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As Melinoe climbs the steps toward the massive platform at the base of the mountain summit, she pictures the way Prometheus will already be standing at the ready. At least three meters tall, as strong as a small mountain, surrounded by fire as bright as his otherworldly hair. She’s loath to admit it, but he always looks magnificent with Aetos perched atop his shoulder, wings outstretched in a fierce display of power.
She thinks plenty about how to subvert his expectations, how to use his weight and mass and hard-hitting strikes against him. But she thinks also of the form that supplies the function: the way his armor-tough skin flexes under his scars, the casual display of his pectorals and each rippling muscle of his back.
He’s handsome, of course. Most gods are, and there’s no reason for titans to be any different. So why does the thought appear to her now?
She reaches the final step, and his fire comes into view long before he does. It’s so blue it seems electric in the dead of night, the air thick with so much avowed Fear. The shape of his massive hand is black within it, no more than a shadow. She focuses on his fingers a moment longer than usual, because something about them is different.
He usually stands tense and battle-ready, wrists prepared to flick fire at the slightest perturbation. But his hands are relaxed. And as her gaze rises, she notices Aetos is nowhere to be found.
Suddenly, her mental image of him seems childishly idyllic. He puffs out his chest as if on instinct, but there’s no ferocity in his eyes. The red-orange glow of them is muted, pacified as if he’s already accepted his defeat. His lips are pursed tight.
Melinoe narrows her eyes as she steps into the arena. He’s said it himself that they must go through the same routine night after night, whenever she comes to Olympus. They must recreate the same conditions as the past for her mission to be successful, and for whatever it is he intends to come to pass.
It draws a chill down her spine to see him acting off-ritual. He’s foreseen something, she’s sure, which doesn’t bode well. Maybe not for either of them.
“Something is wrong, isn’t it?” she says in her strong, goddess-at-war voice. “Answer me. Are we not to fight as usual?”
She’s seen him in the throes of frustration and disappointment, when he faces defeat after anticipating a possible victory. He’s said it himself that his many visions are potentials, untraveled paths, but that Time will take only one. So then, why has she never witnessed this particular darkness to his eyes? What worries him so much now?
“Agent of Change…” he says, voice oddly quiet. He furrows his brow as if pained by what he’s about to say. “I’ve foreseen something very strange.”
“That much is clear. But what?”
For a split second, the corners of his mouth twitch, deliberating on a smile. Then it cracks through his guarded expression, lopsided and insincere. He releases a single breath, like a laugh cut short. “This particular vision of mine, you would never believe.”
“So you say about them all.” She takes a cautious step forward. “You only mean to throw me off tonight, don’t you? To get the upper hand at the start, since I’ve beaten you so thoroughly the last several times.”
His flaming hand twitches. He seems to enjoy bantering with her on a normal night, but now he says nothing at all.
She glances briefly around the sky, searching for Aetos. “You struck me as a titan who valued honor, at least in some respects. So either make your intentions clear, or hurry up with your trickery so I can defeat you and be on my way.”
“I am waiting for you.”
She racks her brain for what that could possibly mean. Any knowledge she has about Prometheus that could be useful. She thinks of what suggestions Odysseus has offered, the comments made by anyone else…
Well, of course Aphrodite had made her share of comments, considering his looks, his brooding demeanor, his weak allegiances to anyone but mankind.
“I have foreseen,” he finally adds, and she realizes that he’s actually telling her, for the first time, what he’s seen—“that tonight, our encounter will go very differently.”
She already has a rising suspicion of what that means, at least partially. His posture isn’t primed for a fight. And still, there’s no sign of his eagle companion at all.
“Where is Aetos?” she blurts, surprising herself. Gale’s soft fur brushes Melinoe’s leg as she slips between her ankles. She imagines how she would feel if anything happened to one of her familiars, and suddenly there’s a twinge of sympathy tugging at her gut. “If something is wrong, tell me.”
He straightens up, and on his next words, his voice gains some of its former power. “Tell me, Agent of Change. If I made you a request, would you hear it through to the end? Or would you prefer we disregard these last few moments and begin our fight?”
