Disguises No One Knows

The Very Distant Past

Ganymede

"Come on," Eros coaxes, tapping a gilded knucklebone against his knee. "This is how you play the game. You did say you wanted to play, right – that Zeus wants you to make friends and learn the ropes?"

Ganymede frowns at his lap. He sits cross-legged in the grass on the opposite side of a dusty patch of dirt from Eros. If it were his choice, he'd rather make friends with anybody other than the love god. According to Zeus, Eros and Ganymede are in the same boat: outsiders brought into the Olympian fold by one of the twelve and Aphrodite and now, Zeus have been anxiously trying to help them fit in.

"Yes," Ganymede says under his breath, glancing up from under his lowered eyebrows. He hates how small being around Eros makes him feel. Standing, Eros barely rises to Ganymede's chest. His black hair with its unshorn ringlets, his limbs juvenile and undeveloped, and his large white wings only serve to make him look even younger than his height. Ganymede, with eighteen mortal years behind him and a handful of love affairs before his abduction, finds it hard to believe that this barely pubescent youth knows the first thing about love, let alone holding dominion over it.

Eros folds his arms over his chest, drumming his fingers impatiently, and though Ganymede refuses to meet his eyes, he can feel their gaze, red as blood, burning like poison upon his scalp.

"Look, if you want to be my friend, you have to play the game. It's not hard to throw a few bones, is it?"

Ganymede sighs. At least when the game is over he'll have an excuse to leave. He tosses his last three knucklebones onto the dusty patch. His stomach lurches as he calculates his score. It feels like he's trying to digest a solid knot of disappointment.

Eros crows, fluttering three feet in the air before swooping back and snatching the bones for himself. "I win!"

Ganymede glares at him. "Yeah? Great. Congratulations. You may have won all my knucklebones, but you sure didn't win my friendship. I'm out of here." He climbs to his feet and dusts off his legs. The idea he's going to have to return to Zeus and admit he failed at making friends gives him pause. He stands with his back to Eros, considering his options: give it another shot, or retreat.

"It isn't all that big a deal you realize?" Eros whispers, directly at Ganymede's back. His wings wafting his nectar-sweet breath across Ganymede's cheek, gentle as a caress. But his voice burns like acid. "Zeus choosing you, I mean. He may be the king of the gods and all, but he's clueless to the matters of the heart. You're little more than a trinket to him, a toy – a passing fancy. You've been brought to Olympus and gifted with immortality in order to preserve your youth and his desire for you, and nothing more. He hasn't given you dominion over squat. You may as well be a walking, talking doll for all the worth you have amongst the Olympians."

Tensing, Ganymede clenches his fists at his sides, all his built up frustrations and fears about his own worth rising up inside his chest like a geyser of righteous indignation. He whirls around, meeting Eros face to face. "What doyou know? Maybe you're the one who is only a trinket. Maybe you are only a symbol of the 'love' you claim power over. I don't see you enjoying the fruits of it. Maybe it doesn't matter to me what worth I have in the eyes of the other Olympians because I have enough love within myself all on my own. Enough even to share with others andthat is why Zeus treasures me. Yes, it may not last forever, but life on Olympus lasts a hell of a lot longer than it does in the mortal world and I intend to make the most of it. I love Zeus and that is enough to prove my worth to myself. Keep your fancy knucklebones and your creepy insinuations and enjoy the love they inspire. I will not be your friend."

Eros

Ganymede stalks away, brushing hard against Eros's right wing and displacing several feathers as he rushes past. Eros clenches his teeth, his face hot, his heart seething. How dare this upstart 'prince' turn his words around! He grasps his bow and reaches for an arrow. From behind, a warm hand touching his wrist stops him. The gentle contact sends a flood of comforting warmth running down his arm and to his heart. Mother.

"I think that will do," Aphrodite says, her voice soft and low. "Save your anger for the bigger targets. They'll be heading this way before long."

His eyes burn, brimming with tears. He drops his bow, turning and burying his face in her embrace. He likes having a mother, someone who loves him without reason and readily offers her company and comfort. He hadn't understood the concept of motherly love before she arose from the sea and adopted him on sight. Still, even as he relaxes against her bosom, allowing her to smooth his displaced feathers, he considers the plan.

