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Dionysus was drunk—not that that was unusual; he could literally conjure up flagons of ambrosia and wine from thin air as he willed it. He was lounging in his massive bed, playing with himself lazily and contemplating what sort of fun could be had by him down on the surface. He’d just pulled his cock out from under his skirts when there was a crash at the foot of his bed, accompanied by a puff of metallic-smelling smoke, and then Ares was there. Dionysus didn’t bother putting himself away—it wasn’t his fault that he'd decided to come to his chambers unannounced. He kept stroking himself slowly, staying silent and watching him closely until Ares got his bearings and closed the distance between them. He smacked his hand away from himself and without a word he settled onto Dionysus’s lap. He took the bottle of ambrosia from him, taking a long swig.
“What’s up, man?” Dionysus finally asked with a chuckle. Instead of answering, Ares bit his neck so hard that he bled and Dionysus cried out softly. He pulled away and looked down at him, lips stained gold by the other god’s ichor.
“What in Heavens does it look like?” Ares snapped, pulling Dionysus’s hair hard enough to hurt and angling his head so he could continue to lap at the ichor flowing from his neck wound.
“It looks like you’re trying to take advantage of me, Ares,” Dionysus mused, electing not to struggle. Ares obviously had some pent up aggression and Dionysus was more than happy to bear the brunt of it for the sake of those mortals currently reveling on the surface.
“And succeeding,” Ares pointed out, tipping them backwards and holding his head against the mattress by his hair.
“Rough day, man?” Dionysus asked sweetly, rubbing Ares’s wrist in an attempt to coax him into letting go of him.
“They won’t fight,” Ares whined, sitting up so that he could use his arms to gesticulate, “Those nations in the west that I’ve been guiding, my carefully laid plan still hasn’t come to fruition.”
Dionysus hummed sympathetically and nodded as though any part of him could understand Ares’s incessant blood lust. He was aware of the current prosperity down on Earth; he’d had no small part to play in it, as a matter of fact. The nature of their positions in the pantheon meant that he and Ares were often at odds with one another. But, work was work, and this was different.
“I haven’t tasted blood in so long…” Ares growled, licking a broad stripe from the base of Dionysus’s chest up to his jaw. A blade materialized in his hand, just barely visible in the corner of Dionysus’s eye, and Ares asked, “Care to share?”
Dionysus felt a flash of instinctual fear—he was a god, sure, but pain was still pain regardless of its duration or severity. Without waiting for him to answer his question, Ares sliced into his hip. Dionysus hissed and moaned, his hips pushing upward in spite of the pain.
Ares held him down and snapped at him, “Stay still, you lout.”
Dionysus felt a flash of rage—no doubt due to Ares’s infectious aura—and slapped him across the face. He spat, “Make me, brute.”
Ares snarled at the strike and then his knife was at Dionysus’s throat and he was growling, “Stay. Still.”
Dionysus whined at the blade biting into his delicate skin, but the noise was cut off with a gasp as it broke the skin. Ares removed the knife and caught the ichor on his fingertips, smearing it onto Dionysus’s lips before kissing him violently. He was rutting against him with abandon, their cocks rubbing together through the fabric of Ares’s chiton. He slid down his body to kneel on the floor in front of him, and Dionysus followed, sitting up and gripping his white hair with one hand. Resting his elbows on Dionysus’s knees, Ares pulled him into his mouth, deepthroating him in one go. He pushed his legs apart and started slashing at his inner thighs. Dionysus squeezed his thighs around his head in an attempt to hold him in place and ease the stinging pain, but all that seemed to do was encourage Ares to lick and suck on the new cuts on his legs instead of at his cock.
Impatience thrummed through Dionysus like a wave of heat—being around Ares always made him forget his typical amiable nature. He wanted to cum and he wanted Ares to be the one to do it, damn it. Using his hair as a handle, Dionysus forced Ares to raise his head and gazed at him hungrily. His lips and chin were dripping with ichor and he bared his teeth to Dionysus in a manic grin.
“You’re going to fuck me, Dionysus,” Ares said, climbing back his lap.
“Oh? Am I now?” Dionysus replied disinterestedly, trying and failing to knock the knife out of Ares’s hand.
He hardly noticed the attempted theft, and instead shoved his two middle fingers into Dionysus’s mouth. He immediately began to work his tongue around them, drooling far more than was appropriate for an Olympian, in Ares's opinion. Once his fingers were sufficiently slick, Ares pushed Dionysus onto his back and got onto his knees, leaning forward so he could start fingering himself. Dionysus tried to reach up and help him, but Ares slashed at his bicep.
Dionysus scowled, “There’s gonna be blood all over my sheets, man…” he complained, picking at the stained covers underneath him for emphasis.
Still ignoring him, Ares pulled his fingers free and grabbed Dionysus’s wrist. He brought his hand up in front of his face and slashed his palm, closing it around their cocks in between them. Dionysus cried out at the pain and the wet heat of blood on his skin; his cock pulsed even as Ares’s knife nicked his collarbone. Dionysus wouldn’t be able to last like this—their ichor was thicker than human blood and warmer, too, providing a nearly perfect sensation as he jacked them both off.
“I’m gonna cut you while you fuck me,” Ares grunted.
Dionysus nodded and grabbed his ass to lift him up and align his cock with his hole. He pressed inside with no hesitation—gods were a bit more flexible than mortals tended to be—and he was so warm and tight around him that Dionysus had to pause as he bottomed out to get accustomed to the squeeze.
“Fuck,” Ares panted, bracing one of his hands on Dionysus shoulder and making a series of precise cuts across his chest.
Dionysus was holding onto his hips so hard that he was bruising as he bounced in his lap. His purple hair was spread out on the mattress below him like a halo, and Ares took a quiet moment to admire him before he cut a single, long line from his sternum to his navel. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it was more than enough to make him bleed.
“Touch me,” Ares demanded, grabbing one of his hands and pushing it towards his cock, dark and leaking on Dionysus’s stomach.
Dionysus closed his fist around him and started stroking quickly. Ares bent over and started biting and sucking on his bleeding chest, holding the knife against his throat and riding him hard. He was groaning loudly, making nonsensical noises against his chest until Dionysus’s other hand closed around Ares’s neck. It was the quick denial of air that had Ares cumming across his chest, the cum mixing with the ichor still pooling on his skin.
Dionysus didn’t stop when Ares came, continuing to thrust into him and choking him hard enough that he dropped the knife. He flipped them over so that Ares was underneath him. Dionysus covered his body with his own as he drove into him mercilessly. Leaving one hand closed around his throat, Dionysus used his other hand to swipe up the fluids from between them and feed it to Ares. He was certain that his orgasms were different from Ares’s—Dionysus’s hit him slower and deeper… he rarely cried out or shouted, while Ares always did. It rolled up his spine and then he was spilling, spilling, spilling into Ares, holding his fingers in his mouth. He fucked him until his stamina finally wore out.
He pulled out and cleared away the mess with a wave of his hand—prodding at the ring of bruises he’d left on Ares’s throat. He wasn’t one to cuddle, but Dionysus certainly was.
“You owe me for slicing me up so bad,” Dionysus insisted.
Ares grumbled, but Dionysus allowed his aura to wash over him for the first time that evening, making Ares feel drunk and slow and, most of all, sleepy, “Fine, fine. Anything to get you to stop talking.”
Dionysus chuckled and wrapped his arms around him, his hands settling on his stomach and his chest to hold him while they dozed.