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Sweat drips from the mortal and lands where his own spilled ichor has splashed across his face. It reeks of meddling gods and monsters, of humanity. All of it culminates to create the stench of the man above him. Odysseus of Ithaca may have had help winning this battle, but he isn’t without wounds of his own. Blood runs down the shaft of the godly trident still in his grasp, likely from the cuts and gashes earned as the man had gripped at sharp rocks like a lifeline while Poseidon did his best to get the man into his domain. It makes the air stink of metal in the back of his throat, cloying on his tongue.
He hopes his family’s focus is elsewhere as a sandal clad foot is placed on his chest, the weight of it squeezing ichor and sea water out of his clothing. It runs down his sides, gliding over the rise and fall of heaving ribs to pool below him.
“Please.”
His voice is hoarse from the screams that have been torn from his throat. The mortal shouldn’t be able to hear it over the churning of the surf that surrounds their small battle ground, nothing more than a jut of rock in the middle of the ocean. Yet everything goes still, the sea itself doing what it can in an attempt to save its master. The wind dies in an instant, great swells subsiding to small waves that lap against the rock.
The trident stills above him, gripped tightly by tanned hands, but it doesn’t fall. It’s weight hanging like a pendulum in the breeze, an oppressive threat as the mortal above him shakes with rage and grief and whatever baser emotions they manage to find themselves with.
“Call off the storm.”Odysseus’s voice is a low growl, tumbling from beneath a gaze that seems to glow with hatred, warm umber irises bleeding into crimson. “Say that we’re done.”
Poseidon grits his teeth, feels stuck between bowing to a mortal's whim, and facing more pain at the end of his own weapon. Any other blade wouldn’t have even broken the skin, but it was pure genius that his opponent managed to turn his own trident against him. His body sings with pain, an unfamiliar sensation to a god.
Heat seems to wash through him, leaving his body with liquid gold until a shiver wracks his form. He coughs, a wet noise that leads him spitting a mouth full of ichor to the side as he tries to clear his airway. His own voice remains hoarse, barely above a whisper.
“I will pursue you no longer.”
“Swear it!”
He growls, unflinching as the trident moves closer to his throat.
“I swear on the river Styx in the realm of Hades that our feud is through.”
“Ithaca and its people.”
It's not a question, or a demand, really. It's an expectation, as if Odysseus already knows that Poseidon will agree to nearly anything if it allowed him to be free of the violent mortal above him. He swallows thickly, and the bob of his throat makes the center blade of the trident drag across his skin.
“They will not feel my wrath for your past acts. I cannot promise what will happen should they commit their own transgressions.”
Odysseus seems to sag, pulling away to place the handle of the trident on blood soaked rock. He leans heavily against it, taking a breath, then another before he collects himself and tosses the weapon aside.
“Consider this finished.”
Poseidon can only watch as the man leaps for the few planks of wood that remain from his raft, the remnants barely large enough to hold his form. He paddles away without looking back, focused purely on the shores of Ithaca.
Odysseus is running along the beach, away from the palace on a private stretch accessible only by the royal quarters. He had needed a break after an afternoon of duties across the island, checking in with residents, and assisting with their problems as he could. Cliffs flank him on one side, while the ocean spills over the horizon on the other. The steady beat of his feet on sand is soothing even as it takes more effort to push his strides forward than running on the forest trails he often uses.
A wave crashes, splashes up to wash salt sweat down his legs, he would think nothing of it if not for the sun beating down on his back, signaling that the hour is far too early for the tide to be coming in. His brows furrow as he glances at the ocean, finding nothing but calm seas and the occasional bird diving for fish. His gaze returns forward, mind racing to find anything out of the norm.
In a blink Poseidon appears before him, and Odysseus is forced to dart to the side to keep from running into the towering form of muscle that has suddenly blocked in his path. Clawed hands make a grab for him, but Odysseus dodges quickly, moving away in an attempt to keep his feet on dry sand. It’s a trade off, for while the wet sand is more solid under his feet, he’s hesitant to stand on sand soaked by the god’s element. It doesn't take a great mind to realize that there’s nothing stopping Poseidon from drenching the entire beach, but Odysseus is determined to form some sort of plan before it gets to that point. Waves crash onto the beach with a
boom
as Poseidon yells at him.
“Odysseus of Ithaca!”
One look and he has no chance to talk his way out of this, no means of reasoning that will somehow break through to Poseidon through whatever rage has taken hold of him.
Things quickly devolve into a life and death charade of keep away as Odysseus darts this way and that, trying to get to the cliffs at his back. If he can get into the forest, put more distance between his body and the sea, he may have a chance. But each move is countered by Poseidon, his large form and larger swells of water blocking every chance of escape. Fatigue catches up to him quicker than he’d like, the all too painful remainder of his own mortality, and the fact that the being opposite suffered no such limits.
“ Please! Stop this, I don't know what I’ve done!”
