Chapter Text
Somewhere, out of view, you hear the slide and thunk of a door. It was— not long ago— a unique sound to be heard in your flowering corner of Elysium— well, until the prince, of course. You need not look up from your work in the basin of your floating meadow to sense his approach, especially with the way divine foliage audibly singes beneath his flame-licked feet.
You turn your gaze only when he speaks— albeit not nearly as close as you thought he would have been: “My lady,” he says, sounding weary, and your eyes turn faster than intended. He has always been starkly red against the soft, green, ethereal landscape, but he is positively vermilion with that deep slash trickling blood beneath his pectoral.
“Prince Zagreus,” you breathe, white cloth flowing around the delicate skin of your thighs as you rise to meet him. As soon as you are within arms reach of one another, his hand, grey like marble, goes to take your own, but you slap it away in favor of paying mind to his apparent wound. He’s always been a bit too affectionate, ever since he first arrived in your meadow and accepted your aid— though it has never been entirely unwelcome. At least in appearance, he is a strapping young man, handsome enough that even the butterflies crowding the greenery might blush at his approach. You, a young woman, taken from the mortal plane before her time, are hardly impervious.
He grimaces as your questing fingers prod at the edge of the gash, quick to ignore your dismissal of his touch as his palm closes around your hand. “If you wanted to admire me, all you needed to do was ask,” he teases, giving your hand a soft squeeze. You scoff, but don’t attempt to retrieve your hand. Instead, you wrap your fingers around the juncture of his thumb and tug him towards your collection of healing implements, nestled beside a solitary column in the middle of the chamber.
“Cheeky,” you say, and he laughs, leaving his blade stuck in the earth where you’d met.
“I hate Greatshields,” he winces again as he stumbles down into the sod beside the pillar, pulling you with him as his much larger hand is still enclosed around your blood-soaked fingers. Trying not to fall into his lap on the way down is hard work, and you pull your digits from him once you’re situated kneeling at his side. You regret the loss of contact but busy yourself with wiping the blood away on your clothes as you regard his state of disrepair. Staining is irrelevant, what with the impermanence of soiling in Elysium. Once the prince leaves, or even before depending on the length of his stay (you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t entertained the idea of him staying long at your side), the finger-shaped marks will fade.
Regardless, Zagreus sits foremost in your mind, giving you little room to consider the mess on your chiton. Even with his guard down, he takes up an impossible amount of space, being much larger (and stronger) than yourself. Not that you're necessarily small for a mortal— gods just tended to be physically imposing. By the time you’re situated, he’s already shrugged himself out of the upper part of his tunic, leaving his torso and arms bare besides his bracers. He feigns ease, resting his opposing forearm over his bent knee as he sits propped up against the stone beside you. Still, the pain is evident in his bi-colored eyes as he tries to avoid tensing the sculpted muscles around his wound. “You are too bold,” you say, silently referring to more than his fighting style.
A grin cracks at the corner of the godling’s mouth, warm despite the pain. “Oh, sweet maiden, do I worry you?”
“I worry more for those who underestimate your recklessness,” you tear your eyes from him, wholly unaware of the way he drinks in your form while you dip a cloth. You do your best to avoid eye contact as you begin to clean his wound, affecting diligence as you refrain from brushing your fingers over his torso directly. You are ignorant of the hitch in his breath— the origin of which being far from agony.
Despite his flirting, you know that the prince doesn’t expect anything of you. The first time he’d appeared in your airborne meadow, you’d been wary; too many times had you encountered heroes in Elysium who’d taken your seemingly vulnerable form as an invitation to speak words far outside your realm of comfort. While Zagreus was visibly different than the usual Elysian stock, the prince had carried himself with the same impudence. Well, up until he’d deemed the area empty and crumpled to the floor, cursing Hades as if the King of the Underworld himself had spat venom onto his tongue. As you’d eventually learn, he might as well have.
