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Theseus has managed, at last, to offer Zagreus a tour of his quarters.
“At last”, because it has been clear for a while now that the king has been hoping Zagreus will ask him. Most of his pre-battle speeches have veered into rapturous descriptions of his spacious chambers and their many great furnishings.
Over time, however, it seemed to dawn on him that the bonefish wasn't going to take the bait. So (at last) he performed the exhausting mental gymnastics required to make the invitation himself. Among his justifications: Zagreus’ need for a lesson in home decor (ridiculous), and “sating Zagreus’ great curiosity”, which has been “so apparent” during their past encounters. Also, he can’t believe he’s doing this, Zagreus should know what an unthinkable occurrence it is, and he should be careful not to be overwhelmed by Theseus’ finery.
The usual.
Zagreus, of course, recognizes this for what it is: a chance for Theseus to shamelessly show off and, if the mood strikes, maybe have some sex while exclaiming how much he hates it. One day, Zagreus is going to get tired of that line. For now, well--Theseus is fun to egg on, and also a horribly, stupidly good lay.
With a beautiful bedroom.
Zagreus had really wanted to hate the place, just to rile the king up about it, but unfortunately, it’s...nice. There’s a gleaming collection of weapons in Elysian magenta by the bed. All the colors look well together (no points for that, though, it’s predictably very blue-and-gold), and the wall-hangings are bafflingly tasteful.
He realizes too late that his surprise is probably showing on his face; Theseus is glowing with pompous pride.
“Well, daemon?”
Zagreus surveys the room once more, flattening his expression. There has to be something… Ah.
“The bed’s quite large, isn’t it? Though I suppose it would have to be, to fit our mutual friend.”
A muscle in Theseus’ jaw jerks petulantly. Zagreus grins and goes in for the kill. “Perhaps even room enough for a third.”
“I see only room enough for two ,” Theseus snaps. “I warned you, did I not, to halt your dark schemes of seduction!!”
“I assure you, I have no such schemes,” says Zagreus with dignity. “Although--if you keep bringing it up like this, who knows? I might start getting ideas.”
“I swear upon my oath, beguiler! I will not allow your devilish charms to sway him!”
“Mm.” What's the point in arguing, really. Theseus can have his self-involved paranoias; at least this one verges on flattering, anyway. He really thinks Zagreus has some chance of convincing Asterius to bed him. It's almost sweet. Almost, but not.
Zagreus finds his wandering eyes have landed on a discreet, dimly-lit corner. It's modestly furnished, compared to the splendor of the room at large, but that makes it all the more curious. Zagreus squints, trying to understand what he's seeing. There, stairs, leading up to a modest marble dais. Set into that, an oval pool that seems to be emitting a soft pink glow. Some kind of tiny bath? And protruding from it... He moves closer, eventually kneeling to inspect the ghostly arms as they sway in some invisible current. Strange.
“What’s this?”
Theseus’ chest swells in smug excitement. “You seem apprehensive! Could it be you have never seen its like before?”
It’s a laughably transparent bid for envy, almost childlike. Zagreus purses his lips against an irritated smile. “I’ve seen hands like these. Though they’re usually more...aggressive, when I encounter them.” (Biting cold, green water up to his knees, clawing at his legs--I’m stuck-- Zagreus grimaces.) “But I assume you didn’t have this put in your room just to torture you, and since you clearly want me to ask... What exactly does it do?”
Five minutes later, he’s completely naked and easing himself gingerly into tingling pink warmth. The bottom of the pool slopes to fit his back, and a little alcove at the top allows him to rest quite comfortably with his head above water. His body brushes past the swaying arms, which twitch gently in turn. Promising.
From Theseus’ explanation, he thinks he’s gotten the general idea. Some kind of god-blessed one-man sex bath--for when Asterius is busy and he’s too lazy to use his own hands, presumably. Just the kind of thing they would get up to, here in Elysium. Still, he won’t waste the chance to try it out, even if the company is...not ideal. Especially since Zagreus can’t picture his father allowing a work order for one back home.
His less-than-ideal company watches him raptly from a cushioned seat, one hand propping up his perfectly-chiseled chin. The other hangs over one thigh, anticipatory.
“You said this thing is ‘attuned to the owner’s desire’,” says Zagreus. “Does that mean yours? Or mine, since I’m the one in it right now?”
“What does it matter?”
“Just curious.” Zagreus looks pointedly around at the arms, a few of which have folded lightly overtop of him. “It seems like it’s taking a while to, er, get started. So, it’s used to you, and you require a light touch, is that it?”
“You are distinctly ungrateful, as ever, fiend. Insulting my endurance yet again--we shall have to find an appropriate punishment for you!”