"I don't understand," he sniffles. "Why must I break up a love like theirs? It came about organically without any outside influence, like I did." He drops his voice to a low whisper. "You're asking me to break myself in doing this, Mother."

Another voice answers, deeper than Aphrodite's but no less feminine. "If their love is true as you say it is, it will not break and neither will you. Not by this action. Not permanently."

Aphrodite relaxes her arms, allowing him to draw back enough to meet the speaker. He turns, drawing his wings so he can sense Aphrodite's presence at his back. A girl about the same height and proportions as his form gazes at him with the focused sharpness of a hunter. He recognizes her pale blue eyes, and though they haven't ever exchanged words, he knows her at once.

"Artemis," he says. His voice sounds somehow louder than usual and restrained at the same time. Artemis raises an eyebrow before his eyes are drawn to the refracting light behind her. Another goddess appears out of thin air. She stands beside Artemis, though he can't quite make out her face. It keeps changing as the light around them shimmers and chases, twinkling like dewdrops on a spider's web before winking out and beginning again.

The new goddess's voice sounds gruff to him, grating in his ears like pebbles being crunched underfoot. "If you do not suspend this bond, far worse will befall the world at large. The Fates do not take efforts to cheat them lightly and Zeus has already fallen to their curse. It is a matter of time before he brings his own destruction raining down upon us all unless a champion rises who is capable of bearing his mantle."

Eros opens his mouth to speak before the light distracts him again. It pulses like a current, tracing a dome in the air around them. When he focuses again on the goddesses, another has shimmered into being, one he remembers from the days before the Olympian gods: Hecate. She slips an arm around the faceless goddess's waist, her solid black eyes fixating on him.

"Nemesis speaks the truth, Eros. She involves herself with Olympian politics only when the imbalance of power posits a genuine threat. Truly, as you yourself rose from the void of Chaos, you understand why the evolution of conscious beings, mortal and immortal alike is worth saving. Do you yourself want to return to the disordered darkness?" He shakes his head, his heart racing with a terror he cannot explain. "Apollo will never rise to his full potential until he has been tried. He must be battered to the point of losing everything before making the choice of rising up and claiming his birthright or succumbing to loss. But, even then, we will have bought ourselves time. It is possible, if Apollo cannot manage it, another savior will have risen in his stead."

He hates hearing such arguments but he cannot deny the wisdom in them. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth, bolstered by Aphrodite's support at his back. They're waiting for him to answer, to swear he will carry out what they ask of him. He takes a deep breath, weighing his options against the judgement he feels in the numerous eyes the goddesses have fixed on him.

A silver flash.

His heart drums against his ribs as a myriad of color floods the dome all around them. Iris stands before him, his favorite goddess after Aphrodite. Her presence always seems to calm him. Her warm brown eyes, her no-nonsense attitude mixing with the playful wafting of her butterfly wings seeming to buffer the heaviness of his decision and to help keep his heart aloft.

"It is vital that you hit your marks, Eros. I understand how hard it is. My sweet-natured Zephyr," she sighs, her chin trembling. "It pains me to no end at seeing him hurt, a blight put upon his character. But as Hecate has foreseen, and I too … the destruction that will come if we do not act …" She clasps Eros's hands in her own, squeezing them as if both offering and asking for support. "The action we ask of you is the only path we have found to effectively buy us time without breaking the laws set by the Fates."

His chin trembling, Eros nods. He squeezes Iris's hands back, agreeing without words. A love god intending to destroy love may mar his reputation for eternity, but out of love for all conscious minds – the variety of intelligence among so many beings; the emotional range of passion they inspire in one another and pass on through generations – he will accept the title of villain if it will spare a return to Chaos.

Zephyros

Zephyros stirs, his lips curving into into a smile at the gentle strokes of Apollo's hand upon his back, right between his wing joints. He keeps his wings tucked and lifted out of the way as Apollo leans in, trailing kisses along the line of his neck and shoulder. Zephyros turns his head, meeting the kiss with one of his own. Their lips brush together simply, chastely, and the domesticity of this morning routine, to Zephyros, feels somehow more intimate than even the most passionate coupling. He smiles, breaking the kiss and vanishing his wings before rolling onto his back. Apollo follows his lead, moving as if in choreographed tandem into the new position without losing contact. He settles his hips between Zephyros's thighs, propping his torso up with his arms and gazing at Zephyros with dancing eyes.

