Disclaimer: H:TLJ is property of MCA/Universal & Renaissance Pictures. No profit is being made from this story.

Regrets Make the Man

To regret one's own experiences is to arrest one's own development.
To deny one's own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one's life.
It is no less than a denial of the soul.

"So, that's another good job, well done," Hercules sighed with a bright tone of satisfaction as he leaned into the fluffy, goose down pillows, arms folded behind his head.

A powerful but aging warlord named Doalus had been trying to turn the small islet of Schiza off the coast of the Peloponnesus into a pleasure retreat for people of great financial means and perverse tastes in order to provide himself an income in his retirement. In the course of their investigation, the heroes had learned that Doalus had been populating his whorehouses and casinos with orphans and street kids he had lured in with promises of an easy life where they wouldn't ever be hungry, cold, or lonely again, so long as they did their jobs to the customers' satisfaction. Once the kids found out what their jobs entailed, of course, it was too late; they were trapped with no hope of rescue. Nobody would come looking for a missing street urchin. It was a story Iolaus was intimately familiar with, but one they never would have heard if Doalus's henchmen hadn't made the mistake of snatching a local magistrate's son when he was walking home from a day in the country with his school chums wearing nothing but an old grain sack because they had pulled the joke of stealing his clothes while he was swimming.

"Huh?"

"I said it was a good job, well done," Hercules repeated, trying to open a dialog with his partner, but not sure how else to begin.

"Oh, yeah, I suppose," Iolaus answered distractedly as he fumbled with the laces that held his pants closed.

Hercules scowled at the disinterested reply, but kept his tone light. "Matthias sure is grateful," he said. "It isn't often that we're indulged with our own beds, a private bath, and room service."

Matthias was an innkeeper, a decent and honest man, whose business they had incidentally saved while liberating Schiza and the children from Doalus. He had refused to throw his lot in with the evil warlord, but through a course of intimidation tactics aimed at Matthias's guests and unfortunate 'accidents' that damaged the innkeeper's property, livestock, and employees, Doalus had nearly driven him out of business.

"Yeah, I suppose," Iolaus agreed quietly, sitting on the edge of Hercules's bed to pull off his boots and rub his aching feet.

Hercules bit his lip trying to decide what to do.

Over the years, the heroes had faced a few situations that had stirred up memories from the hunter's youth that he would have preferred not to revisit. Always before Hercules had been content to let his friend bottle things up, knowing that they would eventually settle back into that dark spot where Iolaus kept them, and in a few hours or a few days, his partner would be his usual cheerful and talkative self; but ever since Dahak, since Iolaus had returned from the light, Hercules had felt a profound need to keep everything open and transparent between them. He had finally realized that the day would come when his companion would truly be gone. The time would come when he wouldn't be able to go to Hades and demand Iolaus back, so he wanted nothing left unsaid between them.

"I've sent a message to Iphicles," Hercules tried again. "I'm pretty sure he'll be able to spare a ship to take those who want to return to their families back home."

"It pays to be the brother of a king," Iolaus observed, standing to slide his pants off and toss them over a chair. He would have crossed the narrow space between the beds and pulled back his own covers to crawl beneath them and go to sleep, except that Hercules had moved to sit on the edge of the mattress and now had his hands on Iolaus's slim hips guiding him to sit between his splayed legs.

"So, you want to have sex," Iolaus said. It was neither an invitation or an offer. It wasn't even a question, just a bald observation of what he believed to be fact.

"Actually, no, I don't," Hercules said lightly, adding, "I'm sorry," on the chance that Iolaus had been wanting it. He sat still and held his breath while Iolaus reached back and felt his flaccid penis and slack balls.

"Oh, ok." Iolaus's tone conveyed equal parts surprise, relief, and confusion. Then, sadly, he said, "You don't have to apologize, you know. I realize there's a part of me that you can never love, and after all that's happened the past few days, it's not surprising that you're thinking of that tonight."