Odysseus shouts over his shoulder as he makes one last dash for the cliffs, feigning around the god’s bulk before darting the other way, though he barely makes it two strides before Poseidon sends him tumbling into the sand with nothing but the swipe of a large hand. Odysseus fights him with everything he has, clawing with nails and biting with bared teeth, feet and fists hammering anything he can make contact with. Nothing seems to phase the god, an immovable presence above him that has stone hard flesh. They wrestle, rolling this way and that across the hot sand before Poseidon finally pins the mortal by the shoulders. Odysseus looks at him with nothing but raw rage and loathing as he thrashes anyways, trying to get free from the press of the god above him. Bones ache, muscles scream as his mind orders him to run run run .
“You made a vow! We’re done!”
“Done?” Poseidon’s voice is thunderous, shaking the ground below them. “I came here to ask what you’ve done to me !” A wave crashes over them, dousing them both and leaving Odysseus sputtering around a mouthful of sea water. “What magic have you called down upon me? ”
The god doesn’t dare say what he suffers from, that he can’t get the visage of this mortal, his very scent out of his head. That he’s been subjected to the very passage of days without the pursuit of this mortal man wearing on his resolve even as he recovered from their last encounter under the care of Apollo.
“Don’t you think I’ve had enough of you to last a lifetime, why would I do anything to bring you to these shores?”
“Silver tongued as always. Your clever words won't save you this time.”
He’s been plagued for months. Beset by some magic akin to the sirens, some sort of possession worthy of Circe herself, laid down upon him like a curse while he was vulnerable at the feet of Odysseus. Poseidon leans over the man, their faces close as his words bite from shark sharp teeth.
“What have you done to me?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar!”
“I cannot hold blame for your obsession with me, Earthshaker .”
Odysseus arches below the god, attempts to buck him off, but pauses as a ragged noise is pulled from Poseidon's throat. His hips roll like a wave into Odysseus, and the jut of his cock is unmistakable beneath the soaked fabric that drapes from his hips to cover them both. A gold flush rises to Poseidon’s cheeks, spills down his throat to paint his chest. His voice is quiet as he leans over Odysseus, looming over him until the man is trapped in his shadow, the light of the sun blocked out by the god above him.
“Obsession?” Poseidon tilts his head, stares unblinking at the mortal as a smile full of sins and promises pulls at the corners of his mouth. “If that is all it is, perhaps you are offering to do your part to ease it.”
Cheeks pink from exertion flare red below sun dusted freckles on the man’s face, the flush of his run and the ensuing fight darkening as he finds himself pinned under the full attention of the god. Poseidon gives the man time to reject his advances, to put a stop to what is surely an abysmal idea, but Odysseus merely returns his gaze, dark pupils blowing wide. A pink tongue appears from behind white teeth, swiping down to wet his lower lip. Poseidon keeps his touch careful as he raises a hand to caress the stubbled jaw below him, his clawed thumb tugging that plump bottom lip free from flat teeth. It’s all for his perusal as he releases the touch and slides down the body of the other, stopping when their faces are close. Only the small puffs of exhales in the island air move between them until Poseidon bridges the distance.
The first kiss he delivers is tentative, careful of his own strength, minding his wavering control as he toes the line between want and rage. He tells himself that this will break the curse, rid his mind of the man and his constant presence in every waking thought. But the mortal surges against him without hesitation, causing their teeth to clack before Poseidon can return his grip to the man’s jaw and assert some manner of control. He uses the touch to tilt Odysseus’s head, allowing their lips to slot together perfectly. His form is warm below him, blood hot from their scuffle and full of life as his heart beats loud in the god’s ears, a pounding quick beat like the strides of his earlier sprint.
It's all too easy for Poseidon to blanket Odysseus with his larger form as he pulls away, moving lower to force his nose under the stubbled cut of his jaw. Small puffs of air tickle the skin there, pulling goosebumps to the surface as the god seems to breathe him in. Odysseus squirms under the attention, only stilling as his earlobe is caught in the grip of sharp teeth, a silent threat. He hadn't anticipated this , and yet the pace of whatever is simmering between them is moving too slow, leaving too much room for his mind to race, his body to urge him into motion.
“ Poseidon- ”
The teeth sting when they leave him, a slow scrape that makes his skin warm, but the feeling is immediately soothed by the delicate lick of a cool tongue. It’s too long, dexterous as it curls around the lobe to pull it between soft lips. He dares to risk raising a hand, allowing it to sink into dark hair and scratch with blunt nails as Poseidon presses his face into the space behind his ear with a groan. His head lifts into the touch, silent permission for Odysseus to continue as sharp teeth paint a stroke of fire down the line of his throat.
The scraping of fangs is interspersed with nips that catch his skin and draw blood to the surface, bruises climbing his throat like fruit heavy grape vines. A sharp nip where neck meets shoulder makes Odysseus jump, a whine following close behind as the sting of teeth fades to a heady burn. He makes an attempt to move from below the god, to touch or be touched, anything beyond the cool touch of his mouth and its glacial pace.