Meeting the gaze, absorbed in the endless blue - like a summer sky - Zephyros thrums with contentedness. He grins stupidly, too happy to consider how goofy he must look at such an angle. "Where are you off to this morning?"

Apollo arches one fine blond eyebrow, smirking like a cocky brat – a look Zephyros cannot get enough of – relenting as Zephyros's thumbs stroke the sides of his waist. He exhales as if suppressing a shiver. "Artemis wants me to meet her – not sure why – somewhere in the forest of Thessaly. Then Zeus wants me to check in with Hermes, make sure he's not overwhelmed. Same old, same old." He pauses, teasing one of Zephyros's nipples with a fingertip. His smirk picks up again, but instead of mischief, it seems to be charged with desire. The sight sends starbursts of want rippling under Zephyros's skin, the sound of Apollo's voice amplifying them. "Give me a half-hour start, then come find me. I enjoy the caress of a gentle breeze while I'm working."

Zephyros melts at the twinkle in Apollo's eyes, his heart feeling larger, warmer than it ever has before. Love. This must be what love actually feels like. He nods, kissing back when Apollo leans in for just one more before sprinting out the door. Zephyros chuckles to himself at Apollo's solution to his frequent issue of getting carried away. Kiss and run: the best method of avoiding chronic lateness to his duties as well as the awkward questions that always follow.

Eros

Perched upon one of the gilded benches adorning each pillar at the Olympian gates, Eros lifts his bow, clasping it sideways in his fist, holding it aloft at eye-level. He frowns. Though he had expected the task of lighting a fire under Ganymede would prickle a bit, the taunt Ganymede had thrown back at him – that he was himself a token god, a god of love who does not personally know love – hit him deeper than he'd been prepared for. Following that slight with the decision a platoon of goddesses had convinced him to make leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Best to get the unpleasant task over with as soon as possible. Get it done, get away, and nurse his wounded feelings all on his own; he finalizes his plans.

The sound of playful laughter rises behind him, deep, musical. He rolls his eyes. Exactly as expected, Apollo swoops into Eros's line of sight a second later. Unamused, Eros glares at him. It's not hard to hate how cluelessly in love Apollo is, a fact Eros does not appreciate right now. Doubtless, Aphrodite had known what effect Ganymede would have on him and so planned her instructions accordingly. If she wasn't the only divine being to love him instantly and unconditionally, he'd hate her for manipulating him.

Apollo, tilts his head to the side, then gives Eros a crooked smile, an eyebrow raised. "You know, kiddo, in your chosen form that bow is far too large for you." He stands up straight, cocky as the day he was born - Eros recalls the day well - raising his arms at his sides and flexing his biceps. "See?" Apollo continues. "A bow like that requires a physique more like mine." He twists his body, showing off as he explains, entirely missing the unimpressed stare Eros gives in response. "Broad shoulders. Powerful deltoids. Ripped pectorals. With this body, I've slain countless beasts using a bow like that, even the mighty Python! But for your purposes …" He snatches a small golden arrow from the quiver on Eros's back, squinting at it, exaggerating the diminutive size. "… your love arrows, you want a smaller, more dainty bow to suit your stature."

Even as he tries to hold it back, Eros can feel his face getting puffy, his eyes threatening to fill with tears. It's all he can do to grit his teeth and focus his anger. That's the ticket. Use his emotional reactions to fuel his determination to hit his mark. Push back the understanding innate to himself, that those in a haze of love do not see the world outside their newfound perspective.

His lips twitch as he forces smile and snatches the arrow out of Apollo's hand. "Yeah? You think if I looked more like you, I'd be more effective at my job?"

Apollo relaxes his smile, apparently under the impression his thoughts on the matter are welcome. He takes a seat on the bench next to Eros, their arms brushing, his bright blue eyes shining with the love sparkle normally thrilled Eros. "Definitely. And you know I only speak the truth." Moving back an inch, Apollo leans in closer, bumping Eros in the side with his elbow. "If you were to age up your form – not dramatically – but a little closer to mine, you wouldn't long be known as the love god who doesn't have a lover."

What the Styx is that supposed to mean?

Schooling his features into a mask of interest, seething beneath it, Eros lifts an eyebrow. "Is that what I am known as? Among the other gods or among the mortals?"