“I didn’t mean it as-- I’m not saying it’s a moral failing to-- Look, what do you want from me?” Zagreus tries to adjust his position and feels resistance. A few of the arms have locked around his biceps; others, his thighs and waist. He’s fixed in place.
Theseus’ grin has taken on an edge he usually sees just before a well-placed spear throw sends him back to the House. He’s laying claim, waiting for it to be accepted. It’s cocky and infuriating and, unfortunately, deeply arousing. Zagreus hesitates, then arches against his restraints with a soft groan, watching for a reaction. The hand dangling between Theseus’ legs clenches on air.
“...Do you wish to forfeit, daemon?”
“Not on your afterlife, king.”
Theseus’ laugh is as condescending as ever, albeit shot through this time with thinly-veiled excitement. “Very well! Then, back to the subject of your disrespect…”
Zagreus listens with half an ear, his attention increasingly occupied by the shade hands on his body. There’s a certain phantasmal quality to them, an odd smoothness. But they’re solid and warm, and mindless as they had seemed at first, there seems to be purpose now in their movements. Hunger, even. One grips at his ass, squeezing with suggestive intent. Another trails down the back of his thigh. Still others crawl over his torso, making his stomach muscles flutter and spasm...
“--and you must admit to your intentions with Asterius-- Are you listening?”
“Uh--mm--not exactly--”
Theseus tuts aggressively. “Of course. You are too wanton a creature to heed anything else when there is pleasure to be had--even the words of your betters. You are ruled by your crudest desires!”
“You started it,” Zagreus manages, too distracted to be witty. The hands are everywhere now, groping and fondling with the eagerness of a long-time ogler. Two have closed on his chest, kneading appreciatively and plucking at his nipples. Knuckles caress his jaw, trail up the line of his cheekbone. Questing fingers find his lips, probe insistently for entry. Zagreus tilts his head this way and that, frowning, but they won’t be shaken.
“Well?” says Theseus, haughtily impatient. “Open your mouth, filth.”
Zagreus feels the dull sting of annoyance in time with a shameful throb between his legs. Once again, the two sensations intertwine unbearably; how humiliating, to obey his hated enemy’s whim and be used for his gratification.
How irresistible, to surrender.
With an aborted moan, Zagreus allows the fingers to slip into his mouth. He looks to Theseus, half defying, half seeking approval, and finds the king already staring intensely back. Those blue eyes don’t flicker away for even a moment as the hand pries Zagreus’ mouth wider, tugging at his tongue. Theseus is uncharacteristically silent, which suits Zagreus well; he’s much more pleasant like this. For a while, the only sound in the room is the staccato of his own grunts and whimpers as the pool explores his body, utterly unimpeded. Zagreus is rapidly starting to see the appeal of the thing. It may not have all the perks of a real-life encounter with Than and Meg, but it also certainly requires less schedule coordination. And--he hadn't expected it to be so...enthusiastic.
Theseus clears his throat, seeming to realize he hasn’t said anything irritating in a while. “You may have no honor at all, hellspawn! You may certainly be unworthy of my respect or companionship, and your rampages through Elysium may be utterly unforgivable... But this I shall concede: that in your current state you are somewhat more presentable, more tolerable--”
Zagreus growls his wordless displeasure. If the look on Theseus’ face is anything to go by, the sound only encourages him; the king takes himself in hand, talking feverishly as he strokes.
“Ngh--gods help me--to even allow you into my quarters is to defile them, but...there is perhaps some appeal to the idea of a...pet monster...”
Zagreus doesn‘t make a sound this time, but Theseus must see his eyes burning, because he smirks and waits, the bastard. Knowing Zagreus is itching to interject, and all too happy to watch him glare wordlessly. Zagreus can feel himself starting to drool and seals his lips around the fingers, sucking and swallowing, well aware the image he’s presenting
“Truly,” says Theseus, breathless, “a great deal more tolerable.”
And then, at long last, one of the bath’s hands wraps around Zagreus’ cock, moving thoughtfully along his length. He sighs gratefully and tries to buck his hips up for more friction, but-- The arms holding him in place seem almost to tighten and--there’s no room. Zagreus makes a strangled noise of complaint, and gets only a widening grin in return. He's suddenly acutely aware of how completely pinned he is, what it means. How it makes him into a thing to be used and played with, helpless at the mercy of lascivious, self-interested masters. Something inside him melts at the thought. His mind turns hot and stupid.
“This must be your body’s true purpose, I think,” Theseus proclaims, returning to a familiar fixation. “The fates intended you for submission! Or temptation. Or both, perhaps! What think you, fiend?”
