This is a work of gay-themed romantic fantasy. Some Chapters contain graphic descriptions of sex, not all of it consensual or between adults. If reading material of this nature upsets or offends you, please click away now. Likewise, if reading something like this compromises either of us legally, please follow the above instructions. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy my latest story.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN A Night Out
"You may have been elevated to Godhood, but you clearly didn't get a clue how to dress!" Corey teased. Friday night, a few days after his ascension, Brad was again naked in his closet, dithering about what to wear to a club Dennis wanted to check out in Las Vegas. "You've got a ton of super-nice clothes to choose from so--PICK something!"
Brad sighed, "I don't know how to dress this new body!" he complained. "My hair and eyes both changed color, and my skin tone is different as well. Plus, I'm probably thirty pounds heavier than before I got elevated, and, never having gone `clubbing,' I don't know how to dress! Everything I put on makes me look fat!"
"Luckily I'm here to help..." the youngest satyr informed him. "I think we'll go with something a little different! Get you out of your comfort zone..."
"Dude, I'm an underage guy going to a club in the heart of territory belonging to the enemy!" Brad replied. "That's far enough out of my `comfort zone' for me, thank you very much!"
"Well, Den-Den has his mind set on going, and he wants you along, so I guess that settles that!" the youngest satyr replied. Brad wasn't surprised when Corey threw him one of the ubiquitous posing straps for his foundation layer. "We want that new horse cock of yours on full display tonight!"
"Why?"
"Sharkey's is the hottest gay club in Vegas!" Corey told him. "You're a God now, so you need to put yourself out there--at least a little..." He added a pair of skin-tight jeans, a brown leather vest, and boots, then finished the look with matching bracers for his wrists.
"Um--Cory..." Brad said. "You forgot a shirt!"
"With those shoulders, that chest, and all that wonderful red fur, you need to display it!" his friend replied. "Also--now that you have access to a drawing account, you should schedule an appointment with a `decent' stylist to do something with your hair..."
"What's wrong with it?" Since Brad had been paying for his own haircuts, he usually went to whatever discount salon that could take him or anyone offering a coupon. "The cut is serviceable..."
"The cut is--BORING, dude!" Corey informed him. "Now that you're a God, you've got this wonderful texture and shine to your hair, but this cut is--meh! If you want to be taken seriously, you need to start paying attention to the incidentals! Dennis has a standing appointment at `Barbary Coast'; you should consider that as well. And while you're at it--book a mani-pedi! Your feet are gross, and your cuticles could be looked at too..."
"Wow, who knew I was so hideous?" The comment was made half in jest, but Brad was still a little hurt by his friend's frank commentary. Yes, his career in gymnastics and cheerleading had hardened him to criticism from coaches and judges, but when it came from a close friend it still stung. "I'm sorry I disgust you!"
"You don't `disgust' me, buddy!" Corey soothed. "You just need to start acting and dressing like a God if you want to be taken seriously! You've already got two strikes against you--you're brand new to the God game--that's HUGE--and you're not even twenty-one yet! If you don't start throwing your weight around, they'll never take you seriously!"
Brad decided to change the subject. "Where's DJ?" he asked.
"Dave took him to dinner and a movie," the young satyr replied. "By the time they get back we'll be long gone... There's a sushi place in Vegas that Dennis wants to try..."
"Sushi in a desert--that ought to be fun..."
The sushi in the desert proved to be remarkably good with Brad charming the owner by speaking flawless Japanese (complete with a Kyoto accent) and proving his mastery with Hashi. When the proprietor asked him where he'd learned to speak so well, the young man made up a quick lie about having been an exchange student who kept up with the language.
"Yeah, but you were a foreign exchange student in Switzerland!" Corey said once the owner had gone.
"True," Brad agreed, "I spent my junior year in Lausanne; Prometheus's first Gift let me know where the owner was from, and Hermes's Gift let me synch with the language!"
"Yer quite tha `cunning linguist me boy!" Dennis observed.
The newest Olympian smiled. "Thanks; I learned how to use chopsticks from a friend in school: his family thought it was cute to teach a towhead little bits of their culture until I embarrassed the family patriarch by passing him smaller and increasingly slippery pieces of food. I passed him a single grain of rice with sauce and he missed; that was a major loss of `face'! Needless to say, that was the last time the Changs invited me over!"