From your vantage point behind your pillar, you’d realized with a shock that the godling— by Olympus, a godling— was injured, and it was revelation enough to stir you from your hiding place. After some further startling— this time on the prince’s part rather than your own— you’d offered your aid to him. You’d led him to the same spot in the valley that he reclined in now and swiped healing balm— the make of which you worked diligently on, even in death for the benefit of others in Elysium— over his wounds. He’d seemed taken aback by your touch but readily shaken his head when you asked if he’d prefer to apply it himself. “You seem to know what you’re doing,” he’d stated, his face flushed with what you’d assumed to be the adrenaline of his recent battle. Needless to say, it wasn’t the last time you’d see the wayward prince in your chamber.
“If I weren’t so reckless, we wouldn’t get to meet like this,” he stirs you from your thoughts with his coaxing tenor.
You allow yourself a laugh as you pull the bloodied cloth from his wound, leaving it in the bowl of water and staining the liquid crimson with his immortal blood. “Careful, Prince, or I’ll start to think that you’re maiming yourself on purpose.”
He chuckles in kind, running a hand through his soft black hair as he turns his gaze from you, steeling himself. “One hell of an accusation.”
It’s another moment before you are procuring one of your balms from the collection in the grass. You hook two of your fingers through the salve after removing the lid, obtaining a generous gob of it before shuffling closer to your prince. Zagreus takes in a shuddering breath when, in an attempt to balance yourself, you set your free hand against the taut muscle of his chest. Oblivious, you withdraw, fearing that you’ve caused him unnecessary pain. “Does that hurt?”
“Hardly,” Zagreus says, sounding winded. Concern creeps into your expression by the time his eyes meet yours, but the ache in his gaze doesn’t seem to stem from physical torment. Well, at least not in a way that you would immediately recognize. Your prince, as always, is impossibly and suffocatingly warm.
“Don’t be so tough,” you murmur, averting your eyes from his before leaning back in to spread the salve over his wound. Your hands seem small and insignificant against the expanse of his godly musculature, but the effect, as always, is near immediate. As the thick balm settles over the edges of his laceration, the flesh begins to work itself back together, charged by the strange healing properties of the Elysian herbs used to create the poultice. Your prince inhales sharply as the change occurs, his muscles rippling beneath your fingertips. After a moment, only a silvery mark remains in the place of his formerly marred flesh, and you gently withdraw your hand from his oblique. You internally bemoan the end of the moment— unaware of his intense gaze— recognizing that soon the prince would correct his attire, retrieve his blade, and move on. You did not rely on his company, surely, but you definitely relished it a bit more than was fit of a simple Elysian shade.
You are understandably surprised when his braced hand catches beneath your chin, a leather-clad thumb holding firm against your jaw. Your eyes open wide, and soon you’re meeting Zagreus’s gaze. It feels as though the look in his eyes could scorch you, much despite the soft, slack set of his jaw as he considers your features, seemingly in search of something.
You were a fool to think his intentions innocent. Strangely, you don’t have it in you to mind.
“I’ve not had the privilege,” he holds your visage as if it is made of glass, brushing his thumb over the hollow of your cheek, “Of interacting with many former mortals like yourself, at least not…” The prince pauses as his knuckle encounters the corner of your mouth, seeming to hesitate as his eyes flit to the purse of your lips beside his hand. “Touching…?” You supply weakly, wondering if other maidens had felt so light during the beginning stages of their seduction.
“Yes, well—,” he stutters, fingers seeming to flex involuntarily against your skin as he’s caught between releasing you and pulling you closer, “I don’t want to frighten you or put any undue pressure on you, but I had thought that well, maybe.”
“How do I know you are not just some God wishing to debauch the soul of a helpless maiden?” You ask him, taking great effort to remain unsmiling. You’re suddenly thankful that you’ve had time to know and understand this godling— otherwise, you’d be fearing for your safety. His touch, despite the leather, is mind-numbingly warm under the hook of your chin, grounding you as you feel a similar warmth pool in the depths of your belly.