He had just gotten the notion that it was time to get off Hercules's bed and climb into his own when the demigod slipped his arms loosely around his waist. He felt trapped, and a large part of him wanted to struggle free, but at that moment he so badly needed the touch, he so desperately needed to know that Hercules still cared for him no matter how disgusting he found him, that he just couldn't make himself pull away. When Hercules raised one arm across his chest and pulled him backwards into his warmth, he didn't resist, but he couldn't relax either.

Hercules kissed his temple and whispered into his ear, "Don't be an idiot, Iolaus."

Iolaus swallowed painfully. "I wasn't aware thatI was being one," he said.

He heard Hercules draw a deep breath and turned his head slightly when the resulting drawn-out sigh tickled his ear.

"So, if you don't want to have sex, what do you want to do, Herc?" he asked, dreading the answer he knew would come.

"I want us to talk," Hercules told him, deciding the direct approach was best.

"So, talk," Iolaus said encouragingly. "I'm listening."

Hercules bit his lip again, silently cursing himself and ignoring the wiggling exploration of the fingers that teased his cock and balls, trying to distract him. He had meant for Iolaus to do the talking, but his request had been sufficiently ambiguous to allow the hunter to turn it back on him. Now he had to find a way to draw Iolaus out.

"I know this week has been hard on you . . ."

"Actually, compared to a lot of the things we have done, it's been pretty easy," Iolaus interrupted him, trying, and failing, to sound cheerful as he stroked his index finger on the underside of Hercules's shaft, disappointingly failing to get a response. "Aside from having to spend most of the time on my feet, half naked, serving cocktails to people who wanted to grope me, it wasn't that bad. The only new scar I have to show for it is a cut on my finger from picking up a broken wineglass."

"Stop it, Iolaus," Hercules demanded. He kept his tone firm, but kind, conveying that he was neither angry nor exasperated by the way Iolaus was ducking the issue, but that he wasn't going to let him skate by without really discussing it either. Iolaus fell silent, and his teasing hand went still.

"I know it brought back memories for you, painful memories."

Iolaus sucked in a harsh breath and whispered, "Hercules, you have no idea, and you should thank every god you can think of for that, even Ares."

In his mind, Hercules gave a derisive snort, but aloud, he spoke gently. "I know you like to think I'm naïve, Iolaus, and I know I could never begin to imagine what that life was like for you; but I do have an idea of what street kids sometimes have to do to survive."

"You think so, do you?" Iolaus asked bitterly.

"Yeah, I think I do," Hercules replied. "I know you were a thief."

"Well, duh, you kind of caught me red-handed at that!"

"And I imagine you ran some pretty clever con games, too," Hercules said.

Iolaus nodded. "I can be charming when I have to," he said, "and that always draws suckers in."

"And I know you traded sex for food, shelter, money, anything you needed, and sometimes you probably gave it away just to have someone hold you so you wouldn't have to spend the night alone."

Iolaus's breath hitched painfully in his chest at the raw statement, and Hercules held him just a little tighter, trying to let him feel all his love.

When Iolaus spoke again there was an odd sort of pride in his voice. "I . . . I was good at it, Herc. It was easy for me. I was small and blonde and . . . p-pretty, and people liked that. It made them want me. Sometimes it made them want to please me, too."

He seemed unaware that as he spoke, that note of pride morphed into a breathless, heartbreaking whine.

"Ioalus," Hercules groaned, shaking his friend slightly. "You can't fool me. Just because you didn't have any shortage of clients, doesn't mean it was easy for you. I know you, as well as I know anyone, and I know that, even when people were trying to pleasure you, it hurt you to have to do that."

"You must think I'm pretty disgusting, to have been able to do stuff like that with so many strangers," he said, making a token effort at pulling away.

"I have no right to judge you," Hercules answered, holding him snugly. "I was lucky enough to grow up in a home where I was loved and my mother could afford to care for me and educate me. I'm just amazed . . . and really grateful . . . that, in spite of it all, you managed to become the man you are, the man I'm proud to call my friend."

