Forgiven

by Candace

Ascending was nothing like dying. When you died, you ended up on the bank of the Styx, and Charon would find you and demand his payment, which was usually in the last place you looked for it, and then he'd dump you off in the Elysian Fields, which looked exactly like Greece, except everyone there was already dead, and instead of missing them you found yourself missing the people you knew who were still alive.

Once you got used to that turnaround, the Other Side wasn't too bad.

But ascension, joining the light...that was nothing like Greece. Or the Other Side. In fact, it was nothing like anywhere Iolaus had ever traveled. And he'd walked a mile or two in his day.

It wasn't lonely, exactly. Iolaus didn't see anyone else, just a lot of light, but it didn't feel like he was alone. When he looked down, he was intact, clothing, dirt, scars and all. Which was good. Becoming "one" with the light without his body seemed too darn close to being obliterated.

If Iolaus tried, he thought he could sense other beings, but none of them seemed to need a body. He heard them, though, and eventually what seemed like one voice broke apart into several different voices that spoke without speaking. And the gossip of the day was all about war.

There was a great battle taking place, a long, drawn-out struggle that had started at the beginning of time. Every skirmish, every war, was just a small part of this larger conflict. Good versus evil, if you going to dumb it down for the average guy.

Though no actual words were involved, judging by the fevered pitch of discussion, the battle, the one giant war, was culminating in something big. No, beyond big. Huge. Gigantic.

"The end of the world."

Iolaus jumped at the first five words he'd heard spoken aloud ever since the Light took him. Recognition slammed home almost immediately, and with it, the fear that maybe he wasn't in the Light after all.

"Strife." Iolaus turned, unsure whether he expected to see his old enemy as he'd been during his last final moments, pale face gone still, or maybe a ghost, a transparent shade. Or maybe nothing at all, just a disembodied voice, albeit one that used words and not thoughts.

But Strife was still Strife, down to the overly complicated black leather. Same cocky pose, arms crossed with one hip thrust forward. Same hair sticking out every which way. Same maddening smirk.

"Isn't Tartarus missing you?"

Strife's grin widened. "Oh, good. You're still you. I wasn't sure if the whole 'Light' gig would turn a mortal personality into gruel."

Iolaus glanced down at himself, doing his best not to think that he'd dreaded the very same thing. "What are you, some kind of allegory?"

Strife raised his eyebrows. He uncrossed his arms and planted his fists on his hips.

"You know," Iolaus explained, "some kind of representation of the evil in me that I'm supposed to overcome?"

"Duh. I know what an allegory is, and I think you're giving Them way too much credit."

"Them," or the other beings in the Light, or of the Light, were buzzing all around Iolaus and Strife. More talk of war. And of a traitor named Michael.

"Wait a minute," said Iolaus. "Michael's one of the good guys."

"Just 'cos we're all in the Light doesn't mean you've got to blurt out every little thing that pops into your head. Believe it or not, there is such a thing as privacy around here." Strife clapped an arm around Iolaus' shoulders and steered him away from the spot where he'd been standing. "Walk with me, Shorty, and I'll 'splain a few things."

Iolaus felt a shift as he and Strife walked, even though there was no obvious destination for them to reach. Strife was doing something, manipulating...distance? Energy? Whatever it was, Iolaus was sure it was Strife's doing when the barrage of war natter ebbed.

"You say Michael's a good guy? Good and bad, those words are meaningless around here. They're too simple. Besides, you think I'd be here if the standard definitions were anything to go by?"

"Well, no. I'd been wondering."

Strife stopped and spun Iolaus around to face him. Unlike all the soft, hazy light that surrounded them both, Strife was in sharp focus--crisp detail right down to his eyelashes and the metal rings on his leather shirt. He eased up close to Iolaus, their chests nearly touching, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I died defending the world from Dahak's entourage. That's all that matters."

"So every lousy thing you've ever done...."

Strife cupped Iolaus' pendant in his palm and buffed it against his leathers. "Wiped clean."