Apollo furrows his brow, his eyebrows drawing close and lifting at the middle. He really does think he's being understanding right now. That this is comforting. The goddesses, Artemis herself included, are right in judging him in need of maturing.

"Well, both, I suppose," Apollo says, shrugging. "I know that it isn't true, not entirely. Love comes in a variety of forms and it would be absurd to think that a single love god would embody all of them at once. When you're ready, or even when you least expect it, you'll find a lover that will change the way you look at the world. It may be incorrect to put it that way, as I believe you inspire this very love from simply existing. Still, you may find yourself at the mercy of the very thing you inspire because of, or in spite of, any efforts you put forward. It's brilliant really, how unpredictably love manifests." Apollo gazes out over the world beneath the shadow of Mount Olympus. He appears to be lost in a daydream, and Eros nearly loses himself along with him with the instinct to follow a lover's dream.

Searching for an anchor, Eros seizes on the perfect plan. "Apollo?" he asks, keeping his voice timid, deliberately sounding uncertain.

Apollo grins and ruffles his hair. "What's up, kiddo?"

"If I looked more like you, what sort of lover would I attract? I want to make sure they're my type, you know? Or at least something to inspire me to look forward to the future."

"That's easy," Apollo says, sizing Eros up and giving him a wink. He stands up and spends a moment focusing on a patch of forest far below. He points. "That one. Headstrong, smart, funny, loves music and nature, she has an intuitive ability to read people."

Eros puts his golden arrow to his bowstring and draws back with his arm, taking aim.

"What's her name?" he asks before Apollo turns around again, instead focusing further on the supposed perfect mate for a love god, searching out the name of his own doom.

"Daphne," Apollo declares, triumphant at finding the answer.

Eros lets his arrow fly, straight at Apollo's back and piercing his heart. Prepared by Hecate herself, this batch of arrows bears the taint of the Lethe.

Without a word, Apollo leaps off the mountain, the love in his heart reset, his new focus entirely upon claiming the chosen nymph.

At the last second before Apollo touches the ground, a thought prickles at the back of Eros's mind. If Apollo does speak only the truth, what are the chances that the unfortunate nymph would, in fact, be the perfect match for me? If I've damned my own chances, then hers are damned as well. He draws his bow, his aim upon Daphne, and looses an arrow of lead, countering love and damning them all.

Eros rubs at his eyes, back on his perch, refusing to succumb to the instinct to retreat to Aphrodite's comforting embrace. The wind picks up, warm and gentle, lifting his black curls and tickling his cheeks.

"Zephyr? Is that you?" he calls out, trying for all he's worth to sound surprised at finding the West Wind on Olympus.

The wind dies down momentarily, as if pausing to consider whether or not to reveal himself, and then picks back up as Zephyros appears before Eros. His skin is darker than Apollo's, and tanned darker still, but the rosy blush of a lover caught sneaking away stains his cheeks and ruins whatever alibi he and Apollo had worked out. He approaches, hands upraised.

"You caught me," he admits, rubbing at the back of his neck, the musical lilt in his voice a mixture of resignation and hope. "If it had been anybody other than you, I would have blown past."

Eros studies Zephyr's uneasy smile, the perfect example of the guilt-laden innocence of an unsanctioned love. It's Eros's favorite sort of love, the type that arises all on it's own, in spite of danger or laws to prevent it from forming. To see it now breaks his heart. It's too late to save Zephyr from his loss. Even after Eros carries out his task, Zephyr will suffer; he just won't understand why.

"It's alright," Eros says, holding out his hand and giving Zephyr's hand a squeeze when he offers it up. "As the god of love, it's impossible to pass by me unnoticed. Actually, another handsome god in a similar state passed by not too long ago. Blond, blue eyes, pretty powerful and hot as the sun? You know him?"

Zephyr's cheeks redden, even as he rolls his eyes and shrugs. He looks straight into Eros's eyes and lies. "I don't have a clue who you're talking about."

"No? Well, he gave me a message for you. But if you don't want it, then…"

Zephyr nearly jumps out of his skin. "No! No, I mean, yes. Alright. Just tell me quietly, please?"

Eros jumps to his feet and slings his bow across his chest, his wings twice as large as Zephyros's. "Fly with me, Zephyr. You've got Underworld access, right? He's running an errand in Elysium. We can talk shop on the way."