"If I'm so freaking amazing, why don't you want to have sex tonight?"

Why, after all I've said, is that so important to him?

"I know you're no fool, Iolaus, and you're smart enough to know the difference between sex and love," Hercules told him. "I don't want to have sex with you because you're hurting, and I love you. When the people I love are hurting, I hurt, too, and that doesn't usually put me in the mood for sex."

"So, I don't disgust you?" Iolaus gasped in disbelief. "Gods, Herc, I don't know how you can even stand to touch me right now. I wish I could crawl out of my own skin, like that's the only way I'll ever be clean again."

"No, Iolaus, you don't disgust me," Hercules assured him, with another little squeeze. "I love you, and I want to help you, and I don't think having sex would help anything right now."

Iolaus nodded, accepting the answer, then softly, he asked, "Then, what do you want to do?"

What indeed?

Hercules hesitated a moment. He'd always had questions, but never wanted to pry, never wanted to raise those painful memories for his friend. He'd always been afraid that if he asked, Iolaus would think he'd see him differently. Maybe he had been afraid he really would see Iolaus differently. Now he knew that wasn't the case, and he needed Iolaus to know that, too.

"I want you to tell me about it," he finally said gently.

Iolaus writhed in his embrace, but Hercules just held him a little closer and massaged the tense muscles where the fingers of his left hand rested against his friend's right shoulder and neck.

Eventually, Iolaus stopped struggling and gasped, "In the names of all the gods, Herc, why?"

That's another good question.

Fortunately, this time, Hercules had a ready response. Without ever releasing Iolaus completely from his embrace, Hercules moved around his friend to kneel on the floor in front of him and took his hands. Iolaus tried to turn his face away, but Hercules tucked two fingers under his chin and forced him to lift his head.

When Iolaus kept his eyes closed, he demanded softly, "Look at me, Iolaus."

Iolaus finally obeyed. Tears swam on the surface of the ordinarily sparkling blue eyes that had now darkened to a flat gray. The sight of them, so dull and empty, made Hercules's chest hurt.

"I love you, Iolaus, so profoundly that nothing you have ever done, could ever do, or have ever been made to do could change that," he said. "I need you to know that, but I can't prove it unless you trust me enough to tell me the truth."

Iolaus needed to close the space between them. He needed to feel Hercules's solid bulk against him, and his strong arms around him. He needed that warmth and strength to give him the courage to find his words. Falling to his knees before his friend, he leaned forward, pressed his face against Hercules's shoulder, and clung to him. Hercules wrapped him in a strong embrace, cradling his hips with one arm and wrapping the other arm around his back and, after a few moments, lifted him off the floor.

Standing in the middle of the room, Hercules began a slow, swaying motion while Iolaus clung to him like a frightened child, eyes hidden in the curve of his neck, arms curling under his biceps and around his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist. He made soothing, comforting sounds, rubbing circles on his friend's back and pressing kisses into his hair.

"Tell me about it, Iolaus," he encouraged him gently. "I won't let you go."

"I wasn't quite thirteen the first time . . ."

The man was huge, easily six podes tall and weighing over twelve talents. When Iolaus lifted his enormous gut out of the way, the sour odor of sweat, body soil, stale ale, and urine made him gag. He did what he had been told, thankful that the man couldn't reach around his own fat stomach to grab his hair and hold his head still so he could thrust into his mouth. He'd been told to swallow it all and then clean the man with his tongue, but when the first hot, salty spurt hit the back of his throat, he vomited. The man beat him for that, and then took his ass instead, and didn't pay him. Then Malic beat him for coming back with no money and raped him again. It was days before he could sit down.

"Malic took me as his personal . . . pet . . . for a while after that. He taught me how to open my throat, relax my bottom, hold my release until my partner had climaxed, and how to pick better clients," Iolaus continued quietly, his cheek resting on the demigod's shoulder, a slow drip of tears wetting Hercules's back.

