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Apollo led Hyacinthus—a rising star in Greek football—through the gold and glass revolving door of the Mount Olympus Hotel, his hand resting tenderly on the small of the mortal’s back. It was late, and they had come to the hotel after a night of dancing and drinking in a bar. Hyacinthus’ team had secured a place in the league phase of the Europa League, and everyone had been in the mood to celebrate.
“Lady Eunomia,” Apollo began, addressing the goddess who appeared before him clad in green and a crown of flowers always in bloom. “I wish to present Hyacinthus Amyclae of Laconia. He is my honoured guest. He is also my companion. My father has finally granted me leave to bring him here. Will you grant him leave to visit the uppermost floors of our home?”
Hyacinthus was loyal to a fault. Apollo had seen it for himself when he peered into his heart. Still, the appeal to his father and the request for entry were as ancient as they were necessary. Zeus did not just allow any mortal into the gods’ immediate and most private spheres—not unless he considered them to be exceptionally worthy. And he bestowed upon the Hôrai—sisters who could see into the hearts of all, mortal and immortal alike—the power to grant and deny entry into the innermost sanctums of wherever the divine lived on his behalf. The gods and goddesses possessed more than their fair share of vices and follies, and they had more than their fair share of rivals and enemies. If Eunomia discovered even a sliver of treachery or underhandedness, she could refuse to grant Hyacinthus entry. If she did, Apollo would have to heed her and take Hyacinthus to another room, one that was nowhere near as lavish or as comfortable as his own. Or he would have to take Hyacinthus and go elsewhere altogether. Or he would have to finish things with Hyacinthus instead. Apollo hoped such would not be the case.
“Hyacinthus,” Eunomia said, tasting the sound of the mortal’s name. “The mortal athlete of growing repute.” She circled him while Apollo took a step back, peering into the mortal’s heart without invitation or a second thought. What she discovered pleased her. “Your father was correct to let your mortal come here, my lord,” she uttered, nodding in approval. “He is as utterly devoted to you as he is skilled and handsome. And he can be trusted to guard all our secrets. He may go with you to your chambers.”
“My thanks,” Apollo returned, slipping Hyacinthus’ arm around his.
They strolled toward the elevators, taking their time as they did so. Hyacinthus looked about him and marvelled at what he saw. The muses lounged about on plush chairs and reclining benches in the lobby, dressed in otherworldly finery and sipping wine or writing poetry or paying court to some fortunate companion who had captured their attention. Their gleaming hair stood out against walls stained a deep shade of red, and the ends of their skirts pooled against a floor made of polished black marble veined in white. Small flowering plants sprouted here and there out of exposed patches of earth in the flower, their blooms giving out a subtle and pleasing scent. Hyacinthus took in a deep breath of this scent and sighed in contentment. The smell from the flowers did more to put him at ease than all of his merrymaking did.
He said, “I half-expect a peacock with glittering feathers to appear out of one corner and then run off to another corner after startling everyone.”
Apollo laughed. “The peacocks prefer my stepmother’s company, my love,” he said, opening the elevator doors with just a thought. “You will not find them here.”
He pulled Hyacinthus to him as soon as they stepped inside, backing him up against the wall and kissing him hard on the mouth the moment the doors closed behind them. Hyacinthus gasped from the initial shock. Then he closed his eyes and surrendered, his hands slipping around Apollo’s waist to clutch desperately at his broad back.
It all felt different now that they were within the confines of what Apollo called home. Before, they had to be careful. Apollo could not bring Hyacinthus to the Mount Olympus until his father approved of the mortal and said yes. Hyacinthus could not always bring Apollo into his home, for he lived at home with his mother, father, and little sister. When he was not living with them, he was sharing rooms and apartments with other teammates. Hyacinthus did not want the others to see him with Apollo. Oh, the gods moved freely among mortals now just as they did many an age ago, but still, he did not want to risk discovery. He did not want the others to think Apollo favoured him unfairly in any way. He did not want others to trouble him for favours on their behalf; that could only lead to trouble for both him and Apollo. It was hard work, keeping their relationship in the shadows, but they managed. Whenever Apollo sought Hyacinthus, he came in secret, and he came in the guise of a man with a fair face that would easily disappear in a sea of many. Now, he could be as free with Hyacinthus as Hyacinthus could be free with him. He poured fire into his kiss, pushing his tongue between parted lips and flicking it against the tip of Hyacinthus’ own. Hyacinthus moaned softly, his body trembling when Apollo ground against him.