Upon arriving at the Isles of the Blest, Eros touches down in the most beautiful garden, watching unsurprised as Zephyr cannot resist breezing through the lush greenery, rustling every leaf as if enthralled to make them sing and dance along with him. The instant Chloris, the nymph of the garden, comes into view, Zephyr takes form, rolling in the grass and laughing as it tickles his sides. As Zephyr and Chloris lock eyes, each wondering who the other is, in that split-second, another golden arrow hits its mark. Eros retreats without a backward glance, flying as fast as his wings will carry him to the safe, secluding walls of his room in Aphrodite's palace.

Ganymede

Ganymede hums to himself, tapping his foot to keep rhythm as he chips away at a wooden panel against the far wall of his room. Every so often, he uses a brush to clear the the dust from a nearly complete rendition of an eagle's head nuzzling a youth's tight stomach. His lips turn up at the corners as he leans forward and blows the stubborn bit of sawdust caught in the finer details the brush missed. He sits back on his stool, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm and scanning the image from top to bottom and side to side for any rough patches he may have missed.

The door behind him opens with a mere whisper of a creaky hinge. With a grin, he gets to his feet. He pulls a purple wall hanging down, covering the hundreds of miniature carved images from view before slipping the upper portion of his Chiton off his shoulders and wearing it bare-chested, like a skirt. Zeus doesn't disapprove of Ganymede's hobby, but he also doesn't enjoy picking sawdust out of his beard.

Ganymede concentrates on keeping his excitement at the extra visit from showing on his face. Zeus prides himself on maintaining balance, though Ganymede does tend to convince him to show a small bit of favoritism so long as it can be managed unnoticed.

"Zeus!" he exclaims, pausing mid-step at the sight of the king of the Olympians, hunched over, his hands on his knees, and wheezing as if he were an aged mortal catching his breath. "Goodness," Ganymede says, rushing forward and slipping an arm around his lord's back. "What happened? No. Don't answer yet. Let's get you to the bed. You should lie down."

Zeus, more white and grey than salt and pepper, the age lines in his face, deeper and more numerous than they've ever appeared, leans his back against Ganymede's smooth chest, plump with youth and muscle. He places his hand, bony and curved like a talon into Ganymede's grip and chuckles softly, more wheeze than rumble. "I look like death warmed over and still your first thought is to get me into your bed. We may need to open up seeing you have your needs met by an additional source."

Ganymede remains quiet, carefully considering how to phrase his response. He taps Zeus's side, finally coaxing him to walk the short distance to the bed and then guides Zeus to lie down. He climbs onto the mattress from the other side, adjusting a king-sized pile of pillows behind Zeus's back before answering. "Zeus. We have discussed this before. I do not want my needs met for the sake of 'having my needs met', especially by somebody other than you. You, my lord, are beyond satisfying to me." As Zeus raises a bushy white eyebrow, further wrinkling his face as if calling out half-truth, it only serves to make Ganymede more passionate about driving his point home. "Yes. Even in your current state. I love you for you. You are the king of the heavens. Don't even try me on this. I love all of you, beyond bodies."

Sensing Zeus's habit of deflecting from what is truly bothersome by focusing on issues that strike in the opposite direction, Ganymede closes his lips over Zeus's mouth and stifles his stupid words. With a tease of tongue, Ganymede silently cheers as Zeus gives in and answers his demanding kiss with a gentle one of his own. Brushing lips and tongues, Ganymede stretches out along Zeus's side, molding their bodies together, melting in the pleasure of Zeus's mouth.

As the wheezing in Zeus's chest subsides, Ganymede pulls back to look his lover in the eyes. They're grey again, not rheumy, and the number of wrinkled lines in his face has been reduced. He smiles. "That's more like it. You feel a bit stronger now?"

Zeus scoops Ganymede's body all the way on top of himself with one arm and holds him in place, stomach to stomach, hips to hips, Zeus's hands firmly planted on Ganymede's butt cheeks. He nods, his hair looking slightly less unkempt, more grey than white. Good signs. "I am. You refresh me, beautiful boy."

Ganymede smiles and then catches another diversion attempt. Zeus's smile does not reach his eyes. Whatever is troubling him seems to be the cause of this excessive aging. "Lord Zeus. I am yours for eternity. Yours alone and what you say to me in the privacy of our bed will not leave this bed. Please trust me. Tell me what happened."