Poseidon latches onto the line of his collar bone, and something buzzing between the lines of want and fear flares within the mortal. He’s well and truly helpless here, at the mercy of one of his greatest enemies. Yet he pants below him with unmet need, arching to push himself impossibly closer. The god could snap his bones in two without a thought, but he merely mouths at the skin, marking it at a height that would be impossible to hide beneath clothing. He can feel the hot line of the god’s cock on his leg, large and radiating warmth against him even through the layers of wet clothing that separates their skin from contact. The sharp line of his nose finds the hollow of the man’s throat, digging in as Poseidon seems to scent him in an almost feline manner, dragging his cheek this way and that until Odysseus’s skin stings with the friction of dark facial hair. It burns below the touch of lips as Poseidon speaks into his skin.
“ So interesting . You smell of many places, so many experiences .”
He takes a breath, licks away a bead of sweat as it rolls behind the man’s ear. Odysseus smells of monsters and man, magic and moly, the hint of every god he’s crossed paths with and every domain he’s moved through. Ogygia, the Underworld, Circe’s Island and the fields of Helios. A mortal would never notice it, every smell churning into an interesting perfume made of experiences from 20 years of life. A god though, a god can sense each interaction, each pivotal point in Odysseus’s journey home. It’s more than enticing. It’s near irresistible as he fights the urge to push closer, shove his nose deeper into tan skin. He wants to bite and tear, add the scent of blood to this unique perfume, but he keeps his head, holds himself back to look at the mosaic of markings he’s left behind, Odysseus’s skin a canvas for his mouth’s work.
“The smell of you has ruined me since you spilled my blood upon those rocks and I watched it mingle with yours.”
His long tongue licks sweat away as it dries in a line of salt down the mortal's throat, his pulse jumping to flutter beneath the pressure of Poseidon’s tongue.
“I plan on savoring this.”
Odysseus blushes and tries to squirm away, but not from a place of discomfort. He is keenly aware all of a sudden that he is sweat soaked from a day of work and an afternoon of exercise. There’s no need for another soul to tell him that he’s in need of a bath and a thorough scrub. Yet the sting of claws on skin stops him before he can move more than an inch.
One large hand captures his wrists effortlessly, bringing them over his head and pulling him taut in the sand. He feels exposed as Poseidon moves over him, eyes taking in the flush that rises to spill over tan skin. Poseidon has allowed himself the form he would normally take when appearing to mortals, imposing at nearly double Odysseus’s height, though lacking some of his more preferred features. But the difference in size allows him to keep the man’s wrists within his grasp as he slinks down the mortal's body. It's a silent order. Stay. Behave.
The tunic Odysseus wears is swiftly dealt with and cast aside by the claws of Poseidon’s free hand before the man can even object, the tattered shreds disappearing from view as the god cuts it from him.
“That was woven by my wife, she’ll be quite cross with you.”
Poseidon smirks as he leans back, taking in the spread below him as if it's nothing more than a feast laden table.
“Tell her it was a sacrifice to me if you must, and that your body was placed as an offering as well.”
He wants so much, aches to sink teeth and claws into Odysseus until the man is boneless below him, smelling of satisfaction and Poseidon’s own scent. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch as he drags a single claw through coarse chest hair, a pink line rising from the skin not a moment later. Poseidon casts away the robes that drape from his hips, baring his large cock that hangs low, heavy with the weight of blood and arousal.
“Look at what you've done to me.” He chuckles, sitting on his heels and baring himself so that the mortal has a chance to look his fill. A clawed hand cards dark hair away from his face, so that he can better observe Odysseus.
“In another world, perhaps you could have been mine. I would have had you well kept at the bottom of the sea, tended to you as you wished. Every desire met.”
“ Oh gods .”
Odysseus tosses an arm over his face, flushing further with embarrassment at what such a simple suggestion does to him, oh the way his mind runs with the idea. Would Poseidon have kept him collared? Leashed to throne or bed like an unruly pet. A low rumble spills from the god above him.
“There’s only one god you should be calling to, and I know you know my name.”
Bared in an effort to hide his embarrassment, Poseidon finds his gaze suddenly captured by the thick thatch of hair in the man’s revealed underarm. His scent is stronger here, wafting sour with sweat and thick with want. The musk of man, a strange smell that has him moving closer. Odysseus catches on to his intentions infuriatingly quick, and Poseidon narrows his eyes as the mortal drops his arm, blocking further investigation. He abandons his grip on the mortal's wrist to spread the man’s arm from his body with both hands, revealing a thatch of dark hair and the enticing smell of him.
“If you truly wish for me to stop, say so . We may have bad blood between us, but I will respect your wishes in this.”