"That little trick o' yers will come in handy if we ever ha' tae deal with tha Asians," Dennis observed. Brad blanched when he saw the bill, nearly a thousand bucks for sushi and sake; the sushi may have been hand-rolled from wild-caught fish and featuring the finest farm-to-table ingredients, but it still seemed rather expensive to his middle class world view. "Two Gods an' four satyrs certainly rack up a bill!"
The rented "Party Bus" let the six men out at Sharkey's to find a long line waiting to get in; it looked like a mixed crowd of straights and gays, including some leathermen and drag queens to spice things up. Brad even thought he caught a glimpse of a couple of just plain cross-ressers to complete the ménage. "We'll never get inside!" Campbell groused.
Dennis approached a very large, very intimidating bouncer who was turning away people right and left. "Party o six," he said. "Franklin--I believe we're on the VIP List..."
The bouncer didn't even look down. "Sorry, no!" he growled.
"Look again..." This time Dennis flashed six one hundred-dollar bills.
The doorman glanced down ever so briefly, and his pupils dilated. "Oh, excuse me, sir..." he said, changing his tone and hurriedly pasting on a fake smile. "Yes, there you are; VIP access!" He signaled another man. "Take our very special guests inside!" he said. "Use the employees' entrance!"
"Thank ye, lad," the God of Wine said. "Now--FORGET WE WERE EVER HERE!"
"That was a nice trick," Brad observed.
"Dionysus never had patience for assholes," Brandon allowed.
"It's a trick me an' tha satyrs can do!" Dennis told them. "En Vino Veritas goes an old sayin', but there's also forgetfulness sometimes as well..."
Brad found himself smiling as the small group was escorted into a crowded anteroom where would-be club patrons stood in a second line to pay a $25 "cover charge" before they were admitted. Their guide escorted them past the waiting throng to an inobtrusive side door and led them down a hall that let them out at a raised area to one side of the club. This area had comfortable banquettes and a shirtless wait-staff of servers eager to attend the patrons' every need. The section also had its own private bar where two well-built shirtless men practiced "flair" bartending that was a show in its own right. Since there was no barricade preventing the common rabble from coming up to the "VIP Section," the place was almost as crowded as the main floor. In fact, the only real difference Brad could determine was that everything here cost fifty percent more than on the main level--and that was enough to keep at least some of the rabble at bay. "You'd think they wouldn't water down the alcohol they're serving with prices like this!" he told the group. "At least the bartenders are putting on a good show!"
Dennis took a drink of his whiskey. "Yes, the Glenfiddich has been watered down!" he said, coming as close to "angry" as Brad had ever seen him.. "I am not impressed." The various satyrs added their complaints about their own concoctions. "An', can ye believe the bar doesn't even stock a PROPER Irish whiskey?"
Brad sipped his 7-UP. "At least they didn't water this down--but $9.95 plus tax for a four-ounce glass that's half ice? This place should be making money hand-over-fist!"
"Why isn't it, then?" Dennis asked.
"The owner trusts his manager," the newest Olympian said after a bit of checking. "He's cooking the books something fierce and presenting the owner with over-inflated estimates for everything; he pockets the profits for himself! Oh, and he's got a pretty good drug dealer who should be popping by soon enough!"
"At least the DJ is amazing!" Corey opined. "You should totally hire him!"
"Who is he?" Dennis asked.
"Name is Henry McCaughey," Brad said, "but he goes by the moniker DJ Beast!"
"Does he have blue fur?" Brandon wanted to know.
"No, just brown..." Brad said after a quick search, "but he's got a lot of it, huge, very-sensitive nipples, and a massive uncut cock!. He does have amazing blue eyes though. Oh, and he's a werebear! Yeah, Den-Den, you could do a lot with him! If you can get him under contract..." Then; "uh-oh!"
"What's up?" Dennis asked.
"You see those Middle Eastern gentlemen who just came in?" the strawberry blond said. "That bald dude with them is Thoth, Egyptian God of Wisdom and Magic. And--he's spotted us!"
"You gonna translocate us out of here?" Corey asked.
"Not yet..." Dennis decided. "If I end up buyin' this club, I'll have tae make some arrangements with the Egyptians, so there's no point in cuttin' an' runnin'--we'll need tae come ta some sort o' `accommodation' with the Powers That Be who run this town."