“I—,” his words catch, and he attempts to clear his throat as he quickly releases your chin. At that moment, he is hardly a demigod, but much more like a mortal boy floundering at the slightest inclination. It makes your heart clench. “Debauch you?” His voice cracks with hardly concealed nervousness. If anything, it confuses you. You’d made it quite clear during a previous visit that you’d never known a man— or woman, for that matter— in life. Zagreus had pressed you about your time on the mortal plane after answering a dozen or more of your questions. You, intent on returning the favor, had regaled him with stories of your unfortunately short existence. You’d passed young while acting as a war physician, the practice which had earned you eternal paradise in Elysium. “Any lovers?” Your prince had questioned, seeming rapt. With the amount of surprise that painted his features when you’d shaken your head no, you would have assumed that he’d remember that piece of information.
"I'm not opposed." You make no move to distance yourself from him and instead lean further into his space. You splay your hands over your thighs for balance and gently cock your head to the side, waiting for his response.
“Wait, wait, wow, uh… Hold on, I ought to rephrase.” He puts his hands up defensively, an odd thing for him to do, seeing as you pose no physical threat.
“Oh.” You sit back and blink owlishly at him, feeling your face grow hot. Maybe you’d been too presumptuous— perhaps eternity was beginning to get to you.
“I mean, well, damn, I’m not opposed to well, that either, but that wasn’t what I was proposing.” Zagreus tears his gaze from you for a moment, the hand furthest from you going to palm the back of his neck. He seemed almost frightened.
“Then what were you suggesting?” You keep your gaze trained on his features, fisting the fabric over your thighs to divert your unease.
“I was attempting to confess that I well… I have feelings for you, and quite a bit of well, desire. I was admittedly a little caught up in the moment,” Zagreus forces a laugh, gaze finally turning to meet yours.
You feel as though you’re about to catch fire. Here you'd been, forcing yourself to under analyze every breath he directed towards you, and the Prince of Hades had been nursing an actual, genuine warmth for you. You wondered momentarily if such incognizance was a form of hubris until you realized that you'd been quiet for a little too long. The corner of Zagreus' mouth had twitched downwards ever so slightly, despite his clear attempt not to appear hurt.
"I apologize. That must be quite a lot to take in." Zagreus clears his throat, turning his head from you as he plants one of his hands against the column at his back, clearly meaning to use it as leverage in standing up. "I can see myself out. I understand if—,"
"Wait!" You nearly tumble over as you reach with both hands to snatch hold of his wrist. He whips his face back toward you, mouth opened with an expression of soft surprise as the godling is effectively stopped in his tracks. "Just... please, one moment." You gently plead, clutching your fingers around his palm. He slackens, settling back against the pillar as he waits for you to speak.
It takes a moment before you're able to properly gather your thoughts, though you feel somewhat grounded by the warm weight of Zagreus' hand in your lap. He'd made no move to retrieve it, and you found yourself tracing his marbled knuckles as you chewed over his confession. Both of his fists were easily twice or three times the size of your own, and you felt embarrassed for assuming that he'd only wanted to place them on you out of lust.
"I feel the same," you finally manage, and the prince releases a breath that he didn't even realize he'd been holding. "Well, I mean..." You pause, and Zagreus' hand clasps around your digits.
"Maiden, you have no obligation to return my feelings." He says, misinterpreting your obvious nerves as apprehension rather than butterflies.
"I don't fear you." You state before momentarily running your tongue over your lips. You're barely able to suppress the shudder that emerges when you see Zagreus' eyes fixate on the motion. "I... Well, I was content to let you have me," the godling inhales sharply at your phrasing but doesn't dare to interrupt you, "Even though it would be, uh, my first— I sort of figured that was part of the appeal, but if you have affection for me..." You trail off, struggling to maintain eye contact with him.
"I do," Zagreus affirms after a moment, giving your fingers a brief squeeze.
You're nearly babbling as you go on, "Then, well, that adds to the newness of it all. I apologize for being caught off guard. I felt so sure of your intentions, I— I was staggered!"
Visible shame bubbles up behind Zagreus' countenance. It's even more obvious in his tone when he speaks. "That's my fault, I'm afraid. It seems I've been acting the part of a scoundrel if you've seen it necessary to think that way. I haven't the foggiest as to why you feel the same, considering that."
"No, no," you sigh, pulling one of your hands from the intertwined mess in your lap to card against your scalp. "I'm just virginally insensible. I couldn't bring myself to think that you were treating me any differently than you would any other shade in your father's domain."
The prince snorts. "So, you agree that I've come off as an obnoxious flirt."
"Oh, by Olympus, drop it."
You laugh together, the tension of the conversation seeming to abate at last. You note that this Zagreus, the upfront and earnest one, is much softer than the man he regularly presented himself to be. Even his voice has gone velvety (at least more so than normal) at the edges, and his words seem more carefully placed— more pronounced. Now that your combined twitchiness has subsided, the air feels distinctly heavy, a sensation similar to but still much different from your moment of misunderstanding before. You find yourself wondering— as your eyes meet again following your instant of shared amusement— if he's going to kiss you.
"Zagreus..." You start, and he noticeably straightens, eyes widening. You blink. "What?"
"I didn't mean to interrupt you. I apologize, uh..." he presses the tip of his tongue against his teeth as he pauses, suddenly looking anywhere but your eyes. His hand fidgets in your lap, and you find yourself strengthening your grip on him in case he was about to pull away. "It's simply, well, I don't think you've ever referred to me without my title before."
Oh, you think to yourself, your brows scrunching together as you do. He's right. Over the course of his many visits, you'd become comfortable with one another, to be sure, and he had referred to you by your name on more than one occasion, but you'd always maintained that small facet of formality. "Um, is that alright?"
"More than," Zagreus laughs, reaching to cup the side of your face with his unoccupied, braced hand. You lean into his palm without a second thought, prompting the godling to shiver. Finally, he asks: "May I kiss you?"
You reply with a breathless 'yes,' and within the next moment, he's closing the gap between you. He guides your jaw with the hand cradling your cheek, turning your head gently before sealing your lips together. You'd experienced a few kisses in life— meaningless occurrences, shared in heated moments, usually with an uncoordinated excess of tongue and teeth— but the press of Zagreus' lips against your own, as chaste as it was, felt electric. As if by instinct, you raise yourself onto your knees, allowing the prince's hand to fall from your lap as you poise above him. You shift closer, pressing your lips diligently so as to do so without breaking the kiss. His tongue involuntarily darts into your mouth with the sudden change in angle, but he's nothing if not swift to adjust. His newly freed hand slides to palm the small of your back, and you find yourself clutching both his braced bicep and bare shoulder for balance as the kiss deepens. You feel intoxicated by the heady slide of his tongue against your own— something you'd thought frankly disgusting until that moment— and after a particularly languid, deep swipe into your mouth, you're forced to part, gasping for air with your foreheads pressed together.
Your eyes are barely open as you breathe deeply, and you assume that Zagreus is the same until you hear a soft 'wow.' His breath is still warm against your face, even as you feel his forehead leave yours— it makes you tremble, the sensation of being looked at. Before you can open your eyes to return his stare, though, you feel his thumb pressing against the purse of your lips. Your eyes open in time with your mouth, and you're met with the heavy-lidded gaze of your prince as he fixates on the extremity brushing against your bottom row of teeth. You open wider for him, allowing your tongue to loll out gently against his opposable digit, and he gives a throaty groan of approval as he massages his sizeable thumb against the comparatively small muscle. It seems clear that this diversion is a touch more obscene than kissing, but you hardly have the mind to care as you allow Zagreus to explore your mouth, first with his thumb and then with two more of his battle-worn fingers. Your grip on his muscled arm and shoulder tightens as his index and middle fingers gentle against your tongue, and a faint whimper escapes your open mouth. The sound forces you to close your lips around the intruding digits, and you feel more than hear the choked noise that leaves Zagreus as you lightly suck on his fingers. At some point, your eyes had closed, so you force them open in order to behold his state. The flushed, slack-mouthed prince has his lip caught between his teeth as he breathes deeply through his nose, his eyes fully set on your mouth. You're suddenly aware of the way that his hand is splayed out against your lower back (and covering a good portion of it too, for that matter) where he grips at the curve of your hip, perhaps as a means of grounding himself. He does, however, appear to hesitate against pulling you closer. He seems to quake when your half-lidded eyes meet, and his fingers pull from your mouth with a lewd pop.
"Sorry, um, I got away from myself for a minute there," he says, his tenor an octave lower than normal. And you thought that his voice couldn't become more attractive.
"I liked it," you murmur, just above a whisper, the admission only for him to hear. Zagreus swears, his fingers twitching against your back as he glances downward, between the two of you. You're so fixated on him that you can't help but follow his line of sight— and, well, you nearly pass out. "Oh."
The lower portion of Zagreus' chiton had ridden up at some point while the two of you were seated, leaving his red-legging-clad groin more visible and, well, accessible. Normally it wouldn't have been an issue, but... "I'm sorry, you, well— I'm all worked up." He swallows audibly, quickly drying the hand that had been in your mouth before using it to pull his tunic back over his prominent hard-on. By the Gods, his leg-coverings were so tight that you could practically trace the outline of it with your eyes, at least up until it was hidden from view. It didn't escape you how the impression of it seemed to emanate from the apex of his thighs and trace for a good while along the crease where his leg met his hip— were they all that big? You can hear him continuing to apologize, assuring you that you aren't obligated to do anything for him, that they can go at your pace— but you're feeling a bit too bold for your own good.
"Can we continue kissing?" You ask, cutting him off midway through a self-deprecating sentence.
He gapes at you momentarily, his eyebrows furrowed, before attempting to clear his throat. "Um, yes, but are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable with my er, state."
"I'd like to sit in your lap, too." You say, and you wish that you could keep an etching of the look on Zagreus' face. His jaw, still slack with surprise, seems to quiver as he takes a deep breath in— are pupils supposed to dilate that much?
"Just— I'm sorry, I need to clarify—," You're barely holding yourself back from laughing at he fusses with the front of his hair, a cruel mix of anxiety and arousal plain on his face. "Do you want me to, uh, hold you against me?"
"That's an obnoxiously chaste way of putting it," You breathe a giggle, thumbing his shoulder absentmindedly as he scrutinizes your expression. "But yes, that's what I want."
It takes a few moments of shuffling before you're seated astride his lap. The hand of his that had been fussing at the small of your back is now wrapped fully around your body, gripping you tightly at the waist on the opposite side, as his other hand (the braced one) makes quiet work of rucking up your tunic. Your arms, meanwhile, are wrapped around his broad shoulders as the two of you share a much sweeter, much slower kiss than your first. His back is pressed firmly to the pillar, now, and when he finds the hem of your underwear beneath your chiton, he parts from the kiss and rests his head back against it, considering you. You offer him a pure smile, brushing your noses together as you inch your hips further into his lap. He groans eagerly as you do so, and suddenly your crotch is pressed flush against the bulge in his tights. "This what you wanted?" He hummed as he began pressing open-mouthed kisses to the delicate skin of your neck, punctuating with a determined roll of the hips.
To see the outline of him was one thing, but to feel it pressed against your core was entirely another. You gave a little hiccuping gasp, gripping the musculature of his shoulders tightly for a moment before you composed yourself enough to grind back down onto him, relishing the friction. You'd touched yourself before, on more than one occasion, but humping the clothed cock of a godling was an experience all its own. Zagreus cursed hotly against your flesh, and soon your tongues were sliding together— fever-hot and panting. The circumstances seemed to bring out a desperate quality in him. When the two of you eventually broke to breathe, Zagreus moved back to your neck, laving his tongue over your pulse as though he could procure some sort of divine nectar from the spot.
"Does this count as, ah," you gave a quiet yelp as the slightly rough cloth of your underwear grazes your clit just right in time with a particularly brutish drag. "As my being deflowered or, oh Zagreus." You're fairly certain that you've soaked through your panties, with the way that the slide against them has become so much easier. If anything, it makes finding friction that much more difficult, leaving you to let loose an absolutely depraved whine when Zagreus' hand clamps down on your hip, forcing you to still as he thrusts against you.
"I would never defile you in such a way," he scoffs into your ear, his uncharacteristically mocking tone causing you virgin cunt to clench around nothing. You mewl helplessly, trying to press kisses to his jaw as he meanly presses you over his covered prick. "When I have you," he growls, distinctly animalistic in his sudden and thorough domination of you, "You will know."
You moan aloud at his words, pressing your forehead and fingertips tightly against his shoulder as a chorus of pleasure falls from your mouth. "Oh, ruin me." You choke out, your hips stuttering in his grasp. You feel his hard-on give an agonizing twitch.
Zagreus moans miserably and buries his face into the curve of your neck, a spasm of breath erupting against your collarbone as your center of gravity suddenly shifts. He releases the side of your face in favor of wrapping his arm behind your back in kind with the other, reaching around to grip your opposite shoulder. Once he has a sure hold on you, he leans forward, holding you half-way horizontal and digging his scorching heels into the ground out behind you as he drags against your barely clothed core. The soles of your feet kick uselessly against the pillar behind him for a moment before they find purchase on his lower back, allowing you to press yourself impossibly close as you hold on for dear life.
His every movement has his covered cock rocking against your slick clit, further stoking what is quickly becoming a near-unbearable fire in you. "Please, please, please please please, oh Gods, please." There's nothing to stop the string of incoherent words and filthy, depraved moans that stream from your mouth. Zagreus swears, his voice sounding broken as he groans his approval of your noise, and then your world shifts again. Before you can even comprehend the movement, the prince has you on your back in the sod, pressing your body into the ethereal earth with powerful and unwavering grinds against your sex. One of his hands has already taken hold of one of your thighs, effectively holding your legs apart and nearly folding you over as he ruts you like an animal in the dirt. It's almost too filthy an image to comprehend, and it doesn't help that his other hand is pressed firmly against your lower stomach, his thumb teasing the line of your underwear. He had said that he didn't intend to defile you, but you definitely feel defiled. Who knew that being ruined would feel so delicious.
"I will not— I, oh blood and darkness..." Zagreus attempts to speak, stirring you from your stupor. He's staring at you with lust-blown eyes, his mouth hanging open as he continues to rub against you. It's almost too sweet of a look, especially coupled with the fact that gasps and bitten-off moans are escaping him on every pass of his hips. "I will not have you yet, not in that way, but I desperately wish to see you come undone for me. Would you? Oh, please," he sputters out, searching your face for confirmation. You nod and moan out your consent, and it's barely a second before his thumb is twitching in vigorous circles against your clit through the fabric of your undergarments. He's hard and hot and heavy against you, and the addition of such precise stimulation against your bud has you overwhelmed and hurtling over the edge. You cry out, and your back arches up off of the ground. Your legs twitch ever further apart as your panties are soaked with a toe-curling rush of slick. It's all that you can do to claw at the dirt on either side of you as your swollen cunt twitches under your lover's continued ministrations. Zagreus rumbles with pleasure-choked appreciation, his own hips beginning to stutter against you are he nears his own release, seemingly just from witnessing yours.