Zeus lifts a hand and cups the back of Ganymede's head before running his fingers through Ganymede's thick brown hair. He closes his eyes briefly, as if petting Ganymede relieves his stress. He opens his eyes again, focusing on Ganymede's lips instead of meeting his eyes. His voice rumbles low and deep, vibrating so Ganymede can feel it inside his own chest. "I don't know how much you will be able to understand, godling. How much can a beautiful, pure heart like yours take when faced with the pressure of holding the balance of existence in place?"

Ganymede pushes himself up with his arms, his knees straddling Zeus's hips. "Try me, Zeus. Show me you believe I am capable of being your consort, of keeping your confidence."

Zeus trails his hand from the dip between Ganymede's clavicles down his chest and stomach. "You do try me in insisting you are ready for this burden. It hasn't even been a full century since you came to live with me here." Ganymede doesn't interrupt, instead holding out a cupped hand which Zeus fills with oil and taking his time in listening, to rub the oil into Zeus's bare chest.

"Something worrisome has occurred," Zeus begins, sighing as Ganymede runs his hands in gentle strokes over the godly age-loosened skin. "It has to do with my son, Apollo. My favorite, you understand? In confidence?"

Ganymede nods, not risking a peep. Zeus does best at sharing his burdens when he feels it is on his own steam and not because of another person's demands. He'd learned that lesson ages ago.

"I am responsible for keeping the Earth and sky in perfect balance over the netherworlds, should either topple, the other would fall into ruin and all mortal life, potentially immortal life as well could be wiped out in an instant. Therefore, there are certain standards, rules of divine power and such in place to prevent displacing the current balance." He pauses, checking that Ganymede is following along. "A demigod son of Apollo flouted one of these standards, in fact working divine power into mortal means and overriding the nature dividing our realms. He raised somebody who was dead to life, withdrawing even the soul from Hades's realm not by trespassing, but by simply reigniting life into the body. If a mortal, even a half-mortal shared this knowledge, if it became widespread like the sin of Prometheus, it could unseat all of the gods. It must not happen and even though this demigod is my own grandson, when Hades alerted me to the danger, I struck him down." Ganymede's hands begin to tremble and Zeus takes them clasped between his own larger palms. "I will understand if you cannot hear the rest."

Ganymede looks up, his forehead creased. "What? No. I am following along. I've just been working my hands all day with my tools. Your touch has reinvigorated them. Please continue. What happened afterwards? Did Apollo react poorly?"

Zeus releases his grip, filling Ganymede's cupped palm with oil once more before tugging at his beard, oiling the dry strands and combing them straight with his fingers. Ganymede hides a smirk, his eyes focused on his task. Inside, he strikes up another victory dance. Zeus is finally confiding in him.

"Another rule of the divine use of power among gods is that none of us may attack the others outright using our own power. This is a vital law for safety reasons, but also carries the added burden of, in times of self-protection, requiring us to make use of other beings with power either through allegiance or by force. It also encourages the spread of our own divinity among mortals in order to create our own sources of power we can tap. It's diluted enough that it won't count as direct assault, but also a method of remaining present in the thoughts, minds, and lives of humankind."

Ganymede chances a glance at Zeus, his eyes barely concealing his amusement at what he suspects is Zeus's most compelling excuse for having such a consequence and not offering a real complaint against it. Zeus catches his drift at once.

"Well, yes. You know me more intimately than any living being. I do enjoy mixing it up a bit with the earthly women. I don't need to excuse myself for it. I'm the king of the gods." Still, he pouts his lower lip and frowns, his eyes growing round and pleading. "But you understand, don't you? Having been a mortal man among them? So much variety, so much beauty, and so fleeting. Gone in a blink. If a true jewel among gems catches my eye, I must have her because if I wait, I will have missed it."

Ganymede winks, half-smiling, half-smirking. "I tended to not notice the fairer sex, my lord. I believe I may have made a convincing argument to you for the value of the joy of similarity?"

Zeus squeezes Ganymede's right butt cheek and subtly lifts his hips, making Ganymede skip a breath at the shot of arousal racing up his spine. Zeus's godly cock bumping so close to the seat of his pleasure tempts him nearly enough to fall for yet another attempt at diversion. He takes a deep breath and releases it before returning to anointing Zeus with oil.

"I'll take that as a yes. So, Apollo? How did he react to having his son struck down by his father?"

Zeus's stops a moment, his lips paused halfway in the movement of forming words, pursed like a Satyr stopping mid chew. His features change as he fixates on a new idea that has only just occurred to him. The age lines fade before Ganymede's eyes until they are nearly gone, but for a few creases in his forehead and around his eyes. "You know, Ganymede. I believe this demigod," – he snaps his fingers recalling the name – "Asclepius. I believe he was Apollo's favorite son. In confidence, again. I do not want whispers of favoritism going beyond this bed."

Ganymede smiles, showing his teeth in his amusement. "Understood, my lord."

Zeus returns the smile, nearly melting Ganymede's heart with gladness at the sight. "I hadn't put together that Apollo would consider the justice against his favorite son as coming from his own father and taking it as a personal affront. He does understand that he is my favorite, though it was entirely accidental. When one takes up the mantle of prophecy and truth, one tends to be able to read signs that are typically hidden." Zeus drums his fingers against Ganymede's skin as if thinking allowed. "He was not so troublesome a hundred years back. Remember? Shortly after you came to live with me? He was the epitome of divine perfection. And then one day, like a switch was flipped in his personality, he began chasing after nymphs, coercing mortal women and men alike into overly desperate relationships. He doesn't have …" Zeus stops, his lips puckering as he searches for words to properly describe his thought, "… we'll say the capability at seducing the women as he does with young men. It may be his inability to speak untruth that messes it up, but nearly all of his conquests end up dead within a year of engaging with him. The exception are the first couple Pythia and of course, his gaggle of muses. But as the muses never really challenge him, he is never satisfied. Anyway. Moving beyond poor Apollo's horrible track record at finding love, he's very much actively striving to push me too far. I do not know what outcome he expects from it. What good would it be to push me to throw him into Tartarus?"

Ganymede hums softly under his breath, waiting until Zeus lifts his chin, his godly thumb brushing back and forth over Ganymede's lower lip. "Please feel free to speak. I would be honored to hear your thoughts, Ganymede."

Wetting his lips absently, Ganymede feels his face flush but doesn't let it keep him from answering. "You hit on something before, my lord, that I think you ought to return to. The concept of a father losing a favored son by his own father's hand. If you look at the incident from Apollo's point of view, by instead thinking what it would be like if Apollo was murdered, blown to bits that even Tartarus could not regenerate, and the responsible person was your own father, Chronos … How would you feel and what would you do if Chronos held the highest place of power and it was impossible to unseat him?"

Zeus's grey eyes seem to shatter with sparks of lightning flashing in their depths. He holds tight to Ganymede's gaze. "If it was Apollo himself, the god to whom I have entrusted the power of prophecy and truth, and even lighting the very sky, not counting his unique dominions over so many other vital aspects of creation and destruction and enjoyment of life ... and he was destroyed to the point of no return, and I was at the mercy of my tyrant father with no hope of overthrowing him. Well, that's not comparable, is it?"

Ganymede shrugs, raising his eyebrows. "Is it not?"

"Apollo retaliated against me by killing the cyclopes who forged my master bolt! Until they reform in Tartarus and rise up again, if anything were to happen to my instrument of power, we'd be looking at potentially a thousand years of disorder. He did that! Risked that! I cannot readily forgive him, though I would in an instant if he would stop challenging me. How do I punish him and make him understand why he must not do these things? How do I do it in such a way the other god will not question my judgement?"

Ganymede phrases his next sentence as simply and honestly as he can, taking care to avoid any sense of judgement from being present in his tone. Only concern for Zeus's own well-being motivates him to say what he feels Zeus must hear.

"Zeus, you are diverting the conversation again to avoid facing a truth you need to face." At the sight of Zeus's black eyebrows drawing together, his eyes sparking with danger, Ganymede explains himself further. "If you would actually seek to understand what it is Apollo is trying to accomplish in trying your patience and even testing your wrath out in the open where all the other gods will see, you must consider what your own response would be if you were in Apollo's place with the power structure stacked impossibly against you."