He learned to flatter and fawn over merchants and craftsmen who were approaching middle age and going soft. Sometimes a rich old woman would take a fancy to him, saying he made her feel young again. Occasionally, there was even a glimmer of real affection when a client would want Iolaus to enjoy the encounter as much as he or she did.

Then there were others who were greedy or too eager or just plain mean. They'd leave him sore and battered, sometimes limping, sometimes crapping blood for days. When that happened, Malic was more likely to beat him because he couldn't go out and make money.

"Then one day, Malic was stabbed to death by some guy that owed him a gambling debt. There were a dozen of us in his stable at the time, and I was the youngest."

Now that he had started the story, Iolaus found it wasn't so hard to tell. He couldn't unsay the things he had already told Hercules, and he was sure that would be enough to make the demigod turn away from him. He might as well get the rest of it out now. If nothing else, it would give him the opportunity to savor this last embrace a little longer before his friend pushed him away.

Besides, it had all been a lifetime ago. Four lifetimes in a way, because he had died and Hercules had brought him back four times since then. It was like it had all happened to another person.

One of the older boys, Iniquitous, tried to take over. He was tall and blonde and very beautiful, but at seventeen, he was still slim and hairless with the face and skin of a child. And he hated Iolaus. The two of them had looked enough alike that sometimes Malic had made them pose as brothers if he had a client who had that particular fetish, but where Iniquitous was silent and sullen, Iolaus was sweet in nature, charming, and had a gift for telling clients what they wanted to hear. Iniquitous could satisfy their sexual needs, but Iolaus was better company; and that made the younger boy more popular with the clients and the other boys alike.

So Iniquitous stopped sending Iolaus out on the streets. He kept him back at the whorehouse, usually tied up, and he often beat him with a whip. He started renting him out to people who shared his proclivities, people who liked to see red stripes on pale skin, dried blood matted in golden curls, people who liked to hear boys' screams and ignore their pleas for mercy.

"Then Iniquitous took some of us to a birthday party for one of those friends of his," Iolaus said. "A few of the guests there liked to be tortured the same way we boys were, and somebody got overzealous and killed a girl. When the constable investigated, the other guests blamed Iniquitous. Being a pimp, he knew no one would believe him when he said it was the moneylender who had done it, and being a mean son of a bitch, he knew none of his chattel would stand up for him even though he was telling the truth, so he ran. After that, nobody took over the stable, and we all just sort of shared the house and did our own thing."

There was a girl, Liona, a year or two older, who was very fond of Iolaus. She worked in a tavern, though not drawing beer and waiting tables. Nights when she could slip away from whatever man had bought her services for the evening, she would come to him and share his bed at the house. She taught him all the bawdy songs and limericks she learned in the tavern, and, sometimes, she'd manage to steal a crust of bread and a rind of cheese for his dinner. Every once in a while, she'd get the cook to fill a tankard with mutton stew that she would smuggle out to him. As long as she always took the empty mug back clean, she wouldn't get in trouble.

Then one of Liona's clients managed to dislodge the vinegar-soaked sponge she used to keep men's seed from sowing itself in her womb. Of course, the tavern keeper couldn't have a pregnant pornai on the premises, so he kicked her out. By that time, Iolaus and the other boys had been evicted from the house they had shared, so he and Liona made a small camp under a bridge on the outskirts of the city. The spring rains were cold that year, and the river ran high. He managed to save Liona from the flood, but she caught a chill and then a fever.

He consulted a healer in the poorest section of town, an ancient, but kindly old man, who bartered with the boys, trading his potions and unguents for trinkets they could steal. When Iolaus told him he couldn't leave Liona long enough to go thieving, the old man had agreed to supply him with an infusion against the fever in exchange for sex. When Iolaus's worry for Liona prevented him from getting hard, the old man gave him a potion that left him desperately, painfully aroused.