Odysseus hesitates but casts his arm back over his face in silent acceptance, a strange mixture of arousal and embarrassment churning in him. His face is burning hot, his mind all too aware of his current state. The sweat from his run is only another layer on the grime that has accumulated from the activities of his day, the perspiration of hard work having long since dried on every part of him, all the dust from walking dirt roads has painted his legs a shade darker now dry. He must make a noise, because Poseidon pulls back to regard him, his head tilting almost imperceptibly.
“Odysseus.” A shiver shakes through him, the sound of his name spilling from Poseidon’s lips, something he would never be able to forget. “Are you uncomfortable?”
His arm moves away enough for him to meet the god’s gaze, intense and unblinking as he observes the mortal beneath him.
“I just- you like this? ” He doesn't mean for it to sound like the judgment of preference, so he continues on at nearly a ramble. “I find it hard to believe that any part of me smells appealing after a day of roaming the island.”
“What I like is for me to decide. And the same goes for you. Say the word and I will stop.”
Odysseus wriggles below him, but stays silent. He nods once before covering his face once more, some strange curiosity tugging him along like a bridle. The sand shifts as Poseidon seems to lounge in the sand, getting comfortable as claws drag up his ribs and down his thighs, carding through the coarse hair there. It’s all a distraction he realizes, as sharp teeth nip at the soft flesh of his underarm, tugging enough for Odysseus to hiss before the bite is soothed with that maddening dexterous tongue.
The tongue moves lower not a moment later, and he flinches at the first swipe. The feeling is strange as it licks him against the grain of his underarm hair. Poseidon breathes him in and slowly exhales, making his skin feel cool and damp and humid all at once. The god seems to revel in it as he shoves his face closer with a growl, the claws of one hand digging into his midsection as the other holds his arm up and out of the way. The coarse hair flattens with each lap of his tongue, the sensation rough on his smooth tongue as he licks away more sweat.
He pays the same attention to the other side, manhandling Odysseus’s arms to his liking. The man huffs and squirms, but he never makes to move away. Poseidon finds himself satisfied when the man’s delicate skin is spit slick and washed in his scent, some possessiveness taking hold as he thinks about his very essence joining the perfume of the man below him.
By the time he is satisfied with his attentions the mortal’s blush has spread down from his cheeks, dusting his throat and chest in scarlet. As a god, he can hear the life of him rushing beneath the skin alongside the racing of his heart, feel the heat of blood and want emanating from the other. Poseidon lets his mouth carry him inward, following the trail of chest hair while savoring the meal of a man spread below him. He’s at an impasse when he reaches Odysseus’s chest, heavy with arousal and an enticing mix of fat and muscle beneath erect nipples that beg to be bitten. He’s seen mortal women less endowed, and some primal need urges him to grasp him there with clawed hands, squeeze and knead his chest until the other breaks apart below him.
He allows himself to do so with both hands, gaze fixed in Odysseus’s face as he grabs and pinches, thumbs toying with soft nipples that stiffen beneath his touch.
“Ah!”
“So sensitive. Such decorum isn't fit for a king.”
He dips down and closes his mouth around one without warning, dragging his teeth together over pebbled skin before hollowing his cheeks and sucking. His tongue toys with the flesh within his mouth as it stiffens beneath his attention, all while Odysseus writhes beneath him. He seems to chant for more and mercy all at once, each cry followed by a heaving breath. A strong hand glides over Poseidon’s head, pawing at silk soft hair until fingers curl into the long locks. He growls in warning, anticipating being yanked away, but the touch only presses him closer as Odysseus arches into him.
“ Fuck, fuck, fuck! ”
It pleases him, he thinks, that Odysseus has filled out since their last encounter. No longer the flesh and bone of a man half starved, but of a man cared for. He feels as if he could remain here for an age, delivering the sweet torture of pleasure to the handsome thing below him. Because while he loathes to admit it, Odysseus is a vision in his disheveled state. Though caked with sand, the wild brown waves and curls of his hair spill around his head like a halo, a stark contrast against white sand. He rises to nip at the strong jaw that has plagued his thoughts, biting and sucking marks into the skin as he journeys down the mortal’s body once more. Poseidon moves lower and pointedly ignores where the man’s nipples rise puffy and sensitive, instead using his claws to drag pink lines into the soft skin above his ribs. He delivers another bite as he moves lower, just below the navel.
There’s no stopping the groan from his throat as the flesh gives beneath his teeth, plush with muscle and a healthy layer of fat. Hips buck, pressing further into his bite, and Poseidon has to mind himself before he takes a true bite out of the mortal without meaning to. His teeth are sharp enough that they don't cut the skin, but instead carefully pierce it like the prick of a tapestry needle. He pulls away to watch as a single drop of blood rises where each of his teeth had pressed in, creating a ring of blood spots that could nearly be mistaken for a bracelet of rubies laid upon his skin. Odysseus’s middle twitches and the blood shifts, the beads rolling to mix where the man’s cock leaks upon his own belly, the pre-spill and blood turning pink as they run together.