Iolaus snatched his pendant back, noting that it'd been broken in half by the blow that'd killed him. He suppressed a shudder. "Don't you need to be sorry for all the evil you've done to be forgiven?"

"Apparently not."

Iolaus would've liked to have turned around and walked away in a huff, but there was nowhere for him to go. Right, left, up and down, all around him there was nothing but light.

And Strife.

He'd make a good landmark. He'd get smaller and smaller as Iolaus walked away from him.

Iolaus turned around and started walking, and Strife appeared in front of him so suddenly that Iolaus bounced off of him. "Where ya going?"

"Away from you."

Iolaus took a step to the side, which Strife duplicated with eerie grace. "Wait. Don't go."

"Why? Looking to tear off some wings and found you've run out of flies?"

Iolaus took two steps back, which Strife matched perfectly. "There are no flies here. Just Light."

Iolaus leaned to one side and took in the landscape beyond Strife, or rather, the lack of it, and he wondered how Strife was able to lead them away from the pervasive not-voices. "How can you tell where you are if everything is Light?"

"It's a lot like being a deity. I'm sure you'll get the hang of it in a century or two. Though I doubt you'll ever be as good as me."

Iolaus wondered if he had powers too, now that he was made of Light. He tried to make a ball of energy appear in his palm, as he'd seen the gods of Greece do numerous times before. His palm glowed. Maybe. Or maybe it was some Light, glaring off the whiteness that was threatening to consume him.

Strife grabbed Iolaus' outstretched arm by the wrist. "What do you want?" he asked. He plucked a handful of dinars from the air and dropped them into Iolaus' palm. "Money? Food? Weapons?"

Iolaus tipped his hand and the coins fell out, disintegrating before they touched the bright, bright whiteness he was standing on. "What use is money here?"

Strife shrugged. "I dunno. That's never stopped anyone from wanting it before."

Iolaus turned on his heel, but Strife grabbed his arm with both hands and clung to him. "Come on. You can't go. You're the only person I can see around here."

Iolaus paused. It would've been nice if there were someone there to look at other than Strife. But Strife was better than nobody. At least Iolaus didn't question who he was around Strife, and whether or not his personality was being scoured away by the relentless brightness.

"I'll stay. For now."

Strife smiled, his whole face creasing with glee. "Phat."

"So what's this nonsense about the end of the world that you used to lure me over here?"

Strife waved his hand and a misty white divan appeared from the haziness of the light. He sprawled on it and kicked up his feet, crossing his boots primly at the ankles. "First off, it's perfectly sensible. Mankind has gone rotten and the light wants to scrape it all into the garbage pail and start over again. And even more importantly," he leered, grabbing the bulge at his groin, "if I wanted to lure you anywhere, I'd use better bait."

Iolaus stared at Strife's hand. "Give me a break."

"What? Don't you feel it?"

Iolaus suspected he probably shouldn't try to focus on whatever "it" was, but he couldn't help it. He was curious. He turned his focus inward where earlier he'd been reaching for his pulse. It wasn't there--which made sense, since Iolaus was dead and he didn't need a pulse. But even without it, that beating thrum of life, Iolaus wasn't empty. Instead, he was filled with a vibration, so beautiful it was almost like music, a single, clear note that carried over time and distance and echoed long after the sound had faded away.

Iolaus opened his eyes. He hadn't realized he'd closed them.

Strife was staring at him, wide-eyed. "Yeah," he said. "That."

"So?"

Strife crooked his finger, and Iolaus leaned a little closer. "Now feel mine," he said.

Iolaus started to pull away, hoping he'd be faster than whatever sophomoric stunt he'd landed in this time. He'd expected to have his hand jammed against Strife's crotch, but that didn't happen.

Instead, Strife locked eyes with him. And Iolaus heard it again, the music--although that word was completely inadequate to describe the sweetness, the complexity, of even one single note.

And then it multiplied.

Two soaring notes, twining and parting and wrapping around each other yet again. His breath caught. And he realized he was crouching over Strife, gazing into his eyes.

"Yeah," Strife whispered. "Like that."

Iolaus straightened up and backed away a couple of steps. "What was that?"

