by RM Virtues
She cannot possibly be expected to continue living like this forever though, with him breathing down her neck, calling at all hours of the day and night and never taking the hint. Four years of increasingly invasive behavior is four too many. It isn’t as though she’d agreed to anything or promised him something she had failed to make good on. The problem with Zeus is that no one ever tells him no, and so he doesn’t know the meaning of the word. More than that, Hades never tells him no, and Persephone doesn’t know what that will mean for her. Regardless, she accepts that if she continues something with him, she will have to tell him the truth. She cannot bear the thought of him finding out from someone else because if he did, it would probably be Zeus, and thus, it would probably not be the whole truth.
“Besides,” Hades breathes, effectively bringing her back to the table. “Dionysos, he really likes you, and he put his trust in me when he insisted we meet. If I let you down, I let him down, and I would like to avoid both of those instances, so I would say taking things slow is my best bet.”
Persephone softens. “You really have a soft spot for him, don’t you?”
He gives a short laugh, shaking his head. “That’s one way to put it.”
“And he’s Zeus’s son?”
“So the blood says.”
“But you raised him.” He nods. “You did a very good job. He’s a good boy.”
“He’s a handful is what he is.” She can tell he doesn’t like taking credit, which only makes her want to offer him more. “And along with the rest of his brothers? Forget it.”
“From what I know of Hermes and Dio, they’re excitable but very intelligent. Mad scientists to be exact.”
He laughs at the callback, and she cherishes the sound. “I assume they got it from their mothers.”
“Maybe, but it was tended to by an uncle who did his best for them instead of letting them fend for themselves. Now the whole city loves them. Granted, for different reasons, I’m sure, but nonetheless.”
It’s evident he’s overwhelmed as he cleans out his glass in one gulp before chuckling. “Why are we talking about this, these things? Don’t you want to talk about something fun?”
She smirks, refilling his glass with the bottle Danae had returned to the ice bucket. “We’re talking about it because it’s evident no one has ever given you your due credit, and even if they have, they let you change the subject or dodge it completely. I’m not them, and this is a good lesson for you to learn. Credit where credit is due.”
“Do you allow for credit?”
“When it’s earned. But I already know you liked the show.”
“I liked you.” He pauses. “I like you.”
She appraises him carefully over the lip of her glass. She likes seeing him flustered, yes. It’s one of the most endearing things she has ever seen, but she wonders just how much it scares him to be so vulnerable. She wants to protect that, protect him. It is the most natural feeling she has ever experienced, and all because he would never ask it of her.
“Why did you like me?” she asks. “Or - take an interest in me, I guess. The first time you saw me, I was on stage. Why then?”
A moment passes in silence, then another, before he moves again. Pressing the tips of his fingers together, he leans forward in his chair, gazing off towards the river. She expects some cliche compliment about how beautiful she’d been in her costume or how cool it was to see a woman bend “like that”, but she gets nothing of the sort. She should know better by now.
“You looked like you belonged up there, in the air.” He says it so softly that she’s almost convinced he hadn’t spoken at all, and yet the air around them is so still that she catches every word. “The rest of us were just - sitting there, feet firm on the ground, like they are every single day even though we - we strive for these things. We are given these pedestals, and we use them to our advantage. We never settle, and we are never satisfied. We stand on them, hands outstretched, grasping for something higher, something more. We strive for great heights and absurd expectations. We all have our idea of what it means to reach for the stars, but you… No pedestal, no wings, no absurd expectations. You just - do it. You found a way to reach the stars without tearing them down from the sky. When you come down, you leave everything up there more beautiful than you found it. And not just because you wanted to, but because you were meant to. You’re meant to fly.”
He seems to have gone somewhere else, and she’s so keen on finding him there that she doesn’t recognize the moisture on her cheeks until it reaches her lips. She catches it with her palm, but before either of them can speak again, Danae has returned. They smile at her although each of them is quite obviously disoriented. Danae looks at them with apologetic eyes, no doubt under the impression they’d just been fighting, but she takes their order and rushes off soon enough.
It’s quiet for a while, leaving only the sound of the soft music playing from the overhead speakers, and she’s still turning over his words in her mind. It’s as though he’d read them all right off of her bones. It was what she had always wanted, to earn her place in the sky without standing atop her mother’s shoulders, without wrecking everything she touched the way her father had accused her of doing. Persephone had wanted to carve her own path among the clouds, and if he’s as credible a source as she wants to believe he is, she has. Right now, she cannot imagine it could ever mean more coming from someone else.
The conversation over dinner between the delicious food and endless wine is far more lighthearted, but Persephone can tell that it had taken a lot out of him to be so honest. There’s something else there, something that she’s missing, and she doesn’t quite get it yet. Is it because he himself is a caged bird, one with wings more than capable of taking him anywhere he wants to go if he would only push open the door he’d closed himself? She wants to ask, but the moment seems long past, and after their plates have been cleared, he looks like he’s recovered. At least, she imagines he must have to some extent because he stands then, removing his jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair before holding out his hand.
“I thought you wanted dessert,” she questions.