Zagreus tries for a derisive snort, but the effect is ruined by the pathetic whine that follows. One of the hands thumbs at a nipple and then pinches it again, hard. His body twitches ineffectually--gods, he needs more, faster, now--
“Why, I thought I heard a begging dog just now!” Theseus remarks theatrically, as though speaking aside to an audience. “Perhaps you are in heat, daemon? Know now that I will not deign to mount you this day or night, lest you begin to feel entitled to the honor! You must learn self-restraint!”
When did Theseus acquire so much self-restraint himself, to resist that particular urge? Zagreus wants something inside him, and the hands are frustratingly unobliging, even as two of them pump steadily away at his sanity. Damn it--
“Come, face me! Unless you are afraid to show me your desperation, that is! And I would hear you beg again, hellhound. ”
That hot, stupid feeling intensifies to the point of consuming him. Slowly, Zagreus turns his head. He can imagine how he looks--flushed and sweating, still sucking at the fingers in his mouth. Trying to glare even as the water ripples with every pleasurable jerk of his body. Theseus holds eye contact again, breathing heavy through slightly parted lips, one arm still working furiously. Zagreus looses another plaintive cry, making the sound as pleading as he can, and watches the king shudder at the noise. Come on, he thinks, repeating it with even more anguish. No acting required. Come on, touch me, fuck me, do it, do it please, I’m so close--
“I think I--aahh --like this expression of yours, fiend! Hhhh-- ” Please just fuck me. “And you--bared it to me so dutifully...I may make bearable company of you yet.” Oh gods please, please. “Though I sense you still have much to learn of attentive listening, no?” Hypocrite, fuck me--
It's at this moment that the pool seems to lose patience with him. Zagreus’ eyes go wide as a series of quick, hard strokes slam him into climax, his wailing muffled by the fingers in his mouth, tears of relief rolling over his temples. The hands work him patiently through to completion, and then they just...keep going. One creeps lower between his legs, pressing patiently at his entrance. Would’ve been nice earlier, but why complain...
Something pulls the ghostly hands away from his face, trailing strings of saliva. Blue eyes. Golden hair. Zagreus gazes dizzily up at Theseus’ expectant face, catching his breath. “...Well?” says the king eventually, impatience clearly getting the better of him. “Have you anything to say to me, daemon?”
Of course. “ Nh-- thank you…ah...king ...”
“Hahah! Good monster.” Theseus pauses, his grin dropping a notch. “Though--I have noticed, of late, that my title means little on your lips. You have wrung all reverence from it with your vile insincerity.”
“‘pologies,” Zagreus manages, still dazed. “I’ll...what...would you prefer…?”
Theseus hesitates, licking his lips. A rare thought seems to occur to him. “...What is it that you call Asterius?”
Zagreus’s head lolls back as, at last, a finger slips inside him under the water. “Sir…”
“There. A suitable level of deference.” A kingly hand grips his jaw, sliding a calloused thumb between his lips, and Zagreus closes on it without thinking. Theseus chuckles, perfectly superior. “Your mouth hates to be empty, it seems! Answer me properly, and perhaps I shall fill it for you, undeserving though you may be! Tell me, what is your body’s purpose, hellspawn?”
Zagreus flails about for an easy answer as Theseus frees his mouth again. The hands grasping at him haven’t slowed a bit; if anything, they seem even more ravenous than before. “ Ah-whatever you say, Thes--sir --ngh-- ”
“Hmph! Your attempted flattery shall avail you naught! Be honest, if you are capable of such a thing! What is your body’s purpose?”
“I--” Zagreus flounders, gasping. Just do it just give it to me just, please-- “To be fucked,” he tries, wildly. “Sir. Sir. Please, I--please let me--”
“Peace, daemon, I shall put you out of your misery! Though your answer is lacking in sophistication.” Theseus straddles the pool over his face, fists a hand in his hair. “Are you not glad of my mercy?”
“Y--so glad, thank you sir--”
“Then open your mouth,” comes the command again. And again, enticed by the heat pooling in his gut, Zagreus obeys.
It’s different from what he’s used to. Over time, he’s learned to use his mouth with all the control and delicacy of an artist. Theseus reduces it to a warm, convenient hole, pushing as deep as he can, as fast as possible. Zagreus gags for a moment, caught by surprise, barely manages to readjust before the next thrust. The angle is awkward, and it strains his jaw, and it’s--good. Zagreus surrenders, relaxing, opening his throat to be fucked. His own cock stirs again as down below, and another finger pushes inside him, flexing, stretching him out. Even now, it seems like there’s a hand on every inch of his skin--touching, petting, pinching, rubbing--Zagreus squirms, overwhelmed and unable to even beg.
