by RM Virtues
“Hades—” she whines, throwing her hips back, but he pushes her down further.
He knows when she touches down by the gasp from Hecate, her hips jerking upward into Persephone’s mouth.
“Be a good girl, and give her that tongue now, Baby,” he coaxes. “Then I’ll give you this dick. That’s what you want, right?”
That’s all it takes. Her head snaps forward, and Hecate’s cry lets him know Persephone is in her now. He doesn’t relinquish his hold on her just yet, relishing in the sensation of her head moving along with her strokes. Only when he’s certain she’s focused on her task does he guide his cock to her entrance, spearing into her without warning. She shrieks against Hecate, whose heel is now digging into her shoulder, but Hades keeps her head pinned down. He’s already moving, his thrusts coursing with the command he has reclaimed as their cries war around him.
Persephone’s hands find Hecate’s, threading their fingers together. They hold onto one another for dear life, Hecate’s skin nearly as red as her hair. Hades releases Persephone’s curls at last, taking hold of her hips as he fucks her harder. And fuck, she feels good. He thrusts into her as though he’s been deprived for days rather than hours, and he may as well have been. With her, always with her, he is insatiable, and the amount of time he can go without being inside her feels like it’s shrinking. Dramatically.
“Ah! Fuck - yes, Seph!” Hecate howls, which spurs both Hades and Persephone on. He anchors them in place with his bruising grip. Otherwise, Hecate would be driven through the headboard with the way he drills Persephone, the sound of their skin colliding now echoing through the room.
Hades knows when the redhead comes, her moans violently severed as she convulses against the sheets, back arching off of the bed and the whites of her eyes visible. Persephone mewls as she laps up Hecate’s offering before she rears her head and calls out into the air.
“Hades - right - there! Please! Don’t stop - don’t —”
He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He pounds into her pussy with merciless thrusts, sweat pouring down his face in the midst of his exertion. As her upper body comes off of the bed, Hecate slips down under her, her mouth quickly latching onto Persephone’s breast as her hands slide down her sides and around her ass. The redhead spreads her apart for him, Persephone’s arms giving out so that she collapses hopelessly against Hecate, clawing at her shoulders as their mouths crash together. Though it isn’t long before Persephone’s breaking away to beg and plead for release.
“Come on, baby,” Hades snarls, whipping a hand across her ass and eliciting another raw moan. “You’re gonna come for me, right? Aren’t you?”
“You better,” Hecate demands, her body still shaking beneath them. “I want to see both of you come.”
Her voice, in tandem with Persephone’s sounds, has him teetering on the edge. Gathering her hair in his hands, he hoists her up enough to allow Hecate to ravish her breasts once more, and the redhead is quick to take advantage. He puts every ounce of energy he has left behind each of his thrusts until Persephone’s shrill cries spill out into the space, her walls constricting around him in a vice grip. Hades barks his pleasure, leaning over her as she milks him too. They unravel simultaneously, wave after wave of ecstasy rolling through them until they collapse beside Hecate in a mess of slick skin and heavy breaths.
They eventually manage to crawl up further on the mattress, Hades slipping between the two women with a content smile. The day has caught up with him, but the thoughts are pleasant as he drifts off to sleep, the burden left laying on the bedroom floor.
It’s nearing noon when Hades slips out of bed, quietly dressing and leaving Persephone and Hecate sound asleep. They had worn him out well enough for a few hours of rest, but dreams —or, more accurately, nightmares— of the fire had roused him all too soon. He’d tried to drift off again to no avail, and so rather than lay there ruminating, he decides to go downstairs and see if he can be some kind of productive. He could only be distracted from the situation at hand for so long, no matter how well Hecate and Persephone had done that for him. Now, there were answers he needed to find. And quickly.
Since arriving yesterday, he’d hidden his emotions well enough, as well as he always had, his rage and pain a rogue current beneath a placid surface. He’d asked questions, given directions, and inspected the damage without so much as a frown. He couldn’t show weakness now. It was the one thing whoever did this would want to see, and he has no plans to give them such a privilege, no matter who it is.
