The Taste Of Divinity

Τ Ρ Ι Α Ν Τ Α Ε Ν Α

"Do I need to repeat myself, wife?" Aidoneus inquired, tapping his jewelled fingers against his pulse as he saw his Queen become a figure of marble. The old, familiar rhythm echoed around the room, foreign and hollow.

He ignored the ever willing Nostalgia who slithered shamelessly across the granite floor to reach him, her scarred body bared at his command. He preferred another, whose flesh wore the bleeding colour of blushing roses as her supple thighs clenched with heat.

The tapping grew faster, the hushed breath of flesh colliding with flesh grew louder, wilder, feeding the hungry thoughts that consumed both their minds.

He imagined their bodies would create the same music as they became one.

"You spoke of wanting a real marriage, did you not? Was that not what you were expecting when you asked me to worship you?" He gave his words no time to be laid to rest, to settle on the space between them or slip carefully into her bones before he spoke again. Perhaps, he intended to leave her boneless. "How else would I be able to fulfill this task, how else could I fall to my Goddess' feet and pray for her mercy while my wanton hands refuse to cease touching her?"

Her heartbeat imitated his peculiar tapping.

"If there is a choice to be made," He went on, allowing her to witness him deny the apathetic King and his crown and surrender to the lover, "I would rather suffer the consequences of the hamartia for touching your naked flesh than seek a lesser punishment for a lesser crime."

How foolish I must be, she murmured silently to herself, to believe that one--the King--is different than the other; two beings in the same body, tearing at the same flesh.

Her lips parted but she did not speak. Words were too afraid to pass through the Symplegades, it seemed. Especially, seeing as he chose that moment to step out of the tub, all liquid grace and licentious promises, water from his skin dripping onto the floor along with his fading exhaustion.

"Will you not indulge me, Persephone?" Hades asked softly as he played with the clean clothing left for him by the chair next to the bed, his fingers curling around the fabric, crushing it in his palm before discarding it. "Will you not do as your husband asks you to, as your King asks you to?"

Stalking forward with the careful precision of a predator, he gave the impression of a hunter whose teeth had never failed to be stained with blood.

Her pulse fluttered painfully inside her body of glass when he glanced at her, a sinful grin curving his lips.

It frightened her, his smile.

It carried the promise of slit golden veins and enough nectar to quench his endless thirst.

She could almost feel his teeth pressing into her flesh, feasting, worshipping.

Her foot brushed against one of the jugs that lay discarded on the granite floor--the Kothon that contained aromatic oils that carried his unearthly scent. It was then that she froze, pale eyes widening in the dim lighting.

Flashes of thunders painted images of the liquid silk kissing his naked, wet flesh, of his hands, calloused and scarred as they were, travelling across the endless miles of sun-kissed epidermis with a certain sense of effortless sophistication that betrayed years of experience.

He'd lay on the bed, his hands worshipping his body as she had imagined time and time again. He'd writhe and moan, he'd scream and howl with her on his mind, biting his cheek bloody to keep his kingdom asleep, as she did.