Poseidon’s desire increases as his patience wanes, making him less than gentle as he presses his nose into the crease between thigh and pelvis. The musk of Odysseus is stronger here, and he doesn’t even hesitate as he sinks his teeth into the skin there, laving the bite with his tongue to taste blood and sweat, the flavor accompanied by the heady scent of arousal in the air.
Yet a new scent emerges from below the outer layers of sweat, one of perfumed oils and soft soap bundled beneath something feminine. Penelope . He knows at once that he is tasting remnants of an earlier coupling, his tongue licking the same skin where her wetness likely dripped down Odysseus’s cock. It’s addicting, and Poseidon can't help but leave bite after bite after bite upon mortal flesh, painting it in hues of garnet and ruby. He aches to see how they age, watch as they shift to ocean hues as the bruises heal. What would the king be like with his wife he wonders. Would he dominate her, pleasure her until she begs, or perhaps she would lead in the bedroom, not allowing Odysseus to move a hair without her say so as she uses him for her pleasure.
Poseidon spreads his legs to straddle one of the man’s thighs, letting his cock slap heavy against the mortal’s. Divine as he is, his stature is greater, making his cock larger in girth and length as it falls onto Odysseus’s own cock. The man's cock drags hot and wet against Poseidon's middle as it bobs and lifts to meet him, the bulk of the god pressing it between their bodies so he can push closer, blanket the other with his form.
“Comfortable, little king ?”
Odysseus whines, tries to arch into Poseidon, achieve some manner of friction where he desires it most. But the god remains still as stone, smirking as he descends upon the man’s throat once more. The salt crust of sweat still remains, and he lets go of his reservations to press his tongue into the skin there, devouring anything he can.
“-Seidon, please.”
A hand tugs at his hair carefully, clearly meaning to avoid harm instead of hesitation, and Poseidon pulls away enough to look down at him, sharp teeth on display as a grin tugs at his mouth.
“You beg so sweetly.” A claw catches below Odysseus’s chin, lifts him until those warm brown eyes are forced to look upon the divine being above him. “Tell me siren, what do you desire?”
Despite the difference in size, Odysseus manages to hook a leg around the god’s thigh and pull him closer, lining up their stiff cocks so each breath sends them dragging against each other. Poseidon hisses, unable to stop the hard roll of his hips in response before he can pull himself back. He’s been avoiding attention to his own cock, wanting to draw the encounter out for as long as possible before the need for release caught hold of him. He grits his teeth and wills himself still.
It would do no good to break the mortal beneath him before they could truly enjoy each other's company.
“You try my patience, my
focus.
I cannot keep this form and my mind as well if you keep doing that.”
“Show me then, let me see what I do to you.”
Poseidon growls, the pitch of the noise changing as blue eyes darken. “Most mortals would fear me even now, much more were I to lessen my familiar appearance.”
“Does this feel like fear to you?”
Odysseus lifts his chin in defiance and grinds against him once more, making Poseidon gnash his teeth with a hiss. A subvocal noise rumbles from him, and Odysseus shivers in response, trying to get closer still, as if he could very well crawl into the god’s skin if he tried hard enough.
“ Fine . Just remember that this was at your request.”
Clawed hands brace themselves on the mortal’s chest as Poseidon’s legs come together as one over Odysseus, pressing him into the sand as the god’s lower body melds and shifts into one long appendage. Fins flare from his hips, nearly translucent and gossamer soft as a great serpent tail takes shape, gilded with jeweled rings and strands of pearls. Twin fins spread from the end like great leaves, slapping into the sea and creating waves of their own. The length of the tail is easily large enough to span the distance between the surf and their bodies even as it coils in loops down the length of Odysseus’s legs, pinning him in the sand. The flesh of it is impossibly smooth but not slimy on his bare skin, small patches of iridescent scales scattered across the surface like stars. They glint in the sunlight, shining amongst the dark blue flesh of the god’s lower half. Those same patches scatter upwards, appearing over his chest and bicep and throat. Odysseus years to get his mouth on them, to feel the smooth slide beneath his tongue .
He’s at a loss for words as he raises his hands to touch, only for Poseidon to capture them in the grip of one of his own hands.
“Please.”
Poseidon narrows his eyes, voice questioning as he leans close enough for their noses to brush. “ You like this .” It's not so much an accusation as it is a pleased acknowledgement. The god nips at the man’s lower lip once more, licks away the sting his teeth leave behind. “I wonder what you would think of me if we had more time together.” Odysseus answers by surging up, back cracking as he angles in a manner that allows him to catch the sea god’s mouth in a kiss, hot and hungry. Poseidon’s teeth are even sharper like this, and he can only moan as his carelessness causes his lip to be nicked, hot blood spilling the taste of iron between them. Poseidon pulls himself back with a growl, pinning Odysseus down at arms distance.