Zeus relaxes his furrowed brow a bit, though his eyebrows twitch with the tension of holding his anger at bay. "Before I overthrew my father, he favored me. Not as a son, by any means. He had no idea I was his son, but he enjoyed my company and employed me as his cup-bearer. I was always angry with him, pretending to be his loyal servant, plotting all the while how to remove him from power. If he had killed Apollo and I was still under his rule, he'd have snuffed out the light of the world and my pride and joy. I would probably have lost the will to fight to free the other gods. If it happened afterwards, during the war that followed, I would have lost the will to fight to take the titan power structure down. I would have pushed him until he killed me and probably in such a way that I would take as many titans down along with me."

Ganymede nods, his chin trembling because Zeus's chin was trembling. He swallows, though it doesn't make his throat feel less dry, does nothing to ease the next part he has to say. "I think … I think that that may be Apollo's very motivation, my lord. As you have acknowledged, Apollo is creative and equally destructive. I believe that Apollo, knowing what he means to you, is driving you to destroy him because that would – in essence mean that he will push you to destroy yourself." Ganymede pauses, gauging Zeus's reaction. He goes on, his voice more timid and careful, but his thoughts undiluted. "Zeus, love – if he does push you to the point you throw him into Tartarus …"

Zeus stops his words with a lifted finger, his eyes closed as if he is struggling to maintain his composure. "It won't come to that. I have him detained. Ares and Hephaestus have him trussed up, Athena supervising. Apollo is too powerful to simply scold. He's also not likely to change his mind if he perceives himself in the right. I don't know what to do. I know what you were going to say, what would my reaction be if I actually made such an unthinkable choice. Please do not make me say it out loud. I trust you, but I do not trust myself to not bring a self-fulfilling curse down upon the …" He stops again, waving the concept aside. It sends a shiver running up the length of Ganymede's spine, and from the corner of his eyes, he catches an impossible glimpse, recognizing it without knowing why: the shadow of Zeus's half-spoken thought.

In need of comfort himself, as well as in order to lull Zeus back into his powerful bearing of an almighty divinity, Ganymede lowers himself until they lie chest to chest. Zeus's skin restored to it's normal tight elasticity, his pectorals ripped and larger by half as Ganymede's. He tucks his face beneath Zeus's shoulder, sinking into Zeus's tight embrace, their heartbeats matching, a loving warmth flooding Ganymede's body as if pouring in from all directions.

"I know what I must do," Zeus says at last. His voice sounds finally at peace, having considered the problem and settled on the most beneficial solution. "I know how to reach him, how to make things right."

"What will you do?" Ganymede asks. He's not sure if he's more afraid of hearing Zeus give a misguided solution that will further alienate him from his son, or if he's more curious just how much the king of the Olympians can learn and grow from being able to talk through his fears.

Zeus strokes the back of Ganymede's head, gently smoothing his hair. "I will talk to Apollo privately. I will agree to raise Asclepius from the dead, despite Hades's protests. There's a loophole if he goes from dead to divinity. And then Asclepius will be Apollo's lieutenant, and he must understand the dead may not again be raised without my consent or knowledge. But for killing the elder cyclopes, the makers of the master bolt, Apollo must face a punishment. I know how Apollo thrives from being free to explore and to create, so as punishment, he will forfeit his immortality and sell himself into slavery for a term of at least a year, this after he finds one who will take him. And for the duration of life as a mortal, he must not fully reveal his true identity. I will not prevent him from doing so after his time is served and his immortality has been restored. Apollo, I think, will consider this a just and fair punishment and I believe the other gods will be satisfied by the severity. I cannot see the majority of them as willing to take on the same deal."

Ganymede smiles, tucking his face into Zeus's chest, stifling his happiness at having served his purpose well.

"What do you think? What?" Zeus pokes him, "What's funny?"

When Ganymede refuses to answer because only sappy love adorations are likely to come out, Zeus gets him where he's vulnerable and begins massaging his scalp. Zeus's fingertips, wake up erogenous zones Ganymede never suspected he had without any effort. If Zeus keeps it up, he's going to …

Present Day

Zephyros

"That's enough! Stop watching! Close your eyes!"

Zephyros blinks, his neck kinking. He makes out the blurred image of Ganymede flat on his back at Zephyros's side and holding a remote control extended toward the ceiling. His arm drops, hitting the mattress with a thud as if the effort of lifting it had drained his strength.

"What the? Where?" Zephyros rasps. "What the bluster is going on?"