He hurried back to Liona, his groin still aching, and he tended her faithfully for days, ignoring his discomfort as the aphrodisiac's effects lingered in his body, but the old man's medicine was not enough. On the eighth day, he buried her under a tree not far from the house he had shared with the other boys in Malic's stable, with stolen bread and wine for the journey to the underworld and stolen coins over her eyes to pay her passage across the Styx on Charon's ferry. That night, sobbing in his damp, lonely little hovel under the bridge, he finally relieved his needs, the last effects of the old man's sex potion leaving him with each spurt of his seed that fell to the ground.

"By that time, I was entering adolescence. Nobody finds a boy whore with a beard and body hair desirable, so I became a thief in earnest, making it my primary occupation. It lasted about a year, and then this big . . . oaf a couple of years younger than me stopped me from robbing the jeweler and you know the rest of the story."

Hercules had moved to sit in one of the large armchairs that decorated the room. He'd been holding Iolaus the whole time, swaying with him, comforting him and soothing him as he told his story. Now the smaller man knelt astride his thighs, head resting on his shoulder, arms still wrapped around his back. The demigod smiled slightly at the way his friend concluded his tale, knowing he was the oaf in question, but he said nothing. He had a feeling Iolaus had more to say. He just needed to give him time to find the words.

"I guess now that you know everything, you must find me repulsive," he finally said, sadly, and he crawled out of Hercules's lap and tried to pull his pants out from under the heavy demigod. "If you want me to ask Matthias for another room, I'll go."

Hercules grasped the hand that was tugging at the pants and brought it to his mouth for a kiss. Iolaus watched, his mouth slightly open, eyes wide in shock.

"Iolaus, no. I've already told you, I'm not repulsed," Hercules said. "It hurts me to know the things you had to do to survive, and it hurts to realize that you lost your innocence far too young; but your regrets, along with all of the other experiences you've had, have made you the beautiful, wonderful, generous, loving, heroic man that you are. As the fire of the forge tempers steel, those things you would undo tempered your soul and made you strong. I wish you wouldn't regret your past because then you have to regret all the good that came out of it, too. And even if you could change what happened and what you had to do, you would also have to change who you are now, and I would never want you to do that."

Iolaus nodded, his eyes burning with tears of relief as he accepted the simple sincerity of his friend's words. "So, what now?"

Hercules shrugged. His partner had shown him so much courage and trust in the past hour. He didn't feel he had any right to expect more from him. "What do you need me to do?"

Iolaus bit his lip uncertainly for a moment, staring at a spot on the floor. Then, without looking up, he said, "I know we don't get to sleep in our own beds very often, except when we visit Jason at the farm or Iphicles in Corinth, but do you think, maybe, I could lie down and sleep with you tonight?"

Hercules didn't answer with words. Instead he took his partner's hand and pulled him after himself as he climbed into the big, soft bed. When Iolaus curled up on his side, clinging to the edge of the mattress as if to stay out of the way, Hercules put his arms around him and pulled him back against his own warmth, snuggling him under the covers. After a few minutes, he felt the tension leak out of Iolaus's body and then his friend relaxed in the embrace.

Hercules was just drifting off to sleep when he heard Iolaus say quietly, "Hey, Herc?"

"Yes?"

"Sometimes I think it was easier to let Dahak use me because of what I'd been as a kid," Iolaus confided.

"Maybe it was," Hercules considered, "but it doesn't matter, not to me, and not to anyone else who cares for you. He lost, because you had the strength to fight him."

"I couldn't have done it without you."

"And I couldn't have done it without you, Iolaus. We need each other."

"I suppose we do," Iolaus agreed. "You know what you said earlier, about how nothing I ever did, could do, or have been made to do could change how you feel about me?"

"Yeah."

"Does that apply to Dahak, too?"

Hercules squeezed him a little tighter and said certainly, "It applies to everything."

He felt the last of the tension ebb out of Iolaus's body after that. The hunter hummed a contented sigh and relaxed into sleep. Hercules pressed one more tender kiss to his golden curls and followed soon after.

AN: The quote at the beginning is from Oscar Wilde, Irish Poet, Novelist, Dramatist and Critic, 1854-1900. Please review.