“You court your death, tempting me to lose myself in this form.” He pushes Odysseus further into the sand. “On top of me, lest I crush you at the expense of your own mistake.”
The god rolls away until his back is pressed into the sand, a spray of water raining upon them both as the fins of his tail splash deeper into the water as he makes himself comfortable. He lifts Odysseus without effort and places him just below where the fins emerge at his hips, kneading the points of his claws into the generous meat of the man’s hips. Odysseus groans as his thighs burn from the stretch of straddling Poseidon’s massive tail, and he almost falls forward before he catches himself, one hand on the smooth expanse of dark skin, while the other lands high enough for him to scratch at statuesque abdominal muscles.
A large hand captures the back of his head, pulling him down to meet the god in a kiss; this one slower, yet infinitely deeper, the cool searching tongue licking along flat teeth and the roof of his mouth. Odysseus can't stop himself from groaning into it. He aches to fist his cock, give himself some semblance of relief, but knows better than to do so before he’s allowed. Poseidon takes his hand into his clawed grasp as they kiss, dragging it down over smooth flesh and soft scales until Odysseus is all but reaching between his own thighs, under the heavy weight of his balls.
“Here.” Poseidon’s voice is stone rough and breathless as he guides the man’s hand over the flesh of his tail. Odysseus is a fast learner, following the guidance of Poseidon’s large hand to pet where he’s shown. Brown brows pinch together in curiosity as the skin dips with each pass of his finger, and he moves backwards down the length of the god’s tail. He hates to put more distance between them, he yearns to see what he’s doing, to observe just what's happening to the divine body below his own.
Poseidon seems to come unraveled beneath him the more he’s touched, small noises spilling from his lips as a slit opens under the mortal’s clever fingers. He raises himself on one hand, head bowed to watch the motions as Odysseus works. His breath stirs brown hair as he pants, abdominal muscles clenching as he tries to keep from bucking the mortal off of him. He abandons his guiding touch on the mortal’s hand in favor of pushing wild hair back from his face, curious to see the man’s expression.
“Good little king, just like that.”
The mortal shivers, but seems to grow bolder with the praise as he circles his touch inwards, petting the edges of the slit before allowing one of his to dip into the opening. He watches as an opening begins to form, smooth skin spreading to reveal glistening folds of impossibly soft skin. The flesh there is pale but flushed with gold, ichor and arousal making the opening hot and plump beneath his touch.
“ Inside .” Poseidon growls the order, and for the first time Odysseus feels as if he has control. He dips the tip of a finger into the slit up to the first knuckle before he pulls it away, spreading the slick substance that coats the digit around Poseidon’s opening. The clawed hand in his hair attempts to grab him, no doubt to direct him in the manner that the god wants to be touched, but Odysseus bats him away. His cock is red and heavy, aching for release as it slides across the smooth skin of the tail below him. He swaps hands to fists his cock, managing only one stroke from root to tip with the strange slickness before his hand is snatched into Poseidon's grasp. The god’s teeth are bared in a snarl, dark hair whipping atop the sand as his gaze cuts into the mortal.
“ In me! ” His tone allows for no argument. “You come in me , or not at all.”
Odysseus tries to draw a breath, but it comes in the form of a whine of need. He’s been achingly close for so long, and to be denied on the cusp of release feels as though he may shatter. Two large fingers circle the base of his cock, squeezing with enough pressure that he knows he won't achieve release unless the god below him deems him worthy. Poseidon seems to care not for his turmoil as his other hand rises to seize the wrist of Odysseus’s occupied hand, forcing it deeper into his sex.
His breathless noises spurr him on as Odysseus redoubles his efforts, fucking Poseidon with his fingers, four of them spreading and curling within the god, each clench of muscle sending more slick spilling from his opening. His wrist cramps and his cock aches as Poseidon abandons the grip on his wrist in order to claw the mortal closer, nosing at his temple and licking away the sweat that beads there. Odysseus changes the pace of his hand, slowing but moving as deep as he can manage, the tip of his thumb coming close enough to stroke the edge of his slit each time he bottoms out. There’s no resisting the pull as he leans forward to capture Poseidon’s lip with his teeth and tug, Odysseus pulling away just enough to lick into his mouth, riding each twitch of the body below him until he has to pull away for breath.
“I'll give you more.” Odysseus knows he is toeing the line here, a dangerous distance in regards to insolence and hubris. But he speaks further, asking the question he can’t ignore. “Is it my cock you want?”
Sea water falls like rain as the god’s tail splashes the surface of the sea at his back and Poseidon yanks him closer with one clawed hand, a hot spot of pain flaring where the claws break skin. The hold his other hand has on Odysseus’s cock shifts, guiding him forward and down until the tip of his cock is sliding across the plush lips of his slit.
“That's what you want, my cock instead of my hand?”
“Give it to me.”