"Thoth isn't going to be able to affect that one way or the other," Brad told him. "He's currently out-of-favor with Ra and his `Gang of Four'; that's the good news. The bad news--those people he's with are thugs in the extreme!"
"Worse," Corey added, "they are casting an eye over here! They've decided they want me, Brad, and Brandon to be their playthings tonight!"
"Which isn't good for us," the newest Olympian informed the group. "They have a bad habit of breaking their toys then having Thoth `dispose' of what's left!"
"Do ye think Thoth knows who we are?" Dennis asked.
"He knows we're individuals of great power," Brad replied. "I don't think he recognizes us as Greek Gods, but he's trying to dissuade his friends from messing with us."
"Try tae avoid an encounter with them," Dennis instructed.
"Good idea that," Brad agreed. "Thoth may be out of favor, but he's still shockingly powerful, and I'd rather not try our abilities against his magic!"
"Aw!" Corey said, putting on an elaborately sad face. "I was hoping we could mess with those guys!"
"You just might get your chance!" Brad told his friend. "Thoth wasn't able to dissuade his comrades; he's coming this way..."
Thoth was a large, dark-skinned man with deep-set black eyes. His features were sculpted, but there seemed to be true sadness graven there. Even his clothing, while rich, was dark and somber. "How much for the use of your three boys?" he asked Dennis bluntly, his eyes cutting to Brad, Corey and Brandon.
"They aren't for sale!" the God of Wine replied, just as bluntly.
"I thought as much," Thoth said. "Ah well--my employer requires them for the night, so I'm afraid I must take them..."
The trio appeared in a plain unfurnished and windowless room. Brad instinctively tried to translocate them back to Olympus Island, but he found he was somehow locked down. "Shit!" he growled.
"Where are we?" Brandon asked.
"I--don't know..." the newest Olympian admitted.
"WHAT???" The two young satyrs were utterly shocked by this.
"Sadly, for you at least, I have locked down your abilities, young mages," Thoth told them in an Oxford accent. "My employer wishes to--take pleasure--with the three of you. Therefore, you shall remain here deprived of your powers until they have sated their desires! Then, depending on what's left, I will either take you back to Las Vegas or, more likely, dispose of your bodies."
"Why are you doing this?" Brad asked. "You're one of the Egyptian Gods! You don't need to work for a bunch of thugs like these murderous bastards! For God's sake Thoth--you're better than that!"
"So you know who I am?"
Brad gulped, realizing he'd made a major mistake. "I was `Gifted' with access to Prometheus's knowledge," he said, covering his gaff with a half-truth. "I recognized you and the people you work for!"
"Then perhaps you'll know what it means to be `out of favor' with Ra!"
"Why don't you explain it to me?" Brad said. Since his powers were "locked down," he decided to try to keep the God talking; this would give Dennis a chance to call in the cavalry.
"Unlike the Greeks, my pantheon has a very strict and quite rigid hierarchy!" Thoth told him. "When we're out of favor, we don't get to access the pantheon's wealth; the pantheon owns the homes we stay in and pays our salaries; when we don't have those, we must find--other employment..."
"Jeez, dude!" Brad sighed. "With a resume like yours I could find you half a dozen well-paying jobs! You wouldn't have to work for those murderous thugs!"
"Maybe I like working for them..."
"Really?" Brad sighed. "How far the mighty have fallen!"
Thoth slapped the newest Olympian hard across the face. "How dare you judge me?" he thundered. "You don't understand..."
"You just kissed any chance I might help you goodbye!" Brad told him coldly. "Go get your--employer! Let them do what they think they want! In the end you'll be the one paying for it!"
"You talk big for someone in your position, young mage," Thoth said even as he faded out.
"So what now?" Brandon asked.
"See if we can figure a way out of here!" Brad told them. "Find the door if you can--then let's see if we can either find a way to open it or bash it down!"
"Don't you know what this place is and where it's located?" Brandon asked.
"Thoth locked my powers down," the strawberry blond told him. "My perceptions are cut off; he canceled my clairvoyance as well--but he didn't, or maybe couldn't, lock down my pattern perceptions or my link to Prometheus's knowledge. The same goes for my physical abilities--and I suspect yours as well. Worse comes to worst, maybe you can cast your `satyric allure' on them and direct them at one another. These guys are bad news! We have to keep ourselves alive until Dennis can rally the troops and mount a rescue!"
