Inspired By The Org. Issues Wolverine/Hercules - Myths, Monsters & Mutants

 Wolverine & Hercules - Mutants, Myths & Monsters : Issue #5

The kaleidoscope of memories swirling in Logan's mind. As his lay there, too weak to even fully grasp the IV drip in his arm, the metallic tang of antiseptic sharp in his nostrils. But it wasn't the present pain that clawed at him; it was the ghost of a touch, a phantom heat that still prickled his skin.

He’d been trying to focus on the rhythmic beep of the monitor, on the dull throb in his side, anything to anchor him to reality.

But his mind, ever the unruly beast, kept drifting back. Back to a time that felt impossibly distant, impossibly vivid?

Back to the days when they get in bed, take off all their clothes, and shit on the bible!

It started subtly…

The memory of a shared laughs, loud and booming, echoing in a dimly lit tavern full of beer that became empty glasses. Then, the weight of a hand on his shoulder, firm and reassuring.

And then, it became something else entirely, something that stole his breath even now, in his weakened state of trying to wake up from what William Stryker was doing to him.

He saw it, felt it, as if it were happening this very instant!

The rough texture of Hercules’s calloused hands against his skin, surprisingly gentle. The sheer, overwhelming presence of the demigod, radiating a strength that was both terrifying and intoxicating. And the kiss. Oh, the kiss.

It wasn't a tentative brush of lips. It was a claiming, a declaration!

(When Wolverine & Hercules shaved the beards off finally)

Hercules’s mouth, rough and demanding, yet imbued with a tenderness that Logan had never expected, never allowed himself to seek. It tasted of wine, of sweat, of the wildness that they both understood so intimately.

His mind replayed the night with an agonizing clarity and how he felt in the morning…

Even all the pain given in between shared words only Zeus watching could hear, without having to look!

The way Hercules’s golden eyes had darkened with desire, the raw, primal hunger that mirrored his own in a way that had shocked him to his core. He remembered the feel of Hercules’s powerful body pressing against his, the sheer physicality of it all…

Biting the pillow was the only way to not lose control!

There was no delicate dance, no pretense. It was raw, unvarnished passion, two forces of nature colliding.

He could still feel the heat that had flared between them, a wildfire consuming all caution, all doubt.

The strength in Hercules’s arms, holding him with a possessive grip that made him feel both utterly vulnerable and profoundly safe.

The murmur of ancient Greek against his ear, words of pleasure and possession that had branded themselves onto his soul., with early mornings being meet with Hercules waking up to Wolverine over Logan.

Hercules loved it all, before and after, especially when he can suit up, lay and held by Logan!

Both stayed locked in the house, where no one could judge they’re love.

Over the noises made when Hercules put Logan’s mask on…

Each memory was a hammer blow, a vivid counterpoint to the sterile reality of his recovery.

He’d always been a creature of instinct, of survival! (But Hercules was always on his mind)

Even short talks was enough to make him smile!

Love, or anything remotely like it, had been a luxury he couldn't afford, a weakness he couldn't tolerate. Yet, with Hercules, it had been different. It had been an untamed thing, a force that had swept him away before he even had a chance to fight against it.

A wave of heat, not entirely from his injuries, washed over him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the images, to regain control. But they clung to him, as persistent as the scent of rain after a storm.

He saw Hercules’s broad chest, the ripple of muscles, the dark hair falling across his forehead. He felt the desperate hunger in his embrace, the way their bodies had moved as one, a primal rhythm that had left him breathless and aching.

He remembered the quiet moments too, the ones that followed the storm of passion.

Lying tangled together, the silence punctuated only by their ragged breaths. Hercules’s thumb tracing the scars on his back, a silent acknowledgment of their shared battles, their shared pain.

And the look in his eyes then they was closed, was a fierce protectiveness that had ached in Logan’s chest in a way he couldn't articulate.

A small, involuntary groan escaped his lips. The memories were a torment, a beautiful, agonizing torment. He was a paradox, a lonely wolf who had, for a fleeting, incandescent moment, found his mate in the heart of a god.

(No female was enough for Logan)

Hercules would come to him in dreams when he played inside a female!

Waking up wishing it was Hercules each and every time!

And now, lying in this quiet room, the echoes of that divine embrace were the only thing that felt truly alive within him.

He knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he would carry the heat of Hercules’s kiss, the memory of their intertwined bodies, for the rest of his immortal life.

And for the first time, the thought of eternity didn't feel quite so lonely.

The rhythmic beep of the monitor, once an annoyance, now felt like a grudging anchor, slowly pulling him back from the intoxicating depths of memory.