She realizes her knuckles are white around Descura’s shaft, for how hard she grips it. She lowers the staff a few inches. “I’ll hear it. Whether I’ll oblige it is a different story.”
“Very well.” He finally takes a step forward. She stiffens, but stays put, allowing him to close the distance. Her brain swims with confusion, curiosity, and concern as he kneels, lowering himself to her height. From this close, she sees the way his flames cast harsh shadows across his face, framing his sharp jaw and illuminating the shine of his largest scar.
She’s mortified when she catches herself examining him so closely, eyes darting back up to meet his, and her cheeks blaze with the fear he caught it. But the source of her blush could be mistaken for his fire. That’s what she tells herself.
His guard drops again as a second smile grazes his face. This one is smaller, but less stilted. “Oh, little goddess.”
Something about that bruises Melinoe’s ego, a flare of anger rising in her chest. She raises Descura until its two sharp points press into his throat. He swallows, his Adam’s apple moving with the motion, and she can’t help but observe closely.
“I want you to give me one guess.”
He’s messing with her now, and Melinoe shoots him her sharpest glare. “Guess what you’ve foreseen? You mean the vision you told me I would never possibly believe?”
He nods. What’s horrible about their predicament is that even on one knee, he’s taller than her. And he’s so close, looming, in far too advantageous a position.
“Has something happened to Aetos?” she tries, already realizing that she must be wrong. He wouldn’t smile if she was right. Especially not the way he is now, big enough to reveal a flash of sharp white teeth. He lowers his head to chuckle, low and deep, the way an earthquake shakes the earth. Melinoe knows that if she were smart, she would cut her losses and accept that this is all some strange titan’s game. She would thrust Descura into his throat, pushing him far enough back to gain the upper hand.
And she is smart, but she isn’t entirely convinced it’s a game.
Gale is silent behind her, in no distress at all. No warning squeak of sensed danger. Nothing.
“You will tell me, someday far from now, what you were thinking as you climbed the mountain this eve. The images that danced in your brain as you anticipated our meeting. The way your heart beats now, rapid as a mortal in their moment of Doom.”
Melinoe’s stomach twists. Her face burns hotter. She knows he can see it now. “Why would I ever do that?”
“A question nearly as loaded as admitting to the crime.”
“How rich, coming from you! What is this about, Thief?” She stabs Descura harder into his throat. He wraps the fingers of his non-burning hand around the shaft, covering hers completely. In raw strength he has her beat, and she knows she wouldn’t be able to pull away if she tried.
“Later, you will ask me how this happened, but neither of us will really know. That is the strange reality of a world unruled by the Fates. Why is it, when we are finally free to make our own decisions, that we choose the ones we do?”
“Will you stop speaking in—”
“I know what you think of me, Melinoe.”
She freezes. The shock of her name on his lips is sobering, like a slap. “What?”
“And why should you pretend otherwise? You will still reach the mountaintop tonight. Perhaps in better health, since I’ve saved you a fight.”
He releases her hand, the immense heat of him immediately replaced by the chilly mountain air. She scrambles back, and it’s only now that Gale squeaks, sensing Melinoe’s fear enough to move between them.
“I leave the choice in your hands,” he says, finally stepping back. She cranes her head to keep her glare trained on him. Blood and darkness, he’s so tall.
She wants to spit that she doesn’t know what the bloody choice is, if he’s too cowardly to say it outright. But again, she isn’t dumb. She just doesn’t understand why she’s actually considering his silent proposition.
The only question now is how much that proposition entails.
She lets herself picture it for but a moment: Prometheus on his back, her thighs on either side of his body, fingers spread across the expanse of his chest.
“When you asked me to guess your premonition, was that your full request?”
“No.” He rolls his neck, eyes glowing brighter now, dampening the shadows on one side of his face. “My request is that you will indulge one particular path, of all the realities before you tonight. Ever since I’ve seen it, I’ve not been able to forget. I share it with you because I know it piques your interest; it would not be a potential path if it didn’t. Now then, what say you? Do you accept, or shall we fight?”