“I never knew a god could be so impatient,” he teased when Apollo drew back long enough to let him breathe. “Are you that desperate to get me into your bed?”
“Just eager.” Apollo grinned, his eyes shifting from the pale blue he put on when concealing himself to the gleaming white light, a visible sign of his divinity. He took Hyacinthus’ hand into his when the elevator pinged softly and the doors slid open. “We have waited so long for this. Now come. My chambers are here.”
The entire floor belonged to just three gods: Apollo, Hermes, and Artemis, Apollo’s twin. Hermes was away on an errand on behalf of their shared father, Apollo explained as he led Hyacinthus to his rooms, and Artemis was away on the hunt. They would not be seen or heard from for days. There would be no one to hear them or disturb them. They could be as loud as they wished. No one would be troubled by what they did.
The gilded oaken doors to Apollo’s chambers swung open, and Hyacinthus found himself ushered past the receiving room and into a parlour larger than most apartments he had seen. The walls were the same deep red as the walls of the lobby beneath them, and the floor was tiled with the same black marble. Swans crafted from gold sat atop chests and countertops, their wings unfurled as if they were about to take flight. Sprigs of white larkspur stood up straight in clear crystal vases set atop the burnished surfaces of little side tables. A magnificent lyre carved from a single block of dark wood stood atop the mantel of the mock fireplace. There were lamps throwing out dull golden light everywhere.
“Come,” Apollo urged, tugging at Hyacinthus’ arm.
They walked out of the parlour and into the little corridor beyond it. Hyacinthus picked up his feet, anticipation surging thick and fast through his veins. He was in what Apollo considered his own private sanctuary. He committed all that he saw to memory.
By the time they reached Apollo’s bedroom, the air around them had been crackling with electricity. Apollo went in first—Hyacinthus followed. The doors closed on their own, and the men divested themselves of their clothes. Apollo undressed quickly, tugging down his slacks and briefs and tossing them onto the pile of shirts and shoes and socks and jackets that had formed on the floor. Hyacinthus was barely given time to undress. Apollo was on him the moment he straightened himself, his smooth fawn skin exposed to the cold air. The god scooped him up and carried him to bed, and Hyacinthus responded by throwing his arms around his neck.
The bed Hyacinthus was laid on was the largest he had ever seen, a veritable sea of silk that was uncommonly soft. He moved further up and settled his head amidst the plump pillows, his limbs prickling with goosebumps the instant the weight of the mattress shifted, and Apollo slipped in beside him. He did not say a word; rather, he laced his fingers around Hyacinthus’ breath and let his gaze drift down the expanse of Hyacinthus’ body. He drank in the way Hyacinthus’ chest rose and fell with each breath he took, and how the trail of hair as dark as soot ran down from his navel to the apex of his thighs. His gaze lingered on the erection already forming between them, then it drifted back up again. Hyacinthus was looking right back at him, his amber eyes locked onto Apollo’s. He wondered how this night would go and what they would do. They had done it before, but their encounters had been too few, too quiet, and very, very rushed. Tonight, there would be no rushing, no quiet kisses or stifled moans. There was nothing and no one to hinder them.
Apollo took the initiative, moving over Hyacinthus before he could even think. “No,” he murmured, brushing away the hand that drifted up his thigh. “Let me.”
Hyacinthus let his body go completely lax when Apollo dipped his head, letting out a soft whimper when the god pressed lingering kisses against his forehead, his cheeks, and the tip of his nose. Apollo sought his mouth next, then the soft flesh of his throat and the crook of his neck, taking him apart inch by delicious inch with his lips and his teeth and his tongue. Hyacinthus arched his back and let out a whine. When he attempted to curl his fingers around Apollo’s sandy-blonde hair, he found himself being denied yet again.
“No,” Apollo commanded, though not ungently. “Let me tend to you.”