He lets his hips roll, the slide of his weeping cock head dragging over the slit again and again until it finally catches. Poseidon guides him into the clutch of his body, one hand on his cock while the other grips Odysseus’s ass, urging him upwards until his hands are braced on the god’s shoulders, his thighs spread over the width of the god’s hips. Once he’s collected himself two hands take hold of his hips and begin to move him, the push and pull of the grip around his cock making him breathless.
It isn't long before sweat begins to run down his back, setting lines of fire ablaze as it spills into the scratches left behind where the god clutches at him possessively, grabbing onto whatever he can only for his grip to shift somewhere else a moment later. Thighs, hips, back, ass. He can't seem to still for a moment as Odysseus rocks into him. The mortal’s own thighs burn with the motion, but the pain is nearly drowned out by pleasure as the slick heat of Poseidon’s sex grips him, tugs him deeper into the clutch of his body. Odysseus shakes the hair from his face, breathlessly chuckles as he takes the god’s jaw in his hand, forcing their eyes to meet.
“When was the last time someone had you like this, gave you this kind of pleasure?”
Poseidon growls in answer, but it tapers off into a groan as Odysseus throws his weight into the next thrust, his nails digging into the smooth skin of the other’s cheek.
“None of that.”
Poseidon makes a broken noise, and Odysseus is suddenly sinking deeper into the clutch of the body below him, a new pressure hugging the sides of his cock. The sensation pushes alongside him more and more with each rock of his hips. What he had assumed was the clenching of muscle seems to rise to engulf him further, the strange pressure increasing until he has to slow the movement of his hips lest he come too soon. He looks down, stilling as something, more like two things, emerge with each rock of his hips. “What-”
It only takes a couple of cautious thrusts before the heads of what must be twin cocks emerge on either side of his own sinks into the god, the slits of both spilling a slick substance that suddenly has Odysseus sinking deeper with a wet noise.
“ Gods .”
“I told you, there’s only one god here, watch your tongue.”
Poseidon’s eyes are focused on his own sex, each breath revealing more of his cocks until they hang heavy from his slit. The twin appendages rest against his abdomen in a puddle of their own making, weighed down by size and arousal while copious amounts of pre-spill drench the skin where they lay. Odysseus finds himself entranced as he stares at them, mouth watering as he wonders if he could even fit half of one of the cocks into his mouth. His gaze darts up to meet blue eyes.
“If you can string that many words together, I'm clearly not doing a good enough job.”
He grasps one of the cocks carefully but without hesitation, curling his fingers around the shaft even as it slips too and fro in his grip. The dark blue flesh is nearly black as it flushes beneath his touch, the warmest part of Poseidon he’s felt yet outside of his weeping slit where his cock remains buried to the hilt. Ridges line the shaft in hues of blue and green, vibrant against dark skin. The fluid that spills from the tip is iridescent, shining like mother of pearl as it drips down in fat beads to coat Odysseus’s hand and ease his strokes.
Odysseus can't resist the temptation and lifts the hand to his mouth without hesitation, licking away the sticky fluid with broad swipes of his tongue. Brown eyes meet blue as he licks his hand clean, and Poseidon bucks beneath him, using replacing his claws on the man’s hips to help him fuck deeper into his sex. The pace is bruising, and Odysseus burns with the need to come. It's all too easy to distract the god with a biting kiss, his own warm tongue meeting the other’s cool one until he’s forced to pull away in need of air. His voice is hoarse as he begs against Poseidon’s jaw, hands roaming the expanse of chest that rests before him.
“Can I come, please?”
He’s not so much as rocking into the god anymore as just rolling his hips, doing his best to stave off his release and the disappointment that may accompany it. Poseidon levels him with a look, likely trying to appear indifferent, yet the gold flush on his cheeks and the sighs spilling from his lips only betray him. Odysseus dips his head, pants against the god’s throat before he does his best to leave a mark of his own. A large hand pulls him back by the hair a second later, Poseidon’s gaze hot as he holds the mortal still. Like this, he cant even roll his hips, without the grip increasing, leaving his cock trapped and his back bowed.
“You want release? Beg.”
Odysseus swallows, thinks a tear may even roll down his cheek as he fights against the hand in his hair.
“Please.”
It's pitiful, nearly a sob as it tears from the man’s throat, but the god takes pity on him, letting him go so suddenly that Odysseus sags against him.
“Come then, little king, show me what you can do, fill me with your seed.”
Odysseus groans in relief, his hips not even rocking any longer, but humping against the god like some depraved thing. He has no choice but to give into his release as a bolt of pleasure rocks through him, pushing him over the edge and sending his cock spilling within the clutch of Poseidon’s body. He spends himself impossibly deep, the rhythmic clenching of muscles drawing more and more from him until he’s forced to retreat from over sensitivity.
The god soothes him through the crest of his pleasure, until all but boneless, Odysseus allows himself to slide off of the god, falling to lay prone on the beach. The sand chafes at the scratches on his back, but the hazy pleasure in the wake of his orgasm leaves him caring little for the problem. Poseidon rises at Odysseus's side, the heavy coils of his tail draping possessively over the man’s lower half.