The words are out of her before she can consider them properly. “I’ll only give you my answer if you spell it out clearly. I want to hear you say it.”
He huffs. “I’m asking you to have me in a different way than battle. A way your goddess Aphrodite would be inclined toward. Does that make it adequately clear?”
Melinoe swallows hard. She was the one who’d asked for directness, after all, but the words are still a shock. “Even if I were to say yes, shouldn’t we at least… do both? To keep tonight’s sequence of events similar to the past?”
He shakes his head. “I see you forgoing our battle and reaching an iteration of Typhon all the same.”
She sucks in a long breath. Indulging wouldn’t be that strange, really. She’s enjoyed her time with Nemesis, Moros, Icarus… even Eris, and that proved to be surprisingly little trouble. Prometheus has no true allegiance to Chronos, no matter his actions from before. There is no clear consequence to reciprocating his interest, save perhaps for Aphrodite’s future comments. The Goddess of Love isn’t such a fan of Prometheus as it is, but everything can change with Time.
“Gale,” she says quietly, eyes still locked with Prometheus. He’s perfectly still, listening to her words, and she enjoys the command she has over him in this moment. That command could be put to other uses, if he proves receptive to it. With that thought, a flurry of excitement kicks up inside her. “Wait for me here. I’ll be back.”
His lips part slightly, his eyes widening the smallest fraction. Melinoe finally offers a smile. “Come along, then, to the fountain chamber. Unless you have a better idea?”
“I—no,” he says, and she can’t get enough of his surprise. It’s too rare a sight on him.
-XXX-
The air warms as soon as they step inside, and it’s a welcome relief, although Melinoe’s confidence is waning just as fast as it appeared. There’s really no disregarding the size disparity between them. Walking at his side, the top of her head reaches the bottom of his ribcage at most. A single one of his hands could eclipse her entire head.
“Truly, what am I thinking?” she says aloud.
“Mind reading is not an aspect of my foresight,” he scoffs. “That is a question only you can answer.”
“Fine. Tell me at least what you’re thinking.” She steps past him and leans her back against the side of the Shrine of Hermes. “The tales suggest you’ve a brilliant mind. So what is your brilliant plan, now that you have me where you want me?”
He steps to the other side of the narrow chamber and sits down, legs flat in front of him. “I am choosing, for once, not to think too much.” She notes the way he holds his bandages as he lowers himself. It’s the first time she’s ever seen a hint of it causing him pain, even when the wound opens and bleeds anew in battle. At this moment, he doesn’t guard his feelings at all. “I don’t tend to falter in my decisions. To overthink matters now is senseless.” He holds out a hand. “So then. Won’t you come to me?”
Cautiously, Melinoe does. It’s strange, almost too strange, the feeling in her gut as she approaches her enemy. She takes this moment to note things about him she’d always been too busy to notice before. The coarse, thick texture of his hair, the headband he wears (upon closer inspection, it’s another bandage). And his ankles, they’re banded by thick, pinkish scars, painting a clear picture of shackles. Though he wears gloves, he must have matching scars on his wrists as well. She almost feels guilty about the way that excites her, imagining him chained down.
She decides not to belabor the point any longer and takes a step over his legs, lowering herself atop his thighs. He puts his hands on her slowly, as if she’s fragile, and it annoys her enough to reach up behind him and take a fistful of his hair. He lets her pull his head down to meet her lips. She kisses him with a closed mouth at first, and when he opens his mouth she bites his bottom lip, punishing him for his impatience.
“I knew you would want control,” he says, breathy, when she pulls away.
“Because you foresaw it, or because of how easily I already push you around?”
He smirks at that, eyes narrowed, and she pulls at the bandage where it comes together at the back of his head, letting the gauze flutter to the floor. There’s no wound beneath it. She’s about to ask why he wears it at all, running one hand through the sea of electric blue, when a few locks tumble loose into his face. She brushes it back, nails running gently along his scalp, and he makes a vulnerable sound in his throat, then grits his teeth to stop it.
