Sundown

II

Mortals rarely, if ever, prayed to Hades. They feared Death more than anything and would do anything to avoid bringing it upon themselves early. They feared the unknown and the tales they had heard about him. They never whispered his name in hushed tones and avoided any such morbid thoughts about it.

The few prayers he did get were from the suicidal, drowning so deeply in pain and anguish that they asked him to take them away from suffering, asked that he would welcome their arrival.

He occasionally got the overly brash and bold young warrior, after his proud prayers to Ares, would add in promises to deliver souls to Hades that day as an afterthought, so drunk in his confidence and the heighted emotions of war that he didn't fear to think on him. Often he met that same soul, slain in battle, later that day. By then, they were no longer proud.

This was the not the fearful, hushed whispers of mortals. This prayer was reverent, pleading, searching.

It was his queen, calling out to him.

Despite his best attempts at mind over emotions, the past months had been miserable. She had only been with him for a handful of weeks, but her absence lingered on in ways he hadn't expected.

The quiet of his realm after her departure roared in his ears for days. The acute pain of her absence faded to a chronic ailing. No reasoning of his mind could quell the unhappiness that plagued him.

The day she was fated to be returned to her mother, he had left fruit on her table. He offered it to her that she might not return home looking neglected or having the world above think of him as a cruel, negligent husband. As they waited for Hermes, he watched as she rolled a pomegranate under her hand idly, back and forth, back and forth. Unable to watch her any more and not wanting to see her part, he bid her goodbye and left her.

Once he felt her presence leave the Underworld, he sprinted back to that same room, fear and hope a tight knot in his gut. Relief brought him to his knees upon seeing the pomegranate broken open with six seeds missing. It was then he first realized how deeply his emotions for her ran. Then, months of silence.

She would return; she must. But would she resent him for trapping her with the fruit? Did she know the gravity of her actions as she made them? He could have immediately made his claim on her as soon as he saw the seeds. He didn't care how Demeter, or Zeus, or any other god might react, as there was nothing they could do.

But he lived in fear of her resentment. Before she left, she seemed to be opening her heart to him. Would her affections cool once she knew how and why she must return to him? It was a conflict he was always willing to put off for one more day.

This day, the dilemma finally found him. He rarely spent time in the world above, so the hot warmth of sun on his fair skin was unmistakable. It burned through him like a sudden sickness. He'd heard her voice as clearly as if she were standing next to him, speaking directly into his ear.

Restless and unnerved, he made his way to her room. It sat untouched since she left, the sheets of her bed askew. He couldn't bring himself to have the room straightened, as it would mean admitting she was gone. He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on the crumbled pillow where she slept.

He immediately recoiled his hand. The sheets were warm as if she had just slept on them. No, he thought, warmer than that. Warm as if the sun had been shinning on them.

He lay next to her spot on the bed, remembering the first night he slept here. After weeks of living nearly separate lives she let him in, imploring he stay the night. He woke with her in his arms, a chaste, tender embrace.

Days later he was back between her sheets when she crawled beneath the covers next to him, wearing nothing. That night they were a tangle of limbs, lips, and sweat in an embrace that was notably less chaste.

Now in alone in her bed, he closed his eyes, leaving logic behind him, and spread his hand across the impossibly warm sheets where she once slept. He remembered that first night, when he embraced her with no clothing between them. His long fingers ran cautiously across her body, not daring to explore too quickly. He looked up at her for reassurance when his hands approached her chest; she looked him dead in the eye in the dark, her gaze a silent encouragement, her quiet confidence a siren song.

In the world above, Persephone's eyes stayed closed as she dozed in the shade. Her mind wandered to the feel of his fingertips on her bare, sun-bronze skin, the way his slow exploration had aroused her that first time. The touch of his hand grazing down her side, over her hips, across her backside, back up her arms and lingering on her neck.

He thought of taking her face in his hands and letting his lips rest against hers, pressing kisses into her neck, jaw, and across her shoulders. Her head leaned back, stretching her neck to give him access. Alone in the room, he thought he could hear her sigh when his finally kissed her lips, taking her full bottom lip between both of his.

His scalp tingled as she thought of her fingernails running through his hair, down his neck, down the length of his back, her hands splayed across his wide shoulders. She shivered when he remembered his hand gliding between her breasts, her body slick with anticipatory sweat, down across her trembling stomach. His fingers ventured lower, between her parted legs.

Persephone jolted awake with a breathy cry. She blinked her eyes furiously to adjust to the light as she established her bearings. She was still in the field, the sun still high in the sky. Once she caught her breath, she flushed even though she was alone. She had been without a man's touch – without his touch – so long, even a daydream of him had been too much for her mind to take.

In the world below, Hades eyes opened suddenly, startled by a sound echoing in the empty room. He stood and looked around to find he was still alone. He looked back at the bed; it was impossible, but the sound was unmistakable. He would never forget the sound of his wife's pleasure, and he had imagined so clearly it seemed real.

Hades took a deep breath, walking very deliberately out of the room, the door shutting with a thud behind him. It had been months, nearly half the year, more than long enough. He couldn't put off exposing the truth any longer.

The Underworld had been without its queen too long.

Hades had been without his queen too long.