Logan’s eyelids fluttered, heavy and reluctant. The white ceiling, unblemished and unforgiving, was the first thing his groggy eyes focused on. Yet, even as his vision cleared, the ghost of Hercules lingered, a warm impression on his skin, a faint echo of ancient whispers in his mind.

He shifted slightly, a dull ache blooming in his side, a stark reminder of the battle that had landed him here.

The antiseptic smell was still present, but now it was layered with something else: a phantom scent of earth and sweat and ambrosia that only he could perceive.

He was Logan, the survivor, the solitary entity who had mastered the art of detachment.

But the Logan who existed before Hercules was gone, replaced by a man who now understood the devastating power of connection.

The loneliness he’d embraced for centuries had been a shield, a practical necessity in a world filled with temporary mortals and dangerous gods. He’d built walls so high, so thick, that he’d genuinely believed them impenetrable. Hercules hadn’t scaled those walls; he’d simply been there, and in his sheer, overwhelming presence, the walls had crumbled into dust.

A deep, shuddering breath escaped him, an involuntary gasp that hitched in his chest.

It wasn’t just the pain of his injuries; it was the ache of a heart that had been flung wide open, exposed and raw.

He, Logan, who had prided himself on his self-sufficiency, now understood what it meant to yearn. To yearn for a touch, a gaze, a voice that could make the very fabric of reality hum.

(Neither cared about the noise or ears listening to them both say each others names out LOUD!)

He ran a weak hand over his lips, as if to retrace the impression of Hercules’s kiss. It was a futile gesture, yet it offered a strange comfort. This wasn't just a memory; it was a part of him now, woven into his very being, changing the tapestry of his immortal existence forever.

He’d always believed immortality was a solitary burden, a long, winding road walked alone.

But perhaps, just perhaps, it could be something else entirely.

(As he logan released his unborn children inside Hercules hole of 12 labors)

Perhaps it could be a vessel for eternal love, for memories so potent they could warm the coldest, loneliest stretches of time.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. The sterile room, the dull pain, the uncertain future – none of it could diminish the radiant ember that now glowed within him.

The lonely wolf had tasted belonging, had felt the scorching heat of a divine heart. And even if Hercules was a thousand miles away, or a thousand years in the past, Logan knew one thing with absolute certainty: he was no longer alone.

He carried the warmth of a sun-god within him, a permanent, indelible mark that promised that even in the vast expanse of eternity, true solitude might forever evade him.

And for the first time in a very long time, that thought brought not fear, but a flicker of profound, terrifying hope of finally being okay without him there.

 Wolverine & Hercules - Mutants, Myths & Monsters : Issue #6

The city lights of Shangri-La what was now Thebes & home to both, usually a vibrant tapestry of human ambition, were nothing but a blurry, muted glow beyond the penthouse windows. Inside, the world had shrunk to the warm, intimate space of a king-sized bed, where two beings, both legends in their own right, found an unexpected and profound solace in each other’s arms.

Logan, Wolverine, was a symphony of scars and sinew, a primal hum of contained power.

His face, usually a mask of weary intensity, was softened in sleep, pressed against the broad, god-kissed shoulder of Hercules.

Every line, every healed wound on Logan’s body told a story of a thousand battles, a thousand years.

Here, in between the legs of Hercules, nestled against the Son of Zeus, he was just… Logan!

His adamantium claws, usually a constant, if internal, threat, were sheathed deep, a testament to the trust he placed in the demigod.

(When raw and deep in all the love they had for each other)

Hercules, for his part, was a magnificent sprawl of muscle and myth. His golden skin gleamed in the dim light, a stark contrast to Logan’s more earthly, rugged complexion. His chest rose and fell with the deep, even breaths of one who had wrestled lions and gods alike. One massive arm was thrown possessively, yet gently, over Logan’s waist, holding him close. The air around them still hummed with the afterglow of their passion – a scent of ozone, a faint tang of Logan’s unique musk, and the lingering sweetness of shared breath.

After many hair cuts, lack of staying heavy over lean, to collect more loving moments on made them close than earlier, their lovemaking had been a tempest and a quiet harbor all at once.

Hercules, with a power that could shake mountains, had moved with unexpected tenderness, his booming laughter replaced by soft murmurs and deep, guttural sighs. Logan, the feral animal of a thousand fights, had met him with an equally fierce, yet vulnerable, passion.

Their kisses had been deep, tasting of whiskey and something impossibly ancient, their bodies entwined in a dance as old as time itself, two warriors finding peace not in battle, but in surrender to each other.

Logan stirred, a low growl rumbling in his chest, not of anger, but contentment. He looked up, his golden-brown eyes meeting Hercules’s as the demigod slowly woke. A slow, easy smile spread across Hercules’s face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He leaned down, placing a soft, lingering kiss on Logan's lips.