It’s her turn to smirk, and she kisses him again, pushing her tongue mercilessly into his mouth. His unburned hand takes her by the waist, reaching halfway around her body with ease. She doesn’t like feeling doll-sized to him, so she raises the heat, gripping his hair again at the scalp. When she pulls away next, he lowers his head to kiss and suck along her jaw, and she holds her breath before an accidental sound can leave her.
She thinks back to her time with Moros, that night he greeted her in the Void to confess his attraction. There, no one would hear, and they were as loud as they wanted to be. She can still imagine his sighs and gentle moans as she took him inside of her. The vulnerable squeaks that escaped her as she met her climax, safe as she was in his arms.
Here, it’s almost the same: not another soul for ages. But Prometheus is no Moros. He’s a unique and wild beast, one that has to be tamed. She isn’t about to roll over and show her belly to him. Not yet, perhaps not ever.
Not yet. She nearly scoffs at herself. As if this would happen again.
She startles as Prometheus pulls her closer by the hips with both hands. “Lost in thought, are you?”
“Merely considering something.”
“Oh?” He nips at her earlobe, at the same time rolling his hips into hers. She feels it then: the sheer size of him. She knew it would be large—how could it not? But it’s another thing to finally feel it for herself. A trickle of panic rushes down her spine at the thought of what’s to come, whether she wants to brave the risks at all.
But her abdomen buzzes to life with warmth when he rolls his hips again, the rough texture of his hip wrap delightful against the thin fabric of her panties.
His hands reach up to undo the clasps of her dress, and she doesn’t help him, merely returns to his lips. She wedges her hands between them to feel the broad planes of his chest, the skin she’s only ever cut and bruised, rather than properly felt. His scar is raised and thick, and he flinches, actually flinches, when the sharp point of her ghostly finger grazes the taut skin.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, lifting her arms to let him pull her dress off. He sets it aside, not meeting her gaze. “Does it hurt?”
“Sometimes,” he says. “But you needn’t avoid it.”
She traces the long, jagged edges with the pad of her finger. “Do you feel that?”
“Very much.”
She grabs his chin and pulls his gaze back to her. His eyes pan down her body, from her breasts to her panties. He runs his hands down her sides, his thumbs grazing the front of her, tracing her nipples. She moves her hips to match his previous movements, and he sucks in a breath as she lets out a sigh.
“Allow me,” he says, and suddenly she’s being manhandled, just the way she loathes, lifted off his lap and laid across the floor like a doll. She raises herself up on her elbows, mouth open for a cutting remark, when she sees his hands working with his belt. She shuts her mouth and watches the hip wrap fall to the floor, followed by his pants.
He bares himself to her, save for the bandage around his waist, and her tongue is heavy in her mouth as she swallows. He’s certainly too big. There’s just no way she’ll manage. But she’s also utterly fascinated, and he remains on his knees as she sits up, determined to touch it for herself. It’s even warmer than the rest of him, perhaps enough to burn a mortal, but fire is in Melinoe’s blood. She has nothing to fear as she takes it in both hands. She can’t quite get one set of fingers all the way around. At this angle, with his height, it’s just about level with her head.
“Blood and darkness,” she breathes. “Do you have any idea—”
“Of course I do,” he says, but his voice wavers, distracted as she explores it with her hands, running her fingers from the base to the soft tip. “I’ve—”
“Yes, yes, you’ve seen it all. In which case, do you really know my every move? Everything I’m about to do next? Or is it another set of many, many paths?”
“It’s—”
His breath hitches as she leans forward and gives it a long, firm lick. She looks up at him from beneath her eyelashes as she does, a conniving laugh at the back of her throat. It twitches under her tongue. As his arousal spikes, she tastes it, licks it away.
“By Gaia,” he mutters, “you needn’t do that.”
“But I will,” she says, lifting her head. “Unless you don’t want it?”
He sighs. “If Time didn’t flow, perhaps I would. But the night grows older, and my patience wanes.”
He guides her by the shoulders back to the floor, lowering himself to one forearm, and kisses her chest. He makes his way down, sucking and biting at the skin, and all the while she resists the urge to make her voice known. When his thumb brushes between her thighs, she lifts her hips to meet it, and he slides it lazily over the seam of her sex as his mouth works over her hip bones.
