossom Ares will never tire of.
“Mm, that was very nice,” Hypnos purrs from the bed. “Do that again.”
Teeth sharp in his mouth, Ares captures Dionysus’ sack again and jerks it down.
Dionysus’ shout comes with another floral burst of agony. His thighs quake, and behind his back, his hands grasp frantically at nothing.
Ares runs the knuckles of the hand with the Teeth gently over the back of Dionysus’ leg. “There,” he says, “there we are. Breathe. Count to ten.”
Dionysus’ breath comes in a horrible, sobbing wheeze, but it slows, a little. He’s panting like a well-run horse, flanks gleaming with sweat. And – there – a tiny bloom amongst the cloud of pain. Arousal. Hot and heavy and honey-thick.
Perfect.
Ares doesn’t let go of his sack, only strokes his thigh, a soft, repetitive sensation. “Now breathe out through your nose.” Ares tugs at Dionysus once more, ignoring his choked wail, and carefully sets the Teeth around the root of Dionysus’ testicles. The smooth, cool metal ring clicks shut, rows of pin-sharp teeth biting into thin, tender skin. Ares tugs a little harder, checking the fit; no ichor, as he’d hoped, but Dionysus’ voice has settled into a high-pitched whine, interrupted by hitching half-sobs.
Ares pulls back, and stands up, taking the time to stretch his wrists and arms. Beneath him, huddled over the padded bench, Dionysus shakes; his cock hangs, full and heavy, despite the pain. Or, perhaps, because of it.
Hypnos clears this throat pointedly. “Maybe you should let him stew for a minute. There’s something better you could be doing.”
On the bed, Hypnos has laid himself out like royalty, sprawled decadently across the linen with his peplos hiked up around his waist. He’s wearing internal genitalia, today; Ares takes a heavy breath, mouth watering, as Hypnos runs his long, lithe fingers over his shining-wet slit. With slow, deliberate intent, Hypnos parts his folds, letting Ares glimpse his clit.
Ares grits his teeth. “Give me one more moment with him, my Lord, and I shall be at your disposal.”
“Better be,” Hypnos chirps, and sinks two fingers deep inside himself.
Biting back a furious groan, Ares tears his gaze away to focus on the man at his feet. Dionysus’ breath is coming a bit easier, now, but clearly every twitch sends a new stab of pain through his tenderest parts. Ares ought to fix that.
“Don’t move,” he snaps, and Dionysus stiffens.
Careless, Ares kicks at the padded bench, shoving it out from under Dionysus; Dionysus, left with nothing to hold up his torso, falls hard to the stony floor, chest first. He lands with a hissed curse.
“What did I just say,” Ares snarls, delighted. Making sure Dionysus can see him, he lashes out, kicking hard at Dionysus’ hips and knocking him fully sideways.
Dionysus yelps, then howls as the Teeth sink deep into his parts. His lovely broad shoulders shudder as he tries desperately to curl up, some ancient half-mortal instinct to protect his organs, but the ties on his arms keep him at a stiff, uncomfortable angle, and the chain tying his collar to the floor giving him barely any leeway.
Hypnos moans, bracelets jingling.
Ares doesn’t turn to look. Instead, he steps over Dionysus to haul him over onto his back, kicking at Dionysus’ legs until Dionysus bares his belly once more. “And here I was going to let you come tonight,” he growls. With a swift movement, he places his foot delicately atop Dionysus’ pulsing prick. “Filthy little thing.”
Stock-still, Dionysus’ eyes go wide – but before he can even shout, Ares presses down, shoving just enough to crush Dionysus’ cock hard against his belly and grind his testicles up against the Teeth. Dionysus screams.
“Oh,” Hypnos sighs, “listen to that. That’s just lovely.”
Easing up the pressure, Ares grins. “Now. Are you going to listen when we speak? Or will you need another reminder?” He looks pointedly to the knives hung so beautifully on the wall. “I’ve heard that fixing a dog is the best way to curb its willfulness…”
A pulse of fire-hot arousal bursts into the air, and Dionysus shakes his head, hard.
Ares examines him, carefully. His cock is still hard, somehow, despite the abuse; his knees are bruised, ichor staining them copper-shiny; his hair is a wild tangle, some of it caught in the collar; his eyes flick about wildly, like a spooked animal.
But Hypnos has a firm hold on his mind. He wants to keep going. And, oh, Ares wants it too.
He crouches, so quickly Dionysus flinches back, and unclips the collar. “My Lord,” he calls to Hypnos, “he is ready for use.”
“Goody,” Hypnos gasps. “Great. Yay. Get him up here.”
With a vicious grin, Ares yanks Dionysus up by the collar and drags him across to the bed. Dionysus stumbles hard, knees grinding over the stone, but cannot get purchase; Ares hauls him upright and tosses him facedown onto the bed. “Stay,” he hisses.
Dionysus’ hands tremble. He stays.
Hypnos, fucking himself wetly, giggles. “Poor thing. Didn’t know what he was getting into after all!” With his free hand, Hypnos tosses something – Ares manages to catch it, despite the surprise. It’s a wooden plug, light and large, sealed and carefully varnished to shine like glass. It’s already slick. One of the benefits of fucking in the Dreaming, Ares supposes.
“Don’t move,” Ares warns, hauling Dionysus back until his hips hang over the edge of the bed. Then, with barely any care, he lines up the plug and shoves.
Dionysus screeches, but his eyes are rimmed purple around the edges, pleasure flushing his cheeks tawny gold. He’s tight. Too tight – he’s clenching – but Ares doesn’t stop, just keeps pressing. The tip pierces Dionysus’ hole, then the shaft, and as the bulb of it stretches him steadily open, Dionysus howls into his gag. Ares lays a hand on the small of his back, pinning him down, and keeps going. The plug is huge, larger than a cock, thick around at the stem as three of Ares’ fingers side by side.
Only then does Ares notice the bottom of the plug – it’s been branded with Hypnos’ crest, a closed eye. “Really,” he mutters, and Hypnos snickers.
Finally, the last of it sinks in, swallowed up to the flared base by Dionysus’ hole. Dionysus breathes hard, panting wildly through his nose. Translucent golden tears stream down his face, soaking into the linen of the gag.
“Good,” Ares murmurs, “good boy,” and strokes the back of his neck, brushing his wild black hair out of the way of the collar. “You’ve done well. You were still for me.”
Dionysus groans brokenly.
With a small, pleased smile, Ares hauls Dionysus up by the back of his collar, ignoring his choked cry, and tosses him back to the bed, this time belly-up. “Pity you can’t avail yourself of his mouth,” Ares says. “No doubt his lips are as clever as his words.”
Hypnos giggles, and pulls his fingers free from his cunt with a slick, hot sound. “I’m not going to put my pussy anywhere near those teeth. I’m a delicate flower, not stupid!”
Ares lets himself laugh at that, low and rumbling. “Yes, my Lord. Would your delicate flower like to avail itself of his cock, instead?”
“Mmyep. For sure.” Hypnos gathers the filmy fabric of his peplos and knots it at his waist, baring his smooth, hairless body, lithe limbs, and neat vulva. He knee-walks a little awkwardly over to Dionysus, then without a second thought, slings a thigh over Dionysus’ hips, straddling him. “Be good, boy,” he says, and sinks down onto his cock with a happy sigh. “Oh, yeah. That’s nice. That’s real nice. Don’t you fucking move yet or I’ll have him cut your balls off. Mm.”
Dionysus’ eyes roll back and he moans, stuttering.
Hypnos rocks a little, grinding down, pressing the Teeth hard into Dionysus’ sack. “Yeah, that’s… that’s the spot, right there.” With a soft, pleased sound, he rises on his knees and – oh, drops himself, heavy and wet, onto Dionysus’ hips. “Ares you gotta. Mm. Get in my ass. Come on.”