Strife rolled onto his side, planting his elbow into his ghostly couch and propping his head on his knuckles. "That's what we're made of now. Words don't do it justice, do they?"

Iolaus listened for his single note again, though he suspected that it wasn't actually music, and he wasn't really using his ears. It was just the closest thing he had in his vocabulary of experiences by which to call it.

"It's better with two," Strife purred. "And you know it."

"Whatever that is, we don't have time for it right now. We need to figure out how to stop Michael."

The couch dissolved as Strife rolled onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head and floating on whiteness so bright that Iolaus couldn't tell if he was hovering or if he'd hit some sort of ground. "Do we?"

"Of course we do."

"But what if wiping the slate clean is the only way to go? Maybe the Light starts things over with every age. I mean, I'm old, but there were Titans before me and Gaia before them. Everything has a beginning and an end."

Strife floated until he was facing the same direction as Iolaus. But he still looked like he was lying down. Iolaus blinked and tried to throw off the feeling of disorientation he was experiencing. Maybe he'd actually tipped over and floated down to Strife's level, and he was lying on the ground now, too. If you could call it a ground.

"Why don't you tune into our harmonics again," said Strife, "and then you'll know I'm on the up and up."

"How will that prove anything?"

"Because energy doesn't lie."

Iolaus wasn't so sure of that, but he did suspect that if energy could lie, he'd be able to tell the difference between true and false. He listened again for his single note, and then the twined harmony that was his music and Strife's filled his awareness soon afterward.

Strife gasped. Iolaus felt the breath against his forehead. He wasn't sure when Strife had gotten so close. But since he couldn't even tell if he was upright or lying down, it wasn't very surprising.

"I dunno about you, but that gives me wood like you wouldn't believe."

"Shut up," Iolaus said, trying to shove away. But it was like he was tethered to Strife, floating together in light, their essences woven in some glorious song that was keeping their bodies connected. Warmth bloomed deep in Iolaus' belly and need throbbed in his groin. Damn. It made him hard, too.

"You're right. We don't need to talk." Strife squirmed, wriggling his body lower until his mouth closed on Iolaus'.

He didn't mean to kiss back. It was Strife, after all. But it was as if Iolaus' body had taken over and just brought the rest of him along for the ride.

Which didn't make any sense at all, considering that he was part of the Light, and didn't even have a body anymore.

He pushed Strife away.

"What?"

"Stop it."

"Why?"

"Because...." Iolaus wished his head would stop spinning, and reminded himself that he may not even technically have a head. "Do we still have bodies, or are we just music...energy?"

"I dunno." Strife inched closer, pressing his thighs into Iolaus' thighs, the hard bulge of his groin into Iolaus' aching cock. He twitched his hips so that their cocks rubbed together, and he gave a shuddery sigh. "Who cares?"

Iolaus tried to shove at Strife again, but his hand was blocked and rebuffed effortlessly. And then that black-gloved hand wormed through the press of their bodies and settled between Iolaus' thighs as if that had been the spot Strife had been aiming for all along. Strife knuckled the underside of Iolaus' balls in a way that made them snug up to his body while his cock grew deliciously hard.

"I'm not lying with you," Iolaus said, hoping that he sounded at least a little bit confident. "We're enemies."

Strife's grin spread more, curling at the edges, and he stole another kiss from Iolaus, this time with his tongue tracing the curve of Iolaus' mouth. "We used to be," he said, once he'd pulled back.

"I don't remember a truce."

"No?" Another kiss, and this time Iolaus' lips parted, just a little, and Strife's tongue traced the fronts of his teeth. "Come on, Pipsqueak. Think."

Except Strife's hand was cupping Iolaus' erection, finding the shape of it through all the leather and running his thumb over the head. And Iolaus couldn't think.

"Wonder what it'll be like to shoot my load here," said Strife, his voice dreamy. "I haven't tried it, you know."

"No way."

"Way. I've kept it in my pants all this time."

"Your restraint knows no bounds."

