Styx and Stone by Leigh Ellwood:
After a sleep break and a leisurely sit with a hot coffee—we have it here, no worries—I emerged from my cabin to find him, tall, dark-haired, and brooding handsome face covered in stubble, leaning against the ticket booth with his arms folded and ankles crossed. He only needed a leather jacket and lit cigarette to complete the tough-guy aura, but when I neared in my blue tank top, cargo shorts, and flip flops he turned into a whiner and ruined the whole image.
“Finally.” He huffed and pushed away from the booth. “I’ve been waiting forever for somebody to help me.”
“Of course you have. This is forever and it’s also never. Keep your jocks on.” Or not. I’m good either way, and when he stomped away a few feet to release his frustration I admired how that fine ass filled his jeans. I thought of filling it with my hard cock and let a sigh of disappointment sag me. There’s no rule against the departed hanging out on my side of the river for any length of…well, you know, but once I dock at the other end everybody’s hot to see what the afterlife offers.
Stone Herron struck me as just that type, eager to get on with eternity. I consulted the roster as his listing surfaced. Mid-thirties, otherwise healthy, single. Standing in the wrong spot when something conked him on the head.
I tsked and tore off his ticket from the dispenser. “Sucky business, dude. Looks like you weren’t finished in the mortal world yet.”
He rubbed the back of his scalp, presumably where the hard falling object had made contact. “I was at a protest rally. They’d just struck down the same-sex marriage ban and some assholes decided to picket downtown. We only went to counter peacefully, and somebody apparently packed bricks. Who the fuck throws a brick into a crowd of people?”
First Swallow of Spring by Asta Idonea
He became aware of the sound of laughter and music. Something prodded him in the ribs, and he opened his eyes to find several beaming faces peering down at him. The owners of those faces chattered amongst themselves.
“He came again, the handsome boy.”
“Our lord will be well pleased.”
“Is he ready to dance with us?”
“Seanán will be dancing with none but me.” The words were softly spoken, yet the tone brooked no argument, and at this utterance, the others scurried away and a new figure stepped into view.
A wave of contentment flooded through Seanán. “Iorweth.” He accepted Iorweth’s proffered hand, and Iorweth pulled him to his feet as if he weighed nothing. He gazed up at the regal figure. “I have missed you.”
“And I you. Shall we dance?”
Iorweth swept Seanán into his arms and they spun toward the edge of the clearing. The others made room for them and they joined the chain, circling the stone in a dance of pure delight. The music came from no discernible source, but it filled the air, bright and bell-like, and between its magical refrains, the fae laughed, clapped, and cavorted in the moonlight.
How Hercules Got His Bruise by Eva Lefoy
Sisyphus’ eyes flew wide seconds before he opened his mouth and screamed, “Hercules! Hercules! Hercules!” Each hoarse shout rang louder than the last as his body went rigid and arched like a bow, his cock notched like an arrow in Hercules’ firm hand. So much seed sprayed from Sisyphus’ shaft that Hercules’ belly and chest were coated, yet still more flowed. With a cry of astonishment, Hercules sank to his knees, intent on tasting the proof of Sisyphus’ desire. When Hercules’ tongue dredged through the salty white fluid pouring out the tip, a zap as sharp as one of Zeus’ thunderbolts hit him. Momentarily stunned, he looked up at Sisyphus’ ecstatic face and found him gazing lovingly down at Hercules. His heart lurched. Damn if that wasn’t one of Eros’ arrows that had hit me. For as Sisyphus gazed upon him, Hercules knew he’d do anything to keep him as his lover. To hell with Zeus’ punishment. I need this. I need him.
“Sisyphus,” he whispered hoarsely as he stood. Once upright, he pulled the man to him so they touched waist to waist, thighs pressed against thighs. He groaned at the contact, and so did Sisyphus. The sound rushed desire through Hercules, flaring brighter than before. How was this possible to feel such arousal for a man? His urge to claim Sisyphus as his lover grew by the second.
The man caressed Hercules’ swollen lips with a look of admiration and need that would have made Aphrodite weep with jealousy. “My hero. Did I service you properly? It was my first time.”
He laughed with relief. “Yours too? I have never been with a man before either.” He stroked Sisyphus’ tan cheek and firm jaw, memorizing the curves as though they were his own. “But I could continue our activities all day.”
At the word “day,” Sisyphus turned his gaze to the sun and frowned. “Oh, no. It is late afternoon. The sun will set soon. I must get back to work or I shall never finish.”
Hercules frowned as his lover stepped out of his arms and headed toward the giant rock. After experiencing such selfless idolization, Sisyphus’ abrupt about-face stung. How dare he? And yet, he understood the man’s one-track determination better than most. All he had to do was distract him, lure him away from that damn rock and back into his arms!
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