Work Text:
The knock at the door of her chambers makes Megaera look up from her work. She was not expecting a visit, and most in the House would not call on her without due notice. So it is either an urgent matter that requires her attention or it is Zagreus, who delights in being the exception to every rule.
"Come in," she calls, and isn't surprised when the door opens to reveal her second guess.
"Hey, Meg." Zagreus slips inside, with a guileless smile and a bottle of Ambrosia. He hesitates as he's about to close the door behind him, noticing the parchmentwork on her desk. "Oh. Sorry, I didn't realize you were busy."
"Surprises work both ways," she points out.
"Right, that's my mistake. I'll just come back later, then, if that's alright." He gives her a sheepish chuckle and swings the door open again.
She ought to let him leave, because he is being respectful of her time—albeit belatedly—and that is something she appreciates. But she's known him long enough to be able to read the inflection of his voice and his every gesture as clearly as words on a page and, though he tries not to show it, it's obvious that he's disappointed to be turned away.
If she lets him leave now, he'll understand that he simply had bad timing and that this has nothing to do with whether she wants to see him or not. He knows her well enough not to need that reassurance.
She ought to let him leave so that she can focus on her work until he returns. And yet.
"Not so fast, Zag." At her words, he stops at the threshold. His full attention is on her. "You must have come for a reason. What is it?"
He laughs again, and this time there's a dusting of pink on his cheeks, which is an answer in its own right. "Would you blame me if I said I missed you? I haven't run into you in Tartarus or the lounge in a while. Thought I might offer you this Ambrosia and persuade you to take it easy for a day-or-night."
"And yet you were ready to leave before you even tried to persuade me."
"Wasn't sure if you were willing to be persuaded at the moment, Meg."
That makes her laugh, in spite of herself, and she tries and fails not to be charmed by the way Zagreus smiles at the sound. "You seem to be confused about the meaning of your words, Zagreus. Persuasion isn't based on prior agreement. That's the point."
"I'll keep that in mind for future reference." He looks far too pleased with himself now, and she rolls her eyes at him, but he seems to take it as encouragement. "As for this time... mind giving me a chance to try, Meg?"
He means the question in earnest—as though he would still be standing in her doorway now if she didn't want him here. He should know her answer already. He probