She eyes him for a long moment before standing, taking his hand and allowing him to guide her into his lap. Her legs hang limp between his own, toes barely touching the ground as he winds an arm around her waist. That’s often how it feels when she’s with him, as if she barely touches the ground. Her body’s reaction to his touch is instantaneous, muscles unraveling and pupils dilating. She feels everything, and even if she didn’t, the fact would remain. There will never be a time when she can be this close to him and remain unscathed. She knows this, and the reality is that - she doesn’t want to.
His dark skin glows in the moonlight, not unlike hers, and she basks in the sheer artistry of it. She doesn’t know why he would call her closer now when they are attempting to have a serious conversation. It’s damn near impossible to think with him so close, infiltrating every single one of her senses and seeping into her bloodstream. Of all the things her mother and aunt had warned her of in this world, they had never warned her of this. Even Aphrodite had flitted over and around such intense emotion and fervent feeling. They never warned her to be wary of just how ready she would be to burn for someone. Then again, she doubts anyone but Hades could possibly have an effect such as this. Perhaps that is the real reason he is only meant to be admired from a distance.
It’s too late for all of that.
Still, her eyes are unwavering as they meet his, and the two of them seem to stay that way, in soft silence, for ages. Even the wind has stopped blowing, as though it too holds its breath, awaiting some grand defining moment. At last, he looks away, his eyes falling upon the tray on the table, the pomegranates piled on the plate beside their wine glasses. Glancing between him and the table, she catches the slick movement of his tongue over his lips as he slowly reaches over into one of the pomegranate halves, scooping out some of the seeds onto his long fingers. They glitter like rubies in the night, rich juices dripping down his digits but never falling from his skin. The droplets cling to him as though they know nothing else, and never will. She can relate.
“Do you want this?”
She inhales, and her body tightens once more, an invisible cord winding around her chest. He isn’t speaking about the seeds when he asks this question, and she knows it as well as he does. That doesn’t keep her mouth from watering. She shivers against him, her voice now low and thick with anticipation.
Her answer is simple, but it encases entire worlds, heavy as it lands in her lap. Every fiber of her being screams the affirmative again and again, leaving no room for denial, for doubt. He looks up at her, and his eyes have darkened considerably. She imagines her own have as well. With his fingers suspended in the air between them, he asks again, a subtle urgency underscoring the words.
“Do you want this?”
“Yes.” She doesn't hesitate this time. “Yes, I want this.” She is little more than scorched earth in the wake of her own desire. “I want you.”
His hand moves in slow motion. He twists his fingers as they approach her lips, which part for him as though it is the most natural reaction they can possibly have, as though they have been waiting. He slides the seeds into her mouth, across her tongue. Her eyes flutter shut, and she envelopes him, teeth scraping the offering from his skin. A single drop finally breaks free of his draw in a way she never can, in a way she never wishes to. It trickles down her chest through the valley of her breasts. It has yet to cool by the time it reaches her belly button. It doesn’t surprise her. Everything he touches is destined to burn, and burn forever. It is not at all a complaint or criticism. Even here in the dark din of the Underworld, he is the sun.
Though she is far too captivated by the taste on her tongue to think about that. Dionysos’s wine is divine, but its flavor cannot even begin to hold a candle to the fresh fruit on Hades’ fingers. Light and sweet, and yet it falls heavily into the pit of her stomach, like a promise. It tastes of all of the things her mother warned her about. It tastes like all the lines she should never cross. It tastes like damnation…
No. It tastes like divinity.
She sucks his fingers clean, and she keeps sucking, the hand at her waist clamping down upon her. His nails bite at the skin beneath her dress, her hips shifting against his thigh. She braces a hand against his stomach as he slowly pulls out of her mouth. Then he brings those same fingers to his own lips, taking them in and leaving her breathless. Her own fingers curl into his vest, the rigid fabric of the garment keeping her from him, but when she tries to move, the hand around her waist tightens. It takes everything in her to combat the whine climbing up her throat. She still winds up burying her face in his neck. She misses the moment when he extracts his fingers from his mouth and slips them beneath her dress.
She gasps as those devious digits land on her inner thigh, tracing a path towards her heat. It takes her a breadth of a second to realize just how wet she is for him already, teeth sinking into the juncture of his neck as she fists the collar of his vest. She has no clue which is more unnerving, the agility of his fingers or his impenetrable composure, but the stark mixture of both is enough to have her whimpering against his skin. His fingers brush her clit through her panties, which are soaked through without question. Her body writhes, helpless, against his immovable form, and she has to force her hips to remain in place, to keep from bucking against his idle exploration. Neither of them say a word, and not a word is needed, but if she could beg, she would. At the moment, her tongue has forgotten its purpose beyond collecting the salt upon his skin.
He shows mercy at last —at least, his brand of mercy— curling his fingers around the center of her panties, his knuckles brushing over her bare folds in a most tantalizing way. She gives into the need to roll her hips, but the moment she does, he has a bruising grip on one, holding her firmly in place. She beats a fist against his broad chest and feels the rumble of his laughter. She bites down harder on his neck. He never stops stroking her lips.
“Hades…” she growls, tugging hard on his tie before she wraps it around her fist.
“Yes, Darling?” he asks as though they’re out to fucking breakfast. “Did you need something?”
“For you to stop fucking teasing me.”
“Ah, I see. And where are your manners? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Darling, I’m not sure what it is you’re asking of me. I-”
She tears her face from his neck, pulling back enough to press her forehead to his, grip tightening on his tie. Her eyes bore into those dark pools with the embers burning at the bottom, but she does not waver.
“I want you to fuck me - with those fingers you have in my panties.”
There is no warning before he plunges both of those fingers into her, curling them against her walls so hard that she bucks against him with a loud cry. Long and thick, he works them inside of her at a slow pace as she struggles to catch her breath. She claws at his chest, the hand that had been tucked between them now seeking perch in the back of his vest. He does not break eye contact, and it feels like a challenge — a challenge she just might lose, by way of forfeit, because he is as good with those fingers as he is with that tongue... and that belt, and that cock, and every other damn charm he’s used on her. She’ll move into this Fates-forsaken penthouse tonight if it means he keeps doing things like this to her.
She wants to scream, to reprimand him for all of his teasing, but her voice fails her. He drags her dress further up her thighs until he’s able to see where his fingers disappear and reappear, slick with her arousal. Then his thumb finds her clit, and all hope is lost. She cries out into the cool night air, squeezing her thighs around his hand. None of this perturbs him in the slightest, his concentration unscathed, and he merely pushes deeper into her as he strokes her throbbing bundle of nerves. She grits her teeth, but soon enough, she is actively riding his fingers, seizing her pleasure by his hand and taking what she needs.
She comes in a sudden burst of starlight and a withering cry before she claims his mouth, conquers it with teeth and tongue alike. He reciprocates with a tangible hunger. It’s the proof she seeks, that what he’s done to her has affected him as much as it has affected her. She moves to straddle him properly, and he pulls his fingers from her cunt, eliciting a groan. In the space she creates for the sake of breath, he brings those fingers between them. Though this time, it is his mouth that takes them first, sucking them clean as his eyes lock on hers. She could come again at the sight of him if she weren’t still riding out the first orgasm of the evening. But there, in his eyes, she sees the truth. He is far from done with her tonight.