“I do,” he replies simply, but something in his voice makes her shudder. In all of this sensitivity, she’s forgotten how utterly sexy he is. “But first, I’d like a dance. If you would be kind enough as to afford me one.”
She isn’t sure he’s serious at first, glancing between him and his outstretched hand. Though when he doesn’t rescind it, she cautiously slips hers into it and stands up. The music that plays is soft, but once he’s pulled her close, it seems to get louder… No, it definitely gets louder, and her eyes dart towards the restaurant suspiciously. A grin spreads across his face as he slips his free hand down to the small of her back.
When they move, it’s oddly comfortable. She relaxes into him in a way she hadn’t predicted she could. Despite all those sharp edges and hard lines, his body is warm and welcoming. And he looks too damn good in that vest, which is fitted in a way that strategically accentuates his muscular chest and outlines the cut of his pecs. Mixed with his cologne, she finds herself eager to be close to him, as close as close can be.
Though it’s only now that she truly takes in the size of him. He’s nearly a head taller than her and almost twice as wide, his brown skin several shades darker than her own, reflecting the lights that surround them like a diamond. He is marvelous.
He moves so gracefully too. She barely realizes they’ve started to move at all. He goes slow though, and she’s thankful for it, far more invested in learning the contours of his body through his suit than anything else. When he speaks, the vibrations against her cheek soothe her, and she struggles to focus on the words.
“Thank you,” he says.
She forces herself to look up at him. “For what?”
“For spending your one night off with me.”
She smiles. “I haven’t regretted it yet.”
“I hope to keep it that way.”
“And I’m sure you planned for it.”
His laughter reverberates in her chest. “I don’t think anyone could possibly plan for you.”
They stop. She doesn’t know if he does first or if she does, but they stop moving altogether. In fact, it feels like everything does, the world going silent around them in anticipation. It need not wait long. She’s craning up as he’s leaning down, a heat pooling in the pit of her stomach. It surprises her, this vibrant desire to sink her teeth into him and watch his walls come crumbling down, to see him vulnerable again. Yet it’s hers that crumble first.
“You should know something,” she exhales, shutting her eyes. “About me. I’m—”
She pauses, the word welded into the roof of her mouth. Never has she been ashamed or afraid to come out. From the beginning, she had been open and outspoken about her transition in the Harvest District, hoping it would break down enough barriers to allow Aphrodite safe passage when the time came for her to take over her father’s district. She rarely thinks about it anymore though, much less speaks about it. It is an underlying aspect of her identity behind acrobat and dancer and even daughter of Demeter. Now she truly knows that freedom. But dating is still new, and she’s never found herself having to come out on the cusp of a successful first date. It only proves to her just how much of a thing this is, and how much of a liar she’d been about it just days ago.
Before she can force herself to finish however, he intervenes.
“I know.”
Her eyes flutter open. “You know?”
“I know everything, remember?”
“—You can’t possibly know everything.”
His lips curl, and he reaches up to cup her cheek, brushing his thumb over the skin there. “I know you’re a woman, a good woman, and I like you a lot. And I want you to know that you’re safe with me, all of you.”
“Then let me say it.”
He acquiesces easily. “Okay.”
“I’m trans.”
He smiles. “Thank you for trusting me.”
Of course, that shouldn’t surprise her as much as it does, but she’s learned to expect a more pronounced reaction, whether automatic, aggressively overbearing, or otherwise. It aids in curbing disappointment. Yet as easy as this feels, too easy in fact, she refuses to believe she deserves any other reaction than this.
“Can I kiss you now?” he inquires.
All she can do is nod.
And once he does so, she feels as though she catches flame. It pales in comparison to the heat that rises through her once he’s picked her up off of her feet, allowing her to wind her arms around his neck. She had been waiting far too long for this, for him, and she is reeling from the sudden fulfillment. And the sudden need for more. She throws caution to the wind and ignores her own warnings, melting into him like wax. She gasps into his mouth as his fingers press more firmly into her skin, and she has no choice but to take a breath. Looking down into his hooded gaze, she bites her swollen lip, her own eyes flaring with want. She’s entranced by him, and every moment away from his kiss feels wasted.
He seems to feel the same way.
He kisses her again, and this one is far more searing than the first, on everyone’s part. Her hand grips the back of his head, foot dragging along his calf, before she pulls away again.
“Take me home,” she whispers, voice hoarse.
“What about dessert?” he asks although nothing in his voice indicates he is truly disappointed. She won’t let him be nonetheless.
“I’ll give you dessert. Just get me home.”
Their hands hardly leave each other as he covers the check and leads her back out to the ferry, signaling the captain with the bell on the deck. The man had undoubtedly gone into the restaurant to get a meal, but Persephone hopes he comes back soon, otherwise she might have to settle for the deck of his ship. To their credit, they manage to make it to Hades’ vehicle, separating long enough to climb into their respective seats and wait it out. She fears it might kill the mood, this wait, but the tension remains absolutely palpable. She struggles not to bow beneath it.
And she fails.
“Put your hands on the steering wheel.” Her voice is stern and non-negotiable.
“What?” he asks, throwing her a look of confusion.
She turns in her seat towards him, removing her sweater and slipping her hand over his thigh. “Hands. On. The steering wheel.”