Your vision is blurred with tears as you rapidly tip into the realm of overstimulation. Zagreus recognizes your distress hardly a moment later, and he moves his hand from your button to brace himself on the ground beside your head. "I know, I'm sorry, I'm close, I'm so— oh Gods, I can feel you, oh sweet maiden," he gasps, infatuation plain in his bi-colored eyes as he leans down to reach your lips. As soon as he's casting a shadow over your prone form, your tongues meet in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He whimpers into you like a dog in heat, gives a final harsh grind, and comes.
You moan wantonly as you feel the spastic twitch of his cock through your combined layers of clothing and realize only as he begins to still that you've forced a godling to come in his pants. He gives a smothered whine as he finishes grinding out the waves of his orgasm against your cunt, his cock still thick and heavy against you but notably softer. You blink disbelievingly at the visible wet spot beginning to form on the front of Zagreus' leggings and are rendered temporarily unaware of his gaze as a result.
"Are you alright?" He asks softly, causing you to start as you finally glance back up towards his face. You aren't able to make eye contact for a moment as he presses a syrupy-sweet kiss against your temple, but he's soon pulling back enough to meet your eyes. You don't think you've ever seen him smile quite so wide before. "Yes, I... that was lovely, I feel wonderful, but you, um." You glance back down to his crotch, but he's already fixed his tunic and set about laying your hips parallel to the ground, massaging the taut muscles in your thigh as he goes. You turn your gaze again to see him grimace as he adjusts your chiton, slipping it back down over the tops of your legs.
"I know, I shouldn't have manhandled you like that—,"
"Oh, you oaf, that was wonderful! I'm talking about how you— you finished in your..." You manage to cut him off and yet can't finish your sentence, instead resigning yourself to paw at his neck and shoulder as he stares down at you, perhaps a touch more amused than he should be. His fingers press gently against the underside of your chin, urging you to meet his gaze instead of fixating on the mess in his tights.
"Believe me, it's fine. This is about you right now, you divine girl," he intones, rubbing a gentle circle into the apple of your cheek. "Besides," he goes on briefly, an apparent chuckle behind his words. "I've dealt with worse stains, as you well know." You groan, and he feigns hurt when you deliver a swift smack to his shoulder.
Eventually, you and Zagreus are cuddled up against the pillar; you curled between his legs as he rests against the stone. Your prince palms the back of your head as he keeps you wrapped in his embrace, always seeming to need you that much closer. You soak in his warmth— though not to excess, as you're incredibly wary of brushing your skin against the flames at his feet— and enjoy the closeness until you realize that your lover should have moved on from your chamber quite awhile ago.
"... Zagreus?" You shift your head, giving him a firm poke on the clavicle.
"Hmmm?"
"Shouldn't you be, um... battling in the arena by now?"
"Oh. Right."
By the time you’ve unwound yourselves from one another and corrected your attire, and by the time Zagreus has retrieved his sword, a steady ache has formed behind the walls of your eternal ribcage. You're preoccupied enough that you don't notice the quick adjustments that the man makes of his leggings or the quiet curse he lobs at the now suspiciously-stained article of clothing. You’re trying to collect yourself enough to ask him if your… engagement was a one-time thing, when you feel the prince’s sturdy hand cup and cradle the side of your head. Again, you lean into him without thinking, allowing him to lift your gaze to his. His expression is startlingly sincere.
“I’ll be seeing you again soon, yeah?” He offers you a smile, seemingly a bit too sure of the statement. You exaggerate a sigh, trying quite hard not to show your delight at his words.
“What did I say about you maiming yourself on purpose, Prince Zagreus?” You can’t help the grin that splits your features as you place your hand over top of his.
Zagreus drops his hand from your face, briefly twinning your fingers and placing a kiss over the back of your knuckles before hoisting his sword up onto his shoulder. “You never said not to,” he smirks, every bit the godling you’d developed such an affection for, as he turns and advances towards the next chamber.
For once, he's not so intent on reaching the surface.