“I thought you were feeling impatient,” she mumbles.
“Impatient to do my part,” he says. “I want to see you fall to pieces.”
He hooks his fingers into her underwear and slides it down. She doesn’t realize how wet she is until a line of slick breaks between her body and the fabric. He smiles smugly, and it’s so humiliating, she throws one arm over her eyes.
“Oh, no, little goddess.” He takes her wrist and places it beside her head. She fights him only for a moment, because then his thumb is against her sex again, this time pressing in, parting the folds of her and finding his mark. Her back arches when his rough finger reaches her clit, and she notices with a shock that he’s removed his glove. She looks down, just for a glimpse of some newly bare skin, and finds that her prediction was right: he has an additional band of scar tissue just above his wrist. He leans down, and she’s still watching as his tongue parts her, from her slick entrance to her desperate clit. He moves back down and then—oh, then his tongue is inside of her. She squeaks—it’s too late, the sound has escaped her—and moans through her clamped lips. She feels the rumble of his subdued laughter, and then he moves his attention to her clit again, taking it between his lips.
“Blood and—” she grabs his hair, just for a modicum of control, and maybe also because she likes the way it feels between her fingers. It’s strikingly, fascinatingly bright in color. Undeniably lovely.
She dispels the thought as soon as it appears, because it’s dangerous.
Her pleasure mounts faster than she would like, and it isn’t long before she’s tugging hard at his hair, urging him up. “Enough,” she breathes, and he raises his head, obedient.
“Good,” Melinoe says, further embarrassed that she’s panting. She wants—needs—to embarrass him back. To punish him for drawing out that earlier sound from her. “Good boy.”
His brow furrows, just the smallest fraction. Then the corner of his mouth draws up, showing his teeth. It’s a vicious little smile, one she quite likes on him. Her chest hums with something hard to pin down, along with a healthy trickle of fear. She’s poking the bear, and here it is, baring its fangs.
“I’ve been bound in chains for nearly as long as gods have lived,” he seethes. “You cannot fathom how innumerably my existence predates yours. Yet you call me—”
“Oh, what?” she asks. “Would you prefer to be bad?”
She’s poked too hard; she sees it in the flash of his eyes, the way they burn ever brighter as he descends on her again, her wrists clamped down by blisteringly hot hands. He growls deep in his throat and bites down on the side of her neck, and for a moment it really does feel like being mauled.
She feels the terrible mass of him as he grinds down into her, solid and hot as flame. He’s just as aroused as she is, leaking against her, dragging the wet head of his cock against her clit. She meets him halfway, somewhat relieved that he hasn’t tried to enter her, thinking he must know it would never work.
But then, “I am bad,” he says, voice rich and dark with desire. “It’s what you gods believe. If you can’t be convinced otherwise, why should I defy your expectations?”
Melinoe sucks in a breath as he catches on the entrance of her. Her heart is pounding so hard in her chest, he must feel it. It’s loud and clear in her ears.
“How—” she huffs, “will you do that?”
“I’m a thief,” he says as he slows, dragging himself back to the place where her body might yield to him. She stiffens, and his eyes only glow brighter for it. “Am I not to take what I desire?”
She scoffs. There’s only one way to rise to his challenge, to take the smug satisfaction for herself. She forces herself to relax, despite what she’s on the precipice of. She dangles over the ledge now, and he threatens to drop her. She lets go first. “Oh, Prometheus. What you desire, I freely give.”
He scoffs in turn. “Unwise.” He pushes, and Melinoe takes in a breath as the pressure builds against her. His size may be reasonable for a titan, but for her, he’s grotesquely, laughably gigantic. “Your little body isn’t meant for me. It never was.”
“Don’t think me fragile,” she hisses. “I take what I want. Not unlike you.”
His toothy smirk returns. He tilts his hips back, giving her a momentary reprieve, and she wonders briefly if it was all a bluff. But then one of his thick fingers, about as large as a single human cock, presses against her and pushes inside.