"At least you have an out!" Brandon said a bit bitterly.
"Not that much of one!" Brad replied. "Yes, I have an immortal spirit, but I'd wager diamonds to doughnuts that this place is miles away from the nearest neighbor! I doubt there are a lot of servants cluttering up the place, so my immortal spirit might not be able to find a compatible host before it dissipates! I'm not any more anxious to die the True Death than either of you!"
The discussion might have gone on, but Corey interrupted. "Hey, guys, I found the door--for all the good it will do us..."
The youngest Olympian found a barely-discernable door-shaped line in the wall, but the hinges were on the other side, Of course, there was no knob on this side or even a place to put in a key. "There must be a secret panel to push to exit," Brad told them. "I don't see these thugs willingly locking themselves in here with their victims!"
"How come they don't have anything in this room?" Brandon wanted to know.
"Probably because they don't want to risk us using it against them!" Corey offered.
"That's my thought," Brad agreed. "Very likely they'll try to roofie' us, or Thoth will attempt to puppet' us while they get their jollies!"
"At least we won't have to worry about whatever kind of drugs they give Brandon and me," Corey observed. "Do you think you can resist?"
"Depends..." the newest Olympian reluctantly admitted. "I got a lot of different abilities when I was Elevated, so there's no telling whether I'll be affected until they hit me with something..."
"What's the plan?" Brandon asked.
"Go do that voodoo that you do so well!" Brad replied. "Thoth is smart enough to realize his `boy toys' might be brave enough to fight back, but he doesn't know what the two of you are! You need to keep them interested until Dennis can mount a rescue: Thoth can't lock down your ability to know what turns people on, so use that! Maybe you can either charm them or fuck them into insensibility. At least he left us our clothes..."
The door opened, admitting Thoth and the rest of the men from the club. "Why aren't they naked?" a large man going to flab demanded. Brad knew him to be Sheikh Mahmoud bin Shikali, a high-ranking Saudi with close ties to the royal family; he was also a severely-closeted gay man who got off on brutalizing young-looking men. "Strip them, underling!"
Thoth waved his hand, and the three captives found themselves naked as the day they were born. Brad knew the Egyptian God had destroyed their clothing along with everything they carried; if by some miracle they escaped alive, they would be wandering naked in the desert with no ID, credit cards or even a phone. He suspected the nearest paved road was a few miles away and wouldn't have been surprised if that road was seldom traveled.
Corey and Brandon were quick to assume poses that showed off their lithe young bodies. "Why didn't you just say you wanted to party?" Corey asked, turning his back to the group so they could see his well-sculpted ass flex. "We're always down to party with some hot dudes like you!"
"Totally!" Brandon agreed. He sidled up to Corey and began lewdly caressing the other young satyr. "What are you guys into?" He licked Corey's neck and then nibbled while the blond young cutie writhed in seeming ecstasy.
Brad knew the "satyr mojo" was working, and most of the men were eating up the show. Even Thoth was getting into the scene. He, though, was having none of it. The sturdy strawberry blonde simply stood there, arms crossed, looking angrier by the minute; maybe the satyrs were enjoying this, but Brad was done! "I told you those American boys were nothing but whores!" one of the men snorted.
"Oh, we're not WHORES..." Corey purred.
"Yeah," Brandon chimed in, almost as if the pair had rehearsed the bit, "we NEVER take money for it!"
Mahmoud's eyes fell on Brad, and he didn't like what he saw. "Take that red pig out and slaughter him!" he ordered.
"NO!" This man was Ali al Saud-Shikali, cousin to Mahmoud and even closer to the Saudi royal family. "I like that one's spirit! Take him to my suite! If the American misbehaves, I'll deal with him myself!"
Brad was led to a sumptuous bedroom that was almost as overly decorated as a "high roller" suite in any Las Vegas luxury hotel. "You are very beautiful..." Ali said, almost shyly. "You aren't like the other two..."
"Thanks." Brad was still having none of this. His words and manner radiated ice.