That still doesn’t mean there won’t be scars.
Casino Asphodel isn’t simply the heart of Khaos Falls. It’s the heart of Hades himself too. The worst part is that he knows whoever had done this must have known that. No one had ever attacked his district before, meaning it would have taken very little to make a statement. There were easier targets in the Styx District, far more accessible targets that would have put him on edge and inspired fear among his people, no matter how brief. However, to attack Asphodel? And in such a way that visible damage would linger for an extended period of time? It’s bold, it’s brutal, and it’s an act of war. It’s also a personal wound he feels deeper than any blade could ever reach.
He’s just stepped off of the elevator on his office floor when his radio crackles on his hip.
“You available, Boss?” Atalanta’s voice questions.
“Yeah, I’m here,” Hades returns once he frees the device from his belt and brings it to his mouth. “What’s going on?”
“Zeus is here. He insists on seeing you.”
Of course he is. Hades removes his finger from the button on the side as he enters his office, breathing out through his nose. No matter the reason, Zeus shouldn’t be here. Hades has enough on his plate right now to worry about, and his brother’s temper tantrums aren’t going to help. However, it’s impossible for Hades not to be suspicious. Zeus may not be stupid enough to pull off something like this himself, but it doesn’t mean he won’t get as much joy as he can from it either. Hades doesn’t want to hear the younger’s shallow attempts at faux concern. He just wants to be left alone.
But he’s still a novice when it comes to telling Zeus “no”, and as much as he hates to admit it, to feel it, there is a substantial amount of guilt over the other night. And an overwhelming need to believe that his brother actually cares about him.
At last, he responds. “Bring him up to my office.”
Hades sits down at his desk, running a hand over his head. In an effort to calm his own nerves, he tries to focus on the delicious soreness that aches in every inch of him. It works for a time, and a large part of him wants to walk right back upstairs and fall into bed between Hecate and Persephone. He buries that desire under an abundance of caution as he sees Zeus appear on the landing.
The leader of Olympus looks well rested, but there is a crease between his brow that Hades doesn’t understand. Zeus isn’t smiling. He doesn’t look at all excited to be here. Hades doesn’t chalk it up to genuine anything just yet. He clasps his hands atop his desk and waits.
Zeus enters the office, but he doesn’t say anything just yet, collapsing into the chair opposite his brother. Atalanta, sleek as a cheetah and just as powerful in a brawl, walks in behind him, a red folder in her hands. She places it in front of Hades.
“Stills from yesterday’s video,” she explains. “Leo sent the footage to your computer before he got off, so you can review it when you’re ready.”
Hades nods, opening up the folder. “Thana?”
“He was just checking on the contractors, but he’s probably on the floor now.”
Hades looks up. “The contractors have already started?”
“Yeah, they were here about 7 or 8, mapping things out.”
That shouldn’t be so surprising. Apollo has always been about his business, and if he says he can get it done, he doesn’t waste a moment doing so. Still, it’s definitely a relief, and Hades allows himself a moment to breathe without l
etting the emotion boil over onto the surface.
“That’s all, Atalanta, thank you.”
She nods once and retreats, leaving the two brothers alone in the silence. Hades doesn’t look at Zeus immediately, instead spreading out the pictures in the folder across his desk. Zeus lasts all of a minute.
“Why didn’t you call me, Hades?” he demands, although his voice is wary.
Hades wants to ask if he means the way Zeus had called him when he’d betrayed Tartarus, but he holds his tongue on that particular matter. It isn’t worth the breath.
“I didn’t call anyone,” Hades returns, the nonchalance impeccable.
“The place nearly burned down, and I had to hear about it on the fucking internet?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, Zeus, I threw you out of here the other night.”
“Yeah, but you let me in today, so I assume we’ve made up.”
“Is that so?”