She sucks in another breath, then lets it out as she takes it deep. He pumps it in and out of her, filling the room with an obscene sound, and it feels more like a taunt than anything. Then he crooks his finger into her sweet spot and she keens, unable to help it. He cuts off the sound with his lips, taking advantage of her open mouth to shove his tongue inside. He’s rougher than ever now, a second finger joining the first, his mouth preventing any chance of protest. She bends her knees, planting her feet on the ground for leverage, another desperate ploy for control over something. He’s still holding one of her hands down, but she uses the other to trail back over his largest scar. She presses the nail of her ghostly hand against it, relishing the way he tenses. He groans as she tears the bandage away to touch the healing wound. This skin is softer, warmer, and the muscles of his stomach jump with each brush and scrape.
He bends his two fingers now, thumbing her clit at the same time, and her thoughts begin to melt. She cranes her neck and shakes her head. It’s too much, too good, she’s hurling towards her peak and there’s nothing to be done about it.
He adds a third finger and the stretch is awful. She mutters a string of curses, even as the sharp initial pain dissolves into a blunt ache. He is at least courteous enough to slow nearly to a halt, letting her adjust, shifting and scissoring his fingers only once her breath has steadied. Then he holds them still and circles her clit again with his thumb, over and over, the dull stretch fading to the pleasure.
She doesn’t notice the high whine escaping until he leans into her ear. “Shh, little princess. If you want to have me, you should know this is the easy part.”
She digs her nails into his scar and he sucks in a sharp breath. His thumb speeds up, and she focuses on the pleasure rushing back, the way her body has slicked his right hand down to the knuckles. It begins to consume her again, and she squeezes her eyes shut, unable to bear his gaze on her as she loses herself. “I can’t,” she breathes, “I can’t—I don’t—”
His cock leaks hot precum over her thigh, and knowing how crazy this makes him is what tips her over.
She crashes through her orgasm, clamping down tight on his fingers, and he never lets up on her clit the whole way, working her through it. Her hips stutter with each aftershock until overstimulation finally sets in.
“Please,” she mutters, exhausted, “it’s enough.”
“We’re not done,” he says, though he pulls his fingers out of her slowly. They glisten in the low light, and she watches, mesmerized, as he licks her slick from his index finger. Then he sits back and takes himself in hand, smearing the rest over his cock with a low sigh.
Melinoe’s ears ring. Her mind swims through a haze of post-pleasure. But she knows what’s next, and anxiety creeps its way back into her. “It can’t possibly fit.”
“You extended the invitation.”
She nods, still breathing hard, and looks up toward the ceiling. She spreads her legs a little farther for him. “I did. So I suppose you ought to try.”
“Or.” He moves away, and she turns to find him settling back down against the wall. “If you’ll give yourself so freely, I say you show me.”
Blood and darkness, she mouths, picking herself slowly off the ground. Her legs are shaky, her bones heavy as lead. But she drags herself to him nonetheless, swings one leg over and hovers atop his thighs.
She wraps an arm around his neck and he leans forward, allowing her to hang off him for support, lining their bodies up to be joined. Even after being stretched by three massive fingers, even with the slick coating of her thighs and everything in between, she’s still not sure about this. But she heals quickly, night after night, and there’s certainly no backing down now.
“Go on,” he taunts. “Let’s see how strong a goddess is.”
She moves a hand to his hair again, just for a way to cause him pain to match her own. Because it’s going to hurt. Oh, is it going to hurt.
She sinks down until the head of his cock is at the entrance of her, breathes in, breathes out, and pushes herself down.
He tenses. His breathing shifts. She isn’t sure if it’s because of the death grip she’s taken to his hair or if it’s pleasurable for him. The rim of her entrance burns around the intrusion, burns until the first inch of him has slipped inside.
“Fuck,” she squeaks, her voice higher than she’s ever heard it.
He holds her hip in one hand and rests the other on the small of her back, the warmth of fire all around her. “Keep going,” he says quietly.
But she needs to adjust. It’s such a strong ache, such an all-consuming heat. His eyes focus on her bottom lip as she bites it, and he leans down to kiss her again.