He stares at her still, unguarded and uncertain, though something else flickers in his gaze. She doesn’t waver. She doesn’t look away. She simply watches him and waits, meeting his eyes head on. At last, he cautiously lifts his large hands and places them atop the steering wheel. She moves closer to him, leaning across the middle console as she unbuckles his belt with languid movements. He looks down to see, but she immediately stops him.
“Eyes straight ahead,” she whispers against his ear before drawing her tongue over the shell. “The moment you look anywhere else, I stop. Do you understand me?”
A bead of sweat collects along his temple. She collects it on her tongue. He swallows hard, the action visible, and she has to force herself not to trace that with her mouth as well.
“I said, do you understand me?” she repeats.
“I do,” he immediately responds. He grips the wheel tighter.
She lets him settle into it before she moves her hands to the band of his trousers, undoing the button beneath. The drag of his zipper sounds so much louder in the thick air of the vehicle, and she can see the strain in his jaw. He screws his eyes shut as her hand dusts across his length through his boxers, and she clicks her tongue.
“Ah ah, no cheating now,” she hisses, leaning in to nip at his neck. “Keep those eyes open for me.”
She still holds that those eyes are the most dangerous thing about him, but if she can find a way to tame them with weapons of her own, she will, gladly. Dipping her hand into his underwear, she cautiously extracts his cock, her stomach flipping at the weight of it. It immediately begins to harden in the warmth of her palm. She could fit both hands along it if she felt so inclined, and her thumbs and forefingers would not meet to completely encircle it. She suppresses the moan that knocks against her teeth as she releases him, bringing her hand to her mouth so that she can drag her tongue against her palm. All the while, she watches him struggle not to look. Once she’s satisfied with the slick of her hand, she takes hold of him once more and begins to stroke.
The shudder that racks his body soon rumbles through hers, but she hides it far better than he does. His knuckles have lost all color as they grip the steering wheel tighter. She pulls back just enough to ensure his eyes are still open. They are blown wide with want, and she’s eager to succumb to them. It would be far too easy. If only she weren’t so desperate to see him unhinged from his flawless facade.
She feels the clench of his jaw in her gut as she picks up speed, the head of his shaft now glistening with fresh precum. She spreads it down the length of him, massaging it into the smooth skin with her thumbs and twisting her fist around him intermittently as she moves down to the base. She brushes her free hand down the back of his neck, heat radiating off of his skin as sweat forms there. This image of him clinging so hopelessly to control does things to her that she could never even begin to put into words. She likes this image. She’s high off of it. She wants to see it more often. She also wants to see what he’ll do once he’s able to reclaim control. There is no doubt in her mind that he’s already thinking about it.
Or trying to, at least.
“You better not stain this vest,” she warns him, her voice soft against his jaw before she nips at the skin there. “I really love it on you.”
“I’m not sure I can help it.”
The words rush out of him on the back of a heavy exhale, and he struggles to catch his breath. His hips shift in his seat, which earns a smile from her. She’s never done anything like this before, never felt inclined to, but to watch Hades, god king of the Under
world, crumble around her dainty little hand is a drug worthy of addiction. Moisture pools between her thighs, soaking through her lace panties as her fingers scrape lightly over his scalp. She kisses his neck more fervently, pressing her thighs together, trying to find some friction for herself. He must sense it too because his fingers twitch, aching to touch her, and it takes everything in her to keep from giving him permission, from begging.
The ferry begins to move.
His breathing is labored now, and she can almost hear his teeth grinding, struggling to cage the sounds she elicits from him. It only spurs her on. The lewd sound of her fist pumping over him permeates the air as the leather beneath his hands shrieks with distress. She fears he might tear the steering wheel in half. She would also like to see it. She has a feeling that Hades likes this, not just having his dick handled but denying himself, being denied. She realizes that it wouldn’t surprise her in the least.
She bites down hard on his neck, just beneath his jaw, and at last, his lips part. It’s a tumultuous roar held up by pitiful grunts, his voice shattering as he leans forward. It’s impressive, his resolve, and even as she watches it crack at the pace of a rattled windshield, she marvels at it. She wonders if anyone has ever brought him to an edge like this. She wonders if anyone has dared to try.
“Persephone…”
She’s so focused on holding her own desire at bay, stroking him fast and firm with her mouth against his throat, that she doesn’t realize the way he is now throbbing and jerking in her hand. He squirms in his seat, hands twisting against the wheel, his breathing a quivering thing in the air around them. Through her own haze of want, she drags her tongue over his skin.
“Do you think you deserve it?”
A beat. Only a beat of silence passes before he releases the wheel and seizes the hand around his cock. She snaps her head back to look at him just as he aims the swollen head away, a thick stream of white shooting forth to paint the steering wheel, his trousers, and surely the seat and carpet below. His back arches away from the seat, head thrown back against the rest, as he bucks in their hands. She siphons the sounds that hang on the edge of his lips and nearly plummets over the edge herself, watching his face contort with pleasure, his once rigid form doing the same. And all for her, because of her. It’s… empowering. He was always beautiful. However, at her mercy, he is divine.