"Would you care for something to drink? Smoke...?" The Sheikh was trying to be polite, and he seemed confused by Brad's attitude. "I can get you whatever kind of drug you might want to help you relax..."
"What I WANT is to go back to Vegas and rejoin my friends!" the newest Olympian said, still cold. "Sadly, that's not going to happen!"
"What do you mean?"
Brad barked a short laugh. "Are you telling me you don't know what your cousin does with his `whores'?"
"I imagine he takes them back to the city..." the other man said uncertainly.
"You're either stupid or willfully ignorant!" Brad said derisively. "Did you not, like five minutes ago, JUST hear Mahmoud tell his bodyguards to kill me? What did you fucking think he meant?"
"Surely the guards wouldn't do such a thing!"
"OK, you ARE that dumb!" Brad snapped. "Look, dude--your cousin and his guards have killed nine young men--and put another dozen in intensive care! This doesn't end well for anyone who gets dragged out here!"
"How do you know this?" Ali asked. "Are you a cop?"
"No, but I am a mage like your cousin's guard, Ashar!" Brad told him. "My two friends are--how can I explain this? Houries..."
This seemed to rock Ali more than anything else Brad said. "Are you a messenger from the Prophet?" he asked.
"Yeah, let's go with that!" Brad replied. "Your cousin made a huge mistake abducting us! You need to let us go while you can, because a world of trouble is headed your way if you don't!"
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because he speaks the truth, that's why!" Brad smiled as Prometheus translocated in. The Titan was clad in full armor and held a broadsword to Ali's throat. "Is this sufficient reason to convince you!"
"Allah defend me!" the man screamed as he tried to flee the room.
"ENOUGH!" Prometheus knocked the man out with one punch, sending Ali sprawling like a discarded rag doll. Then: "shall we go see how the others are doing?"
Thoth had fled with the arrival of the Olympians on scene, leaving Mahmoud and his associates to face the wrath of Ares, Athena. Dionysus, the other two satyrs and Hecate. Brad heard threats in Arabic and English before arriving in the "Rumpus Room" to find the Middle Easterners all pointing heavy pistols at each other's heads. Brandon and Corey seemed none-the-worse for wear but a bit disappointed they hadn't been able to finish their "fun". "What would you like us to do with these fools?" Ares asked.
"I have the perfect punishment in mind for these idiots!" the newest Olympian replied. Brad flexed his now-returned Godly abilities, and all of the men found themselves just as naked as the satyrs. He flexed again, and their genitalia pulled up inside their bodies and became vulvae. Lush, plump breasts and abundant round buttocks replaced their masculine forms. He left the body hair and didn't bother changing their faces--all of which were bearded. "Perfect!"
"That is so GROSS!" Corey exclaimed.
"Ali--I'm going to let you keep your man-parts!" Brad told his quivering former captor after making sure he was awake for the show. "You aren't guilty of anything but believing the best of your cousin! Still, he and his men have done some very wicked things, and for that they must pay!"
He turned his attention back to the other men. "If Thoth--the one you know as Ashar-- returns and tries to restore your `original' forms, know that I will do something far worse! Next time I'll turn you into mindless sex-bombs, send you naked into the yard of the nastiest maximum-security prison, and let them have their way with you!"
"You have no RIGHT..." Mahmoud protested. "Do you know who I am?"
"I know you as well, if not better, than you know yourself, Mahmoud bin Shikali! I know your connections to the Saudi royal family, and I have enough dirt on you to get you hanged as a moral degenerate! As of now, sweet cheeks, I OWN you! You take ONE STEP out of line, and I'll release enough dirt to bury you and your entire family! If you think I'm lying--please feel free to try me..."
"Turn us back--at ONCE!" the leader demanded. His words were a bit undercut by the fact he was a part of a circle of men pointing revolvers at each other's heads.
"I don't think so..." Brad smiled. "Here's another little Gift for you!" The newest Olympian sorted through the experiences of the men Mahmoud and his cohorts had tortured and murdered then fed it back to them, filling them with the terror, pain and hopelessness. "There--I think that should be enough to keep you on the straight and narrow..."
With the problem solved, Ares, Athena, Hecate, and Prometheus departed for Olympus island; Brad would just as happily have gone home, but Dennis and the satyrs wanted to go back to the club in Vegas. "Do we have to do this?" the newest Olympian asked with a sigh. "I've already told you everything you need to know about Sharkey's, and I can write up a business plan that will tell you what you need to bid to get the club and what you'd have to do to make it a profitable venture."