She doesn’t reciprocate at first, too unfocused, but realizes it’s a distraction. She pulls tighter at his hair and neck and takes his tongue between her teeth until he groans.
“Such a tease, Goddess. You could get it all over with, drop yourself onto my lap. Spear yourself on me.”
“And promptly die,” she says through gritted teeth. “Is that what you want? Is that the way you finally want to kill me?”
He chuckles, and to her surprise, moves his hands to rest on either side of her ass. It’s not a groping gesture. He’s supporting her weight, giving her some reprieve. His right hand feels over the places where they’re just barely joined. “Come on now. My patience is very thin.”
She gives his hair another tug. He winces this time, lips tracing her jaw. When he raises his head she rests her cheek against his chest, against those sensitive scars, and takes another inch of him.
“Augh…” Her voice shakes on an intake of breath. Tears bead at the corners of her eyes. Prometheus’s index finger rubs a circle into her ass cheek while his other hand shifts between them, using the same motion over her clit. She tenses around him by accident, drawing another whine from her throat. It’s quickly becoming too hard to care for the way she sounds. She’s breaking down. He’s beating away at her defenses, just as he would with his flames.
This, in itself, is a battle.
Sinking another inch actually spills her tears. She doesn’t realize it until he noses her cheek and licks one away. “Untense.”
“I can’t—“
“You can. You’re stronger than this. I see it every night. I see it in the future.”
She breathes carefully, focusing on his fingers, how good he is at touching her. She forces herself pliant, despite the pain.
“Good girl,” he says with a smirk.
She hates having lost the upper hand. Him turning her earlier satisfaction against her. But her body disagrees, fluttering around him, still somehow so wet and getting wetter by the moment. She never thought herself capable of submission. Never wanted to face the possibility. But she’s putty in his arms now.
Prometheus twitches inside of her. Slowly, he begins to raise his hips.
“No—don’t—“
He shushes her again. “I warned you about my patience.”
They shift. There’s a shockwave of pain as he pulls out and rearranges her on the floor. Suddenly she feels disturbingly empty, and then she’s filled again. His arms appear on either side, caging her in, his face and hair all she can see. There’s a bead of sweat on his temple, and his eyes glimmer like stars.
He pushes in. Her ears ring, her head spins. She claws at his arms and chokes on a sob. But still, she flutters around him, taking him, accepting him.
“Good girl,” he says again when he stills. This time he doesn’t smile. She doesn’t think he’s all the way in, but he’s bottomed out all the same. Reached the limits of her. She’s scared to look down, scared to know if she’s bleeding or just that wet.
“You’re a little masochist,” he sighs, and she supposes that’s her answer. “Still, that’s it. You’ve done it. Don’t forget to breathe.”
“No,” she mutters into the crook of his neck. “You’re too big, aren’t you? Didn’t—hah—make it.”
He kisses her ear instead of replying. “Little goddess… Let’s see how you handle me.”
As he slides out, she realizes just how far in he is. It’s a long slide, a deep pressure, his shaft dragging against her clit, he’s so thick. He takes a shaky breath of his own as he pushes back in, and her nails dig into his arms again, working their way over the back of his neck. She cries out, desperate for relief, for less, for more. Never mind her quick healing. She won’t be back tomorrow night. She won’t be able to walk.
She presses her teeth to his skin wherever she can reach, determined to leave her own mark, sucking and nipping at him. She wants to bruise and bleed him, as much as she can.
And for all he talks of her, it’s obvious he likes it. His arms shake with restraint, trying not to tear into her, his cock twitching inside her with every love bite.
“Fuck,” he gasps. “You want me to finish so soon?”
She’s intrigued by the admission of her effect on him. She wonders if he’d come inside of her, how hot it would feel, whether she’d like it. Whether she’d worry later about the risk.
“If—you finish inside, will nothing come of it?”
“No,” he grunts. “Not this time.”
She wraps one leg around him, caging him to her. He hefts the other over his shoulder. It’s a painful stretch, nearly folding her in half, but as he pushes in, her toes curl with the angle.
