(A/N: I know that Selene is a goddess, but I did some research and had difficulty finding male ones that fit the part. Selene was a counterpart to Helios in the pre-Olympos days, and I just liked it better. So sue me. ^^)
They say I have expensive tastes, in a manner of speaking. I like beautiful men. Perfect men. Men who take your breath away at a glance. It's reasonable, of course. Who doesn't? It's not the attraction that brings forth people's near-sneering comments, their light-hearted teasing that's transparently laden with jealousy. I know it isn't. It's that, to be blunt, and for reasons I don't completely grasp myself, I seem to always get them. I shouldn't, logically speaking. I'm not there, nowhere near that league. I know it, and they all know it—it's not self-depreciating, believe it or not. Not if you knew them. These men…they're just better than me. They're better than everyone. On occasion it strikes me that it ought to be humiliating, those responses from the others. I ought to be offended that they're always so stunned. I'm just…not, though. I'm not because I understand them better than the others do. These men I speak of…there's two of them. To be fair, only one of them belongs to me. I barely deserve to call the other friend, these days. But still…they are two people that I would give the world for—that light a fire in my soul. And they light that same fire in the souls of all the others, because that's just the sort of people they are. To nearly everyone else, that's ALL they are. Flawless, glowing creatures. People who are cleverer, wittier, more beautiful than you could ever hope to be. But when it comes down to it, they're such different men. They aren't perfect, they aren't flawless. And I love them for that, more than anything.
It's a bit unreal, sometimes I admit. Like loving a god, or more—like loving the sun. That's…perfect, actually. My husband is the sun. He's gold spun into man—bronzed skin on sculpted features and flaxen, messy hair. He's a brilliant, luminous smile and eyes that glow with the light he douses the world in. He's blinding and huge in his beauty, all-consuming and flashy and dazzling. Everything he does and is seems to suffuse his surroundings with a light that doesn't go out until he leaves the room. Even in his serious moments, he blazes. He's unavoidable, impossible to ignore. He's essential, and ensures that he stays that way. And he shines so hard, and beams so brightly that you almost have to look away—you can't look too close. He hides his faults behind that—behind the incessant shine of glory and warmth. He can't deal with them, so he ignores them, and everyone else does too. It's that insecurity that I hated at first, that need to be perfect and have life perfect, but now it's what I love more than anything. Because I know. I know that when he glows and beams and shimmers with charm that he's scared—scared his light is going to flicker out and leave dark and cold. He doesn't understand that it can't work that way, he can't lose the sunshine because he's made of it. Those sunspots just make him so much more real, so much more wonderful.
It's the opposite with the other. If my husband is the sun, then he is the moon. A soft but incredibly intense radiance, a beauty just as astonishing but…but cold. Hard. He's like a Greek sculpture in that way—everything about him seems to have been created with painstaking care, crafting this exquisite creature with such fine detail that he rivals ice in delicate perfection. Despite his arrogance, his unavoidable command of any situation, he still seems so silent and still, at least when held next to the other. He's demanding, and unbreakable. Controlling. Unlike the other, he doesn't inspire so much as insist—and when things go right, it isn't joy but pride that is induced. And yet, these just seem to enhance his appeal. The more of those flaws that are evident—a temper, the tendency to fall to temptation, womanizing, drinking, fighting—the more he becomes attractive. His flaws and his utter acceptance of them make him flawless. He doesn't hide behind anything because he doesn't have to. The moon doesn't give a damn about the viewers—it waxes and wanes, disappears and reappears. It doesn't do it to be loved, but all it takes is one black night without it before you're aching for it to return. He's just like that. Respect is so much more essential—and it's that lack of need that makes everyone else adore him so much. He's so brusque and imperfect that it's magnetizing. Breathtaking.
I think that's why they clash so often and so hard. The sun and the moon can't coexist. The moon ends up hidden behind these overpowering rays, and it's uneven. Really, no matter what people pin it too, I can't help but think it's always about them, and this rivalry they can't seem to help. All the causes people pick up on, they're more like symptoms. The personas are too different, too natural and individually overpowering to exist at the same time, so what you get are fireworks. That's beautiful, too though. Everything about them is. Even those parts that shouldn't be.