Hyacinthus nodded and obeyed. He gripped at the sheet beneath him, his nails digging into the fabric when Apollo brushed his tongue over his nipple and lightly tugged at it between his teeth. His legs spread apart, and when Apollo’s belly rubbed against his length, he jolted, electrified. When it happened a second time, he loosened his tongue and moaned deeply. Apollo stopped what he was doing to look up and smile.
“Enjoying yourself, my love?” He asked, turning his attention to the other nipple.
“I am,” Hyacinthus breathed. He was fairly certain his fingers were tearing into the sheets now. Each sensation that tore through him was more powerful than the one before it. He loved it. “Gods, how you know your way with me.”
Apollo looked at him and smirked. “You know how much I love to please.”
He kissed his way lower, and lower, leaving a damp, heated trail in his wake. He kissed the insides of Hyacinthus’ thighs, the nearly flat plane of his belly, and the tip of his cock, tasting the beads that had gathered at the slit. When he got off the bed, ever so reluctantly of course, Hyacinthus reached behind him for a pillow. He slid it beneath his ass while Apollo crossed to the bedside cupboard. It was well-stocked with everything he could want or need for them both, but for now, he pulled out the bottle of lube he had procured just for tonight, leaving aside other protection. Such was not needed. Hyacinthus arched a quizzical brow after catching a glimpse of the contents the top drawer held.
“Are they meant for other companions as well?”
“These are only for you,” Apollo whispered, getting back into bed and kneeling between Hyacinthus’ spread legs. He flipped up the tab of the bottle and emptied a generous handful onto his fingers and the flat of his palm. “Do not fret, Hyacinthus. I belong to you now, and no other.”
Hyacinthus managed a smile, and on Apollo’s request, lifted his legs and bent his knees toward his chest. His eyes fluttered closed when a finger breached him, cool and slick and oh-so-familiar. A second finger breached him, and then a third. They slid in and out of him in a thrusting motion, and the friction they caused each time they curved upward and struck that sweet spot within him roused him in ways that he could put into words. When Apollo withdrew his hand and gripped his thighs after having prepared himself, Hyacinthus let out a sound of gratitude. He knew what was to come next.
To Apollo, such a sound was like music to his ears. He slid in slowly as he always did, and when he sank deep, he took a moment to keep still. He did it to savour the warmth of Hyacinthus’ body, the raggedness of his breath, and the frantic beating of his heart. Then, when Hyacinthus uttered a barely audible ‘please’, he began to move, pulling back his hips and pushing back in a gentle, languid pace.
It was easy to lose himself in Hyacinthus then. And it was easy to lose himself to his own baser urges. He sped up, delighting in the cries he incited each time he went a little faster and plunged a little deeper. When he released Hyacinthus’ thighs to brace his hands by Hyacinthus’ shoulders, trembling hands alighted on his sides, startling him.
“Please,” Hyacinthus pleaded. “I just want to touch you.”
Apollo did not deny him a third time. He went even harder and faster, paying no heed to the nails that dug into his skin or the shaking of the bed. Jolts of pleasure shot through him, the kind that grew stronger and stronger until they became overwhelming. When he could not hold back anymore, he called out Hyacinthus' name and allowed himself to unravel, his entire body trembling violently when he came. But he did not stop there. He reached down between them to take Hyacinthus in hand. Three quick strokes were all it took. Hyacinthus grunted and orgasmed, his body writhing and shuddering as new sensations erupted and pounded at him at a frantic speed. Warmth spurted down onto his belly, and Apollo's name blew past his bruised lips. Apollo collapsed against him, not caring about the mess that smeared all over his stomach. He gathered Hyacinthus into his embrace, showering him with sweet kisses. When his body finally stopped shaking, he pulled out and rolled onto his back, his chest still heaving from the aftermath of his release.
Hyacinthus rolled onto his side, resting his head on Apollo’s chest when the god drew him close. “You did very well, beloved,” Apollo said, caressing Hyacinthus’ cheek. “Are you tired? Did I hurt you? Did I go too far?”
“I am not tired,” Hyacinthus replied softly. “And you did not hurt me. You did not go too far. I enjoyed every moment of us together.”
Apollo beamed. “Then I am glad.” He shifted a little to make Hyacinthus more comfortable. “Let us get some rest. I will show you around the hotel after that.”