“You’re mine, filth, ” pants a distant voice. “You’re--angh--! Mine!”
Zagreus groans around him, lets his eyes roll back again. Yours.
“Good--monsterrr-- Pretty pet whore--!”
The litany of mixed praise and degradation blends with the sweet agony of sensation, becoming all one thing. Zagreus lets it wash over him, listening to his own whimpers as the pool works on his too-sensitive body. He's lost in warmth and pleasure and the thrill of helplessness. Time melts away. It seems only moments later that he’s coming again, keening in fits and starts as his body goes taut against its bindings. The aftershocks run through him, racking his body until, finally, it’s done.
A soft post-coital haze descends on the world, even as Theseus continues with wild abandon. The little corner is filled with his extravagant moans and the steady, wet rhythm of his thrusts. It’s almost impressive, actually, how long he’s lasted, but he has to be very close now. Probably any little thing could tip him over the edge… Anything at all.
Experimentally, Zagreus voices one last long, exaggerated whine, and is rewarded almost immediately. Theseus practically sobs, and pops loose of his mouth to come, a slashing spurt across his face that narrowly misses one eye. Zagreus coughs and sucks in air, wet-faced, jaw hanging slack. Gods. The game is over, and grudgingly, he has to give credit where it’s due. “ Blood and darkness --king--”
“That’s--sir--to you--!”
Alright, forget credit. “Ugh...not anymore,” murmurs Zagreus, his words coming honey-slow. Theseus flops to one side, spent, leaving him with the last word. The shade arms loosen from Zagreus, reassuming their neutral position; macabre flowers, waving softly all around. His limbs are free to float in the warm water, his mind to float on the sleepy euphoria that comes from testing his limits and falling back.
For a timeless while, he flirts with unconsciousness.
Eventually, however, reality raps on the door, bringing with it an aching throat and a crusted face. Zagreus blinks blearily up at the ceiling, remembering things in scattered pieces. First and foremost: he’s still technically on the job. Is he going to get paid for the time he spent dawdling here? What a terrible thought... And even worse, he still has to fight his father after this. Ugh. At this point, he’d rather just stand in front of a satyr and let it poison him. He might even do it.
Still, no sense in lying around here any longer.
“Aha...the blackguard arises,” says Theseus muzzily, rolling over on the floor. He props himself up on one elbow, striking a pose as he watches Zagreus climb unsteadily out of the water. Zagreus spares him a thoughtful glance.
“...I suppose it was attuned to you after all.”
“What was that, daemon?”
“The pool.” Zagreus starts to pull on his leggings in a wet, undignified shuffle. “That’s why it only stopped when you finished. I can only take that to mean that you're thinking constantly of my body and the shameful, shameful things you want to do to it.”
“You--why, I--if I am, whose fault do you suppose--”
Zagreus kneels to splash water on his face, ignoring the indignant sputtering. A shock of hair over his forehead is stiff and crunchy-- damn it… “Next time don’t pull out, alright?” he says, interrupting Theseus mid-tirade. “It’s much neater, and I promise you I’m not going to choke.” He pauses, swallows. “...Though I think you may have bruised my throat.”
Theseus watches him slide into his greaves, frowning. “The might of a champion can pose a risk for lesser beings...a curse I have long since come to accept! Were it not for Asterius, I should be unmatched, I think. I shall temper my strength when next I am compelled to fulfill these debauched fantasies, fear not!”
“What?” Zagreus squints at him. “No, it’s...fine.” He pauses, trying to parse the intentions behind this almost-considerate sentiment. “Theseus, you know you kill me on a regular basis, right?”
“It pleases me to hear you admit it!”
“Right, so, anyway--why are you fussing over this?”
“You--pshaw! I am not, I simply--I am the champion, I must hold myself to a higher standard! Not that you know much of standards, I’m sure!”
“Apparently not,” mutters Zagreus, bemused.
“What was that?!”
Zagreus shrugs, propping Varatha over one shoulder as he makes for the door. “Oh, nothing! Just that if you fuck me too hard, I’ll let you know. To be honest, though, I’m not that worried...your strength isn’t all you make it out to be.”
“Why, you…! Exit my chambers, scum, or I shall see you off with violence!”
“Outside of the arena?” Zagreus intones, mock-surprised. “What about your standards? ”
“Out!”
Zagreus leaves at a run, half a grin on his face. He can’t remember half the boons he’s received, and he’s going to get an earful for being late to the surface, but--one way or another, he’ll be back home soon. He might even take a nap, for once.
And then start making plans to seduce Asterius.