Everything he doesn’t say is written in his eyes when he finally looks up to meet his brother’s, and Zeus visibly shrinks in his seat. He seems to contemplate something for a moment, gripping the arms of the chair, before he huffs out a heavy breath.
“Alright, look, I’m sorry for the other night,” he sighs.
“The other night isn’t the only problem, Zeus,” Hades chides, looking back down at the pictures.
“Well - I’m sorry about before too.”
“And I’m not the one you should be saying sorry to.”
“Then I’ll tell Persephone I’m sorry—”
“You won’t. You’re going to leave her alone is what you’re going to do, and not just because she blocked your number.”
“She—” He catches himself and takes a moment to think, for once. “So - you’re really with her or something then?”
“Is that what you came here for, Zeus? Because I really don’t have time—”
“No, Hades, that’s not what I came here for. My brother was targeted. We’re a united front, no matter how many times we bicker. And - no one comes between us. That’s what we said when Mom died. That’s what you said.”
Hades’ jaw clenches. It is the only sign of his indignation. Zeus always knows exactly what to say to bring his big brother back into the fold, but the most dangerous weapon he has in his arsenal has always been their mother, especially when Zeus calls her as much. Mom. That’s who she was when it was the two of them, Zeus and Hades. To others, she was simply Rhea or his stepmom when Zeus spoke of her. It sounded all too much like shame. It isn’t like anyone needed the distinction, and not simply because the death of Cronus’s first wife had always been a hot topic. With Rhea’s beautiful black skin and natural hair, there was no way one could mistake Zeus for her son by blood. Still, she had loved Zeus as much as she had loved Hades and Poseidon, and she had been the best mother she possibly could be for them both until the very end. That included Hades’ vow. Whether it had been blown out of proportion remains up for debate, but the foundation remains. They were to take care of each other.
Or at least, Hades was to take care of Zeus, no matter what.
“I appreciate the concern, brother,” Hades at last concedes, “but I don’t have anything more to share with you at the moment.”
“So you don’t know who did this yet?” Zeus counters, face screwed up in confusion.
“No, I —”
Hades stops, focusing his attention on a single photo with a single figure in it. He can tell right away it had come from the camera in the hallway behind the theatre, one of the most likely places the fire had started. There are three other stills of the same hallway featuring the same person, tall and thin, dressed down in black with a hood over their head. No one comes into the casino looking like that. While the dress code isn’t written in stone, it’s widely understood and religiously respected. Besides, no one wants to come in here looking desperate. That’s the quickest way to lose whatever change you came in here with.
“Come on, Hades, we know who did this,” Zeus groans, running a hand through his light brown hair. “And yeah, before you say it, I know it’s my fault. The deal with Medusa and all, but to be fair, Coeus lied to me first. He didn’t even—”
Zeus seems to realize then that his brother is paying him no mind at all. He stands up, curiosity adorning his features as he rounds the desk to stand at Hades’ shoulder. He looks down at the pictures of the man in the hallway, brows knitting. Hades can’t make out a face, but judging by the progression of the photos, it’s possible that there is a frame missing with a better chance of identification.
Hades turns his attention to his computer, booting it up as Zeus pulls one of the photos closer to him.
“Do you recognize him?” Zeus asks. “I mean, do you think you’ve seen him before?”
“Can’t tell,” Hades responds, distracted with the input of his password on the screen. “See if you can find any other photos of him in there, from any other part of the casino.”
“Where did it start? The fire?”
“That hallway.”
He can feel Zeus looking at him, no doubt in bewilderment, before he begins looking through the photos, comparing each person he finds to the suspect in question. Hades pulls up the footage that Leo had sent to his drive, glancing down at the picture for the timestamp before seeking out that particular clip.
“Found him again,” Zeus says, sliding another photo over to Hades.