Strife shifted, bringing his eyes in line with Iolaus'. His stare might have been too much, if not for the delicious thrum that his note made as it coiled with Iolaus' in the delicate dance of their spirits entwining. "Virtue is as useless here as good and evil."

Strife tilted his face and placed his lips on Iolaus' again. He was still, very still, but even so, the harmony of their notes soared.

Iolaus gasped as he pulled away, just a bit, just enough to see one another.

"Even so...maybe we shouldn't be doing this in the Light."

"But it feels good. Doesn't it feel good?" Strife's hand crept further down between Iolaus' legs and caressed his inner thigh, and Iolaus realized he was right. "Good" carried no meaning at all in the Light. The pleasure of Strife's touch was nearly excruciating.

Iolaus felt his spine arch as he pressed his body against Strife, hungry for more. His eyes were still open, maybe, and everything had gone white.

"Damn, that's fine." The words tickled Iolaus' lips as Strife spoke them.

"Wait...."

Another caress, this one trailing over Iolaus' scrotum, and the world went white again, beyond white, to a color that was everything and nothing at once.

"Do me." Strife grabbed Iolaus' hand and rubbed it up and down the fly of his leather pants. "Oh...oh, man...how can you say this isn't good?"

"I didn't...."

Strife's mouth covered Iolaus' before he could finish. Strife's tongue swept in and then it was all over. A peak, a glittering white peak, a crescendo in the music that wasn't even music.

Except they had no bodies, not really. And Iolaus was still very, very aroused.

"I felt that," Strife said, his voice wavering.

"What?"

"Like you blew your wad."

Iolaus looked down at his pants. He was still laced up, and still hard. "Not exactly."

Strife crawled over Iolaus' body, and maybe he was on his back and Strife was straddling him; it was hard to say without any defined up or down. "Do it to me," Strife begged. "I want you so bad it hurts."

Iolaus fumbled with Strife's pants for a moment before they dissolved into light, the rest of his suit disintegrating along with it, starting with the lacings in Iolaus' fingers and crawling outward like a parchment being eaten by flame, until leggings and shirt, gloves and boots were all gone, and Strife stretched over Iolaus, very naked, and very hard.

Iolaus touched Strife's pale, slim hips with tentative fingers, and Strife's eyes rolled back in his head, breath shuddering. Iolaus held still, reveling in the soaring of their notes, until Strife's eyes cleared again. He glanced down between their bodies. "You're right," he said, panting. "That wasn't quite a cumshot. But it sure felt like one."

"I wonder." Iolaus cupped Strife's balls gently, and Strife's entire body stiffened. He played his fingertips over the hot, smooth spot between balls and ass, and watched Strife twitch like he might turn inside out.

Iolaus stilled his hand, and floated in the music and the Light until Strife could focus again. "There's more where that came from," Iolaus said.

Strife's eyes widened, and then narrowed in anticipation. "I always knew you'd be hot stuff. And this was totally worth the wait."

Iolaus moved his fingers carefully, sliding them toward Strife's ass while Strife held his breath and stared.

"But you'll need to promise me something."

"Shit," Strife muttered in a strangled whisper. "I should've known."

Tongue pressed between his teeth in the effort of moving his fingers very, very slowly, Iolaus edged them higher, gently fingering Strife's ass while Strife held himself rigid and tried not to buck. His jaw muscle leapt with the effort of controlling the cascades of wild pleasure that were wracking him inside.

"I'll make love to you--here, in the Light--if you help me warn Hercules about Michael."

"All right, all right." Strife shivered all over, eyes fluttering closed. Iolaus held still while Strife gathered the shreds of his control and came to himself again, however briefly. "You drive a hard bargain. But I accept. Just do it."

Iolaus' clothing dissolved, but he hardly felt it at all. There was no breeze, no temperature at all, really. Just the intensification of his clear, pure tone, as if a barrier had fallen away.

Strife got a knee on either side of Iolaus' hips, the brush of arm on chest, thigh on hip, as heady as a whole night of pleasure back in the mortal world.