Hercules: My fierce little wolf, Hercules rumbled, his voice a low, melodic baritone that vibrated through Logan's chest.

Hercules: You make the labours of a god seem like child's play.

Logan serious as Hercules just grunted, burying his face deeper into Hercules’s neck, inhaling his scent.

Logan: You ain't so bad yourself, pal. He paused, then added, a rare softness in his voice,

Logan: Never thought… never thought I'd find somethin' like this.

Hercules tightened his hold.

Hercules: Nor I, my Logan. A heart as true as any hero's, and a spirit as untamed as the wild. Zeus himself could not have fashioned a more magnificent companion.

As he spoke, a flicker of mischievous defiance sparked in his eyes. He knew his father’s temper and anyone who said his name got his ears from Olympus, Hercules knew the ancient laws and prejudices that governed Olympus.

He knew the disdain Zeus held for mortals who dared to tread too close to the divine, let alone a mutant with claws and a checkered past, who had dared to capture the heart of his champion son. But in this moment, wrapped in Logan’s warmth and thrust, Hercules felt only joy, and a stubborn, deep-seated pride.

He was about to lean in for another kiss, to deepen the delicious languor that held them, when the first crackle began.

It wasn't a sound, not really, but an atmosphere.

The air in the opulent penthouse suite thickened, growing heavy with unspoken power. The city lights outside seemed to dim, swallowed by an encroaching, unnatural gloom. A faint smell, sharp and metallic, ozone-like, began to permeate the room.

Logan's senses, always on high alert, snapped awake.

His muscles tensed, every fiber of his being screaming danger.

He pulled back from Hercules, his eyes narrowed, scanning the room, shoulders hunching instinctively. A low, warning growl began to vibrate in his throat.

Hercules, ever attuned to the whims of the cosmos and particularly to his volatile father, felt it too.

A familiar prickle of dread mingled with a rising surge of irritation.

His golden smile faded, replaced by a grim set of his jaw.

Hercules :Father, he muttered, bitterness lacing the word like poison.

Hercules: Must you always be so… dramatic? i can hear Ganymede calling!

Outside, the sky, which had been clear moments before, began to churn.

Dark, bruised clouds materialized from nothing, spiraling inwards. A flash of blinding white light illuminated the room, followed by a clap of thunder that rattled the very foundations of the building, making the expensive art on the walls tremble.

The air around them grew cold, despite the warmth of their bodies.

A booming, resonant voice, layered with the fury of a thousand storms, echoed not from the sky, but from everywhere at once, vibrating through their bones.

HERCULES! WHAT ABOMINATION IS THIS?!" (MY SON PLAYING THE ROLE OF A LADY)

But nothing made Hercules feel the way Logan did!

(Even with his mouth covered while being pounded by his one and only, locking his legs in a pretzel around his back.

While inside Hercules, claws implicitly ready beneath his skin, let out a snarl, eyes like molten gold. He turned to face the unseen threat, instinctively shielding Hercules slightly, a feral guardian against a divine wrath.

Hercules sighed, a long, weary exhalation that bespoke centuries of dealing with paternal overreach.

He looked down at Logan, a mix of exasperation and fierce affection in his gaze.

Logan: It seems, my love," he said, rising from the bed with a god's grace, "that Zeus has decided our private moments are not private enough.

Another crack of thunder split the air, more violent this time, and a bolt of pure, white lightning momentarily outlined the very shape of the furious god in the roiling clouds above.

Logan: He must want a 3 some Herc! ( Logan joked)

The floor beneath them hummed, and the grand windows overlooking the city began to spiderweb with cracks.

Wolverine, ever the pragmatist, was already on his feet, naked and dangerous, facing down an angry god.

Logan: He wants to fight? Logan growled, a wild grin touching his lips despite the obvious peril.

Logan: Good. I haven't had a proper challenge in a while.

Hercules shook his head, a wry smile returning to his face.

Hercules: Oh, Logan. You truly are magnificent.

Hercules turned towards the enraged sky, his own voice, though still mortal, rising with a challenge that matched his father's fury.

Hercules: Father! Leave us in peace! I am with whom I choose!

(over Hylas and Lolaus, Zues wondered?)

But Zeus was not known for his understanding…after all, he did forbid any god but himself from consorting with mortals

The storm outside intensified, lightning flashing in a relentless barrage, a clear, thunderous prelude to divine intervention, and the full, terrifying wrath of Olympus.

Their idyll was shattered, replaced by the imminent, electrifying confrontation between a god, his defiant son, and the formidable mutant who had dared to love him.

 Wolverine & Hercules - Mutants, Myths & Monsters : Issue #7