"I'll no' be buyin' tha club," Dennis told him. "The place has too much baggage tae make it worth me while! Better ta let it fail then open a new club down the street! But, e'en so, laddie, ye haven't given me a read on tha DJ! I find him--interestin'..."
"If we go back there, you're going to have to glamour' the staff," the newest Olympian told Dennis. "I can replicate' our clothing..." which he did with a thought, "...and even make copies of our IDs that'll pass muster, but I won't be able to duplicate our cell-phones or credit cards--at least not without time to thoroughly study how those things are made!"
"We'll ha' tae live wi' that then," the God of Wine replied. "I want that DJ in me employ, if we can make it happen!"
Truth to tell, Brad was also quite interested in Henry McCaughey. "Hank" was the first lycanthrope, he'd encountered and the newest Olympian wanted to know more about their powers, culture, and how they'd managed to go unnoticed by the "Powers That Be" for so long. The young man had to stop himself from diving down a rabbit hole of curiosity. Sometimes this power is worse than YouTube! he thought as Brad translocated himself to an empty handicapped stall in the bathroom at Sharkey's.
Surprisingly enough the place was almost empty save for a strapping brown-haired man with glasses standing at a urinal. Brad was surprised to realize the frankly ordinary-looking man was DJ Beast himself. The big man went to wash his hands as Dennis and the four satyrs translocated in. "Wow," he observed. "Who knew that was the `clown car' of bathroom stalls? Good trick that!"
"He knows we translocated in," Corey observed.
"No doubt his `ursine' sense of smell," Brad allowed.
"OK, who the fuck are you people, and what do you want with me?" the big man snapped as he went on full alert.
"Calm down, big guy!" Brad said, trying to soothe the frightened werebear by projecting soft, reassuring vibes. "I'm Brad Fox, the big redhead there is Dennis Hardy, new CEO of Dionysian Entertainment! We came here because we wanted to meet you and see if you were interested in working with us! Frankly, dude, you're wasted in a shit-hole like this..." He offered his hand to shake.
"Beast" grabbed the hand, and Brad felt an electric warmth spread up his arm and tingle his genitals and ass. The big man felt it as well, and his eyes grew large. "What--the--fuck...?" he panted.
"What the fuck indeed!" the newest Olympian replied. "Oh my god, dude! I want to suck your cock so bad right now!"
"I want to rip your clothes off and fuck you for the rest of the night!" Hank growled back. "I don't care who sees me!" He grabbed Brad, pulled him in close, and the two were soon engaged in a deep, passionate kiss.
"Did one o' you lot do that?" Dennis asked.
"Nope!" "No Sir!" "No, me Lawd..." Three of the four satyrs were quick to answer.
"Dude! You really think one of us would try our mojo on Brad?" Corey replied. "He'd never forgive us, and, worse, he'd find a way to get even with us if we were dumb enough to try!"
"EROS!" Dennis bellowed aloud via the communication band all Gods shared. "Get yer candy ass over here--RIGHT NOW!"
Eros and Psyche, both nude and looking flushed, appeared in the ever-more crowded men's bathroom. "You called, my Lord Dionysus?" Ross said, being deeply sarcastic. "I hope this is important! Kiki and I were just getting to know one another again..."
"Were you or one o' yer brothers responsible for..." he pointed to where Brad and Hank were still busily trying to figure out if they could taste what the other had for lunch, "...THAT?"
Ross glanced at the two men. "Who knew Brad Fox had it in him?" he asked "Or at least he WILL have it in him..."
"DID YE OR YER BLASTED BROTHERS DO THAT, YE BEGGER?" Dennis bellowed.
"Don't have a cow, man!" Ross said. "Bradley is immune to our powers!"
"It's one of his `Olympian' abilities coming on line," Psyche told the group. "Brad will know who is good for him--or bad for him for that matter--by the way his body reacts to them! In this case it looks like that bear is going to be VERY good for him!"
"You have your answer!" Ross said. "Can we GO now?"
"Thank ye kindly!" Dennis told them. "I'm in yer debt, Lady Psyche!"
"I'll remember to collect!" the woman said even as she and Eros faded out.