Hades looks down at it, recognizing one of the service hallways between the Pantheon and Elysium, the hallways Persephone frequents. His blood runs cold. The figure is still covered from head to toe, hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket and chin tucked in against his chest. Hades can’t even estimate a proper height from this angle. He’s surely shorter than Hades and thinner than Zeus, but that hardly narrows it down at all. Hades will give the guy this: he was careful. He seems to have at least a vague knowledge of the camera positions, adjusting his body as needed to ensure no part of him is exposed. There is also no footage of him actually planting an explosive or setting anything aflame, meaning he’d found somewhere between cameras to do his work. It’s impressive.
It’s also frustrating.
Zeus keeps combing through the photos, and Hades plays the clip, looking for anything that might help to identify the person. He finds no luck there, but he checks the timestamp for the pictures in the service corridor and searches for that clip next. When he finds it, his heart thuds in his chest. The lighting is far better here, and he knows that all he needs is one tiny slip-up, one movement of the person’s hood or tug of a sleeve. Just one.
Zeus is watching now too, both of them riveted as the person appears in the hall and begins walking towards the camera. Hades grips the computer mouse hard, his other hand curling into a fist against the desk. He swears he’s holding his breath. He thinks Zeus might be as well. The man moves closer, but every inch of him remains obscured, no slipping, no adjusting. He’s about to walk out of frame, and Hades feels his blood begin to curdle. Then the door at the other end of the hall opens in the shot. The person turns his head on instinct. He turns it enough to give Hades and Zeus a clear look of the other side of his face. He seems to realize it too because he quickly jerks his eyes back in front of him, hurrying out of sight. But not before they get a glimpse of the ink along his neck. The distinct tattoo, climbing out of the collar of his shirt and up the side of his face into his hairline, is emblazoned in Hades’ mind. It sketches the vaguest of memories behind his eyes, but he fails to fill in the blanks and color it in. But he knows that tattoo. He knows this man. Why does he know him?
Zeus suddenly starts rifling through the pictures.
“See if you can follow him,” Zeus snaps, evidently feeling the confused look Hades gives him. “The parking lot or something. Tell me if he’s driving a town car, maroon.”
Hades obeys, more so out of a need to do something than any real understanding. However, when he finds himself watching that very man climb into a very maroon
town car, he pauses the clip and sits back, exasperated. Zeus looks up then, a picture in his hand. Hades doesn’t doubt it’s of this very clip.
“Midas,” they both say at the same time.
Midas, who turns everything he touches into golden flame. Midas, who notoriously works under Coeus.
Hades shakes his head. “Why would Coeus send his own guy, someone that we could recognize?”
“We almost didn’t.” The younger’s eyes remain on the screen. “He’s the best in the business. If anyone could pull this off without being caught, it’s him, and if it were anyone else but us, he would have, right?”
“Nyx and Erebus never would have given the green light on this, Zeus.”
Zeus looks at him now as though he’s said something blasphemous. “Are you trying to say Coeus has never done anything without his parents’ approval? Or Tethys for that matter? We - I fucked them over. If all their parents were gonna do was go into a lockdown and put the city in timeout, why wouldn’t they go out behind their backs?”
“And you’ve considered this a whole lot, have you?”
Zeus throws up his hands with a heavy sigh. “Yeah, well as I copped to before, I fucked up. Granted, I thought they’d go after the port. Or - try and make a deal with Demeter for the northern docks. I don’t know.”
Hades bites back a lecture. They haven’t discussed it, his little deal with Medusa. Denying Coeus is one thing, but cutting him out of a deal Zeus and Hades had already agreed to was treachery in its worst form. Not only does it inspire betrayal, it degrades Zeus’s integrity beyond the low it already sits at, which is saying something. It doesn’t do Hades any good either for that matter. It’s far too late to pick it apart though. What’s done is done. Now they have to deal with this. However, Hades isn’t completely convinced of Zeus’s take on the matter. It seems far too easy, and Hades has never taken well to easy.
Standing, Hades gathers up the photos, carefully extracting the one from Zeus’s fingers, and packing them back into the folder. He can see Zeus’s confusion in the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t address it until he’s set the folder aside.