"Maybe we're not really dead yet," said Strife, lining his bottom up with the head of Iolaus' cock. Iolaus could hardly stand to touch it enough to even hold it up. He wasn't sure how he could endure the sensation of being inside someone else--and yet he was starving for it, as if everything he'd ever experienced had led to that one moment.

"Oh, you're dead all right. You've been dead for a year." Talking helped, a little.

"Some places..." Strife's voice wavered with the effort of forming actual words, "...believe there's a place in between the world and the Other Side. Maybe that's where we are."

"In between."

"Sure. Maybe once our vibe gets high enough, then we really ascend."

"Wait. What if I screw up my chances of helping Hercules by...."

But it was too late to back down. Strife let out a long, wavering moan that sounded as much like pain as pleasure as he bore down. Iolaus' cock glided in, buried itself in tightness, the two of them sliding as if they were both satin, not flesh.

Their notes twined together again, only now it was as if they had substance other than sound. There were colors, two shades of white, and they sparkled and blended as the notes soared.

The pleasure crested, glittering at a breathtaking high peak, and then slowly started to ebb. Iolaus was almost surprised to find that he still had a body, or at least the semblance of one. And Strife did, too. Unless he'd hallucinated Strife, and it was all just a series of bizarre images his dying mind had stitched together.

But he'd never seen Strife looking at him like that, eyes wide and vulnerable with need. He didn't think he could've made that up.

"I'll make sure you get to warn Hercules." Strife tilted his head and wove his fingers into Iolaus' hair, bringing their lips together for a slow, tender kiss.

Iolaus was ready for the next peak. Almost. Maybe calling it music, or light, wasn't adequate at all. Maybe there were other senses, too--ones he'd never known about. Or maybe all the senses were just a poor explanation of how he really understood the world.

He screamed--maybe. And Strife screamed with him. They rode an agonizing peak of bliss as one, bodies moving, sliding, hands grasping and mouths hungry, pressing together. The sensation started to ebb, and Iolaus thought that maybe there'd be one more reprieve, a final chance to make sense of what was happening to him, and who it was happening with. And why.

But Strife flexed his spine in an inhumanly supple motion, and the whiteness and celestial music roared to engulf them, and the pleasure/pain was transcended, settling finally on one clear, pure note of eternal bliss.

It could have been a few moments, or it could have been a year. Time didn't seem to mean much in the Light.

Iolaus was relieved to find that he hadn't melted away his body--or the illusion that he understood as his body--for the sake of an orgasm.

The semblance of a body that Strife wore was sprawled on Iolaus, heaving with the effort of breathing, though it probably didn't need to breathe, hadn't even needed to in life, as a god. The normal sticky aftermath of lovemaking was absent, but the feeling of having been wrung out like a used rag and hung up to dry left little doubt that Iolaus had consummated...whatever it was...with Strife.

"You said you'd help me--" Strife's mouth blocked the rest of the words with yet another kiss. It was still a heady feeling, but it lacked the gut-wrenching power that it'd had since they'd spent themselves.

Strife pulled back a little, and smiled. "Chill out. It's a piece of cake."

"And your plan is...?"

"Mirrors. They bounce the light...well, I think you mortals haven't quite figured it out yet, but trust me on this one. It's just a little basic physics."

"Mirrors."

"We'll wait for Herc to get close to something reflective, and then you can grab his attention and fill him in. The big lug can take it from there. It couldn't be easier."

Strife disentangled a hand from Iolaus' hair and ran his fingertips over Iolaus' bare shoulder. He walked them onto Iolaus' chest, then found a smooth spot over Iolaus' heart that glowed a little: the fatal wound. He pressed his lips against it.

"I've been racking my brain trying to remember when you and I settled our differences," said Iolaus, "and I'm coming up empty."

Strife grinned.

"It never happened. Did it?"

Strife fussily petted the shining wound he'd just kissed. "Sure it did."

"I give up. When did this supposed forgiveness occur? When I died?"

"Nope." Strife arched his back so that their bare chests parted while their hips pressed together harder. He took Iolaus' hand in his, and guided it to a smooth line of skin in the center of his belly, just below the ribs. Iolaus realized that the scar was glowing. "When I died."

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