“My turn.”
He takes a cock in each hand, gritting his teeth at the abrupt touch as he looms over the mortal, casting a shadow over his face. The man is laid out bare beneath the sun, well fucked and glistening with sweat. Some baser part of him feels the need to mark the mortal, paint him with his seed in some hopeless means of keeping the other gods away from what is his . He shakes his hair from his face and the thought from his head, both hands squeezing at the base of his cocks to stave off the crest of pleasure he’s found himself so close to. Poseidon strokes himself with a rough rhythm, but the sudden appearance of a hand on his arm stills him. Odysseus looks up at him in a disheveled state, though he licks his lips as he eyes the cocks in the god’s grasp. “Let me?”
His tail coils tighter and he pushes closer until his clawed hands can kneed at the mortals chest, tweaking nipples and pulling breathy sighs free as calloused hands tend to him. His hands planted on the chest below him are the only thing keeping him upright as the king grips him with a soft but strong touch. He’s not so much as teasing him, rather than figuring out what the god is most responsive to. His hand squeezes tight at the base of the shafts, only to relax as he drags his hands upward, wrist twisting just so as he takes the flared heads of the cocks into his cupped palms. He’s an infuriatingly quick study and Poseidon curses how close he is already.
His pleasure peaks even faster than he would have liked, built up by the thorough fucking Odysseus had given him even before he had offered to stroke both of his cocks. His hips jump out of his control, bucking into the tight grip Odysseus has on him once, twice, before he’s painting the man's chest with his release, thick white lines of iridescence shining in the sun where it catches in his dense chest hair. Poseidon’s hips jerk at the vision Odysseus makes below him, the next gush of his seed splashing up to splatter against soft lips and the stubble that surrounds them.
He growls as a pink tongue appears, licking his spend away with a groan, and Poseidon can’t resist sweeping down to kiss the man, chasing the taste of himself with his tongue. He pulls away enough to lick away the drops caught on his chin, his voice low. “ Greedy thing .”
Brown eyes dart to where his cocks hang limp and spent from his abused slit, fat drops of slick rolling down to drip into the sand. Odysseus smirks, not even hesitating with a quip. “You're one to talk.”
Poseidon growls, but the mortal only laughs in response. A bell tolls somewhere on the island, and they break apart at the sound, whatever bubble of want and need that had once surrounded them bursting with the tolling of the hour. It's only then that Odysseus realizes just how late it’s become and Poseidon, sensing the change in mood distances himself, watching with a small amount of pride as Odysseus stumbles to his feet on unsteady legs. The man collects what he can of his clothing, fashioning a scrap around his hips that is just enough to cover where his cock now hangs limp between his legs.
It's an amusing sight to watch as he lounges in the sand, tail shifting lazily in the surf. That is, until Odysseus begins to approach the water’s edge. Poseidon narrows his eyes as his feet touch the water, a low rumble of warning rising from his chest.
Odysseus jumps, turning to look incredulously at the god.
“Am I forbidden from cleaning myself?”
“I have marked you” A chuckle rolls from him like thunder. “Some would see it as a blessing, it would be rude to wash it away so quickly.”
The man throws his hands up, exasperated.
“So I’m expected to return home in this state?”
“If you’re as smart as they say. Perhaps I will visit you soon. I find myself eager to meet your queen.”
With that terrifying and arousing thought, the god dissolves into salt water, leaving with the next receding wave.
Odysseus, out of options and unwilling to court the wrath of Poseidon once more, turns on his heel and begins the walk home.
He’s incredibly uncomfortable by the time he reaches the steps that will take him from the beach to his quarters. The evidence of earlier pleasure long since having dried across his chest and middle. It left behind a shiny film on his skin and amidst the hair that dusts his torso, the dried evidence of the god’s release sparkling in the light. He aches for a bath and a good meal, his sights set on falling into bed tonight so he can puzzle over this interaction tomorrow.
His thighs ache as he trudges up
“Oh! My love .”
Odysseus lets his head fall back so he can stare at the ceiling, silently wondering when his suffering will end for this lifetime. Penelope’s presence is warm at his back, though he considers what it must look like for her to have gone this long without touching him.
“Odysseus, are you alright?” Her fingers skim his skin, impossibly gentle. She gives him a bewildered look as he turns to face her. “You look like you’ve had a run in with a lion.”
He can't help but chuckle as he looks down at himself, eyeing the bite marks and bruises left behind on his torso. “I think a shark is a better description.”
A look of realization passes over Penelope’s features and she steps close enough to place a kiss on his cheek. “Let me tend to you.”
Later, she presses against him in the bath, soft breasts sliding against his soapy chest. Her touch is impossibly gentle as she moves close, kisses the bruises that paint his throat just before her honeyed voice breaks the silence. “You’d make such beautiful sounds between us my king.”