He wets his thumb with his tongue, though it’s unnecessary with how slick she is, and presses it back to her clit, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing. She cranes her neck, arches her back, impossibly full and somehow loving every second of it.
His pace picks up, as does his rate of breathing. “Melinoe.” The name tumbles from his mouth in a whisper, and her ears catch it enthusiastically.
“Harder,” she says, well aware she’s lost her mind.
He gives a subdued laugh, but moves faster, both his hips and hand. His breath hitches with pleasure.
She’s overwhelmed—she can’t take it—and then his hips stutter. He slows to a halt, buried as deep as he can go. It’s a discomfort, the head of his cock against her cervix, but she feels the flood of warmth and lets it go.
“Melinoe,” he mumbles again, never letting up with his hand, and she comes with a strangled cry.
He lowers her leg, presses his face into her neck, breathes deep of her skin. She holds the back of his head, keeping him there, and shudders contentedly. He twitches inside her, still hard for now.
Then he raises his head and kisses her ravenously. She meets his tongue, too exhausted to push back, and feels his hand meet hers behind his head. Their fingers weave together.
She isn’t ready for him to pull out. Finds she doesn’t want him to. He knows this, holds her in place, rolls over so she can lay atop him. They kiss for a long while, until he pulls back and says, “Tomorrow night, return to me.”
“You already know if I will.”
“I know that you may. I’ve seen what happens if you do.”
“Maybe,” she says, clenching around him. He swallows hard.
She pictures it: him on his back like this, her head between his legs. Doing to him what he was too impatient for tonight. Making him come again and again until he can’t stay hard anymore, until she’s milked all the desire from his body.
He shudders, perhaps seeing it too. “Melinoe,” he whispers. “Come back.”
“I haven’t left.” She plants her knees and rolls her hips. She’s full of his spend, but he has more to lose. He arches his back into her. “I’m still here, right now.”
He smiles weakly. “You are.”
She moves her hips again, sore already. She’ll need the healing water of the fountain, but she can reach the summit tonight if she’s determined, which she is. No matter how much it hurts tomorrow.
Still, she’s not done here.
She places his hands beside his head, and he lets her.
“You have somewhere to be, goddess.”
“I do. Right here, for a few more minutes.”
Her hands shake as she places them on his chest. Her whole body trembles. Below her, his eyes are shut, his mouth slightly open. She nips at his jaw bone.
Each rise of his hips to meet hers lifts her off the ground. She has to brace hard to keep gravity from pushing her cervix against him. She shuts her eyes too, and chases only her own pleasure, until she’s fluttering around him again on the brink of a new climax.
She puts two fingers to his lips and he takes them inside his mouth, licking them feverishly. She pulls them back and presses them to her clit, circling it just as he did, until she’s moaning profanely atop him. He shudders as she comes, riding all the way through it, even as she feels his warmth inside her again. Some of it spills between them, further messying their thighs.
Soon, he truly, finally softens, and she pulls off of him, falling to her back at his side. They’re both panting wretches of their former selves.
“How was that?” she whispers.
“That last part,” he sighs, “I somehow didn’t foresee.”
Melinoe smiles to herself.
“Will you return tomorrow?” he asks again.
“Only if you say please.”
He purses his lips. Breathes deep. Doesn’t say it. “You’ll wish you came.”
“I’m sure I will,” she says, and means it.
But there’s a task ahead of her, and this is too strong of a distraction. She rises, uses his hip wrap to clean herself off, just to be cheeky, then drinks from the fountain.
Some of her strength returns. She can keep fighting.
She has to step over him, his eyes still closed, both of them still naked. His cock is shiny with the mix of their pleasure. Even soft, it’s so large, she can hardly imagine it was just inside of her.
She steps, he grabs her ankle. She looks down and has never felt more powerful.
His glowing eyes are subdued again, dim. Silently pleading.
“I’ll be back,” she assures him. “As I always am.”
He lets her go. She dresses, glances once more over her shoulder at him.
Gale scampers in, paying him no mind, probably assuming another simple victory was had. Melinoe turns, lifts Descura, and they make their way toward the summit.