"Brad!" Corey exclaimed. "EARTH TO BRAD!" The newest Olympian finally broke the kiss and turned his attention to the others in the room. "Hot as that show is, Beasty-weasty has got to finish his set..."
"Oh fuck, I do!" Hank reluctantly agreed. "Hang around `til the club closes? Please...?"
"Is there room to sneak me into the DJ booth?" Brad asked.
"We'll MAKE room!" Beast promised.
"Ye WILL bring Mr. McCaughey by so I can chat with him about a contract, won't ye, lad?" Dennis asked.
"Yeah, we'll be by--eventually..." Hank agreed.
Brad followed Hank up to the DJ Booth to watch the werebear during the last hour of his set. The man seemed to have an almost-instinctive grasp on how to keep the "party vibe" going until he spotted a confrontation at once side of the dance floor; then the music switched to something slow and soothing, the lighting changed just a bit, and the situation seemed to diffuse without the throbbing beat to goose the adrenaline. "Wow, that's impressive," Brad observed as he saw the combatants leaving the club.
"You gotta know how to read a crowd," Hank replied. "Those two guys didn't really want to fight each other; I just turned down the emotional temperature a bit. Now maybe they'll have time to cool off before they end up doing something stupid!"
"Interesting skill that," the newest Olympian observed.
He might have said more, but someone poked his head into the DJ booth. "Hey, Hanky-Panky!" said a thin, middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and watery eyes, "I'm gonna need you to work the after party tonight!"
"Not happening!" the big man said. "I have a date!"
"What do you mean you've got a date?" He gave Brad a jaundiced look. "What? With that chippie?"
"I don't think I'd call him a `chippie'," Hank said. "Brad works for Dennis Hardy, the new CEO of Dionysian Entertainment!"
"So they send some `chippie' to seduce you into signing with them?"
"I take exception to the term `chippie'," Brad commented. "I was sent here to research your club--and I found out a lot of interesting little details--like how you water your drinks, maintain a drug dealer for your patrons--not to mention how you've cheated the owner into near bankruptcy! You really should be ashamed of yourself, Murry!"
The new arrival looked angry. "Chippie--I don't know who you think you are or where you got your information--but you need to be careful what kind of bullshit you spew! People who talk in ways they shouldn't have a bad habit of ending up dead in the desert!"
"Oh, you mean like your friend Sheikh Mahmoud?" Brad said. "I met him; I doubt he'll be back here--or anywhere else for that matter--for a good long time!"
"Yeah, you hear about nasty shit going down with that bunch..." Hank allowed.
"Trust me," Brad told him, "what you don't hear is ten times worse--and Murry there is right in the thick of it!"
"I don't know who you think you are, chippie..." the older man threatened, "but I have some very powerful friends with Italian last names!"
"A casual acquaintance with a few small-time hoods doesn't mean you're mobbed up!" Brad said languidly. "Now--be missing, or I'll show you what REAL power is!"
Murry lunged for Brad, but the newest Olympian translocated him away. "Um--where did he go?" Hank asked.
"I sent him to Vladimir Putin's bedroom," the strawberry blond young man said with an evil smile. "''Poots' isn't there at the moment, but Murry is going to have a helluva time explaining to the KGB how he got in there!"
"Dude, you're truly evil!" Hank said.
"I know. Now throw on Last Dance or Closing Time so we can get out of here!"
"So--have you come to recruit me to the X-Men?" Hank asked as he was closing things down. "I should probably tell you, I'm not a Mutant..."
"I know," Brad replied. "You're a werebear, and I'm a reconstituted Greek God! It's a long story that I'll share with you--later!"
"Wow, the Gods are real, and you're one of em?" Hank said after Brad had translocated the pair back to The Arbor. "What does reconstituted' mean?"
"It means, big guy, that I was elevated by accident!" he said. "Loki was involved; long story--someday I'll write a book about it! In the meantime, though, let's get you naked!"
"Only if you'll get naked too!" the other man said. "Can you just zap us out of our clothes?"
"Nope," the young man replied. "It doesn't quite work that way. I could create, or `un-create' something--but if I unmake anything--it's gone forever! I don't think you'll want to lose your wallet and cell phone!"
"No, siree! My life is in that phone!" he said. Then: "why can't you make a new cell phone?"