Ares, mouth suddenly dry, fumbles at his belt. “Yes, my Lord. Whatever you wish.”
“Well I wish you would fuck my ass so get over here,” Hypnos snips, a little breathy, and he starts a harsh, rocking rhythm, rising up a few hot inches only to slap himself down again, impaling himself on Dionysus’ thick, bruised cock. “Just – hah – just fuck me, don’t worry about – mm, about anything, just do it.”
Dionysus, back arched over his bound arms, keens.
Ares yanks his chiton off in one clean move and clutches at his prick, hissing. He’s so fucking hard, aching deep at the root with need. “Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m fucking sure,” Hypnos snaps, and Ares laughs, drawing up to the side of the bed and standing over Dionysus’ bound knees.
He knows what Hypnos likes, when he’s like this; he catches Hypnos by the back of his neck and shoves, pushing him down until he and Dionysus are laying chest to chest, Hypnos’ sweet, pert bottom on display, spread open for Ares to see just how Hypnos is stretched around Dionysus’ cock, and how the Teeth cling viciously to Dionysus’ sack, and how the lovely branded wood of the plug fills Dionysus’ hole so fully. “Gorgeous,” Ares mutters, and he slaps at the base of the plug.
Dionysus judders hard, hips twitching up into Hypnos who gives a sweet little moan.
“Oh, come on, please,” Hypnos groans, “fill me up, do it…”
Swallowing hard, Ares lines up to rub his cockhead at the furl of Hypnos’ hole. “Patience, love,” he murmurs, and – oh, yes, there’s something slick and shiny leaking from Hypnos, thick as oil, and Ares can’t help himself. He presses in. He presses in and in and in, swallowed by Hypnos’ tight, clenching hole until his sack hits the cool metal on Dionysus’ own, the soft skin of them hot and tender.
“Fffaaa,” Hypnos says.
Ares grits his teeth. “Shall I move?”
Hypnos reaches back and slaps him sharply on the arm.
Ares snorts, and rocks out – then in – and it’s so hot, and tight, and he can feel Dionysus’ prick twitching against him through the thin muscle barrier of Hypnos’ inner walls, pressing against him, and it’s as if he’s fucking them both at once: his plug in Dionysus rocking with every thrust, Hypnos gasping softly in his grasp. He’d be worried about slick, or someone’s arms going numb, or some other such thing, but this is Hypnos’ world, and everything stays just as it needs to. He fucks them, hard, pressing them together and grinding them into each other – his strange lovers, these princes of madness, clutching so tight around his cock. He growls, deep and low.
“Oh, fuck, Ares,” Hypnos yelps, “you gotta come, fill me up, I wanna feel it, please, please before I come, let me feel you?”
Ares snarls. He hammers into Hypnos, slamming all three of them together, and he feels the warning signs of Dionysus’ climax before he hears him cry out, Dionysus’ prick jerking hard inside of Hypnos’ cunt. The thought of it gets him lightheaded, and he throws his head back, howling like a wolf, coming hard and deep inside Hypnos’ guts.
“Oh,” Hypnos squeaks, once, and he clenches hard, going completely quiet, back taught as he shudders through a violent orgasm, milking the last of Ares’ come out and into his hungry hole.
-
Ares opens his eyes to the warm sunlight of his room. He blinks, and focuses – there’s Hypnos, lying halfway on top of him, grinning, eyes a sleepy, sunshine gold. “Hey, you,” Hypnos murmurs.
“Hello,” Ares grins. “That was perfect.”
“Aw, thanks.”
Then, from his other side: “Oh, fuck.”
Dionysus sits up, hair wild, face flushed. “Ares. Hypnos. I. Blood and wine I need you inside me right now.”
Laughing, giddy, fuck-drunk, they oblige.