"I suppose I could if I had to..." Brad admitted, "after I figured out how they worked--but then you wouldn't have your data unless you'd saved everything to the Cloud. There are limits to even Godly abilities."
"So--um--which one are you?"
"I took the place of Argus," the newest Olympian replied. "The first guy bearing that name was `offed' by Hermes during mythological times: I have something of the same abilities, so I inherited the mantle and title Argus Panoptes!"
"What about that jolt that nearly knocked us both on our asses?"
"It was my body's way of saying I should `Bond' you," Brad replied.
"What does that mean exactly?"
"'Bonding' means I give you a little of my Power in exchange for your eternal loyalty," Brad told him. "You'll be immune to a lot of diseases--not that it makes much of a difference to you since you're already a werebear--but it will also increase your lifespan and improve your body. Oh, and probably most important of all, you get a Limited Wish' in gamer terms!"
"What's a `Limited' Wish?"
"There are some things even a God can't grant," the newest Olympian replied. "For example, only Hades and Thanatos can bring back someone from the dead; Death is their purview, and we can't overrule them. We can't give you `all the money in the world' either--but we can give you enough that you'd be filthy rich. We CAN make someone fall in love with you, but, trust me on this one, you don't want us to! We also can't make you God-Emperor of the Universe or even Pope! We can't create you as a God without Zeus's permission and co-operation."
"OK, I begin to get the idea..."
"Oh, and on the God's end, we're obligated to protect and guide you for the remainder of your life," Brad told him. "You gain the ability to mentally communicate with other Bondsmen and whatever God that Bonds you, so a smart God will treat his people right!"
"I think I get that..." Hank said as he kicked off his sneakers. "The last thing anybody wants is to is have somebody whining in their heads constantly!"
"Got it in one!" Brad told him as he finished undressing. Then: "Here--let me get those pants for you!" He pulled off Hank's pants and underwear. "Wow, I'm impressed!"
"Thanks," the big man said. Then: "So--do you want to `Bond' me?"
The newest Olympian thought seriously before answering. "I like you," he admitted. "In fact--I like you a lot! But, honestly, I don't know what I can do for you or how Bonding' you would benefit me; I think you'd benefit a lot more by Bonding' with Dionysus--AKA Dennis Hardy! Still, if you really WANT me to `Bond' you..."
Now it was Hank's turn to think. "Let's put a pin in it for a while," he said. "Right now I'd rather fuck!"
Brad tackled the big guy, devouring his big, thick uncut cock like a starving man who had just gotten a sausage. Hank returned the favor by turning the smaller man around, burying his face between Brad's legs, and attacking his ass like a bear at a honey pot. Before too long Hank was plundering the other man's throat with his fully-engorged cock while slurping hungrily at his nether hole. "Damn you taste amazing!" he growled.
"It's part of being an Olympian," Brad told him (when he could catch a breath). "We, and our Bondsmen, all acquire easy-open, good-tasting assholes. I understand it also prevents women from having `porcelain bus rides to Hell' when they're pregnant as well! We may not always be virgin-tight, but we'll never get sloppy back there or have a bad BM!"
"Nice as this eating is--I think I want to fuck you!" Hank said. He moved into position and slid all his nearly twelve thick inches into Brad in one easy thrust. "Fuck, dude! Nobody's ever been able to take me like that!"
"It's good to be an Olympian!" Brad replied as he arched up to take just a wee bit more of the werebear inside him. "Now fuck me, big guy!"
END CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Thanks to those of you who wrote wondering why I was so late in getting out a new Chapter. Suffice it to say the Real World reared its ugly head and bit me in the butt with various annoying little bits. I appreciate your patience and will try to have something out on a more-timely basis in future. As always, thanks to my crack Editorial Staff: without "Marko the Magnificent" pushing and prodding this might not have gotten finished. Thanks to "Rockin' Robyn" who caught some mistakes and "Midwestern" Mark for editing the final draft. I couldn't do it without ya'll!
Questions, comments, suggestions and constructive criticism are always welcome. Drop me a note to HonableRonable@gmail.com or RonVenable@hotmail.com and I WILL respond. Do you want more of Brad's adventures? Would you like to see more of the Doververse? How about something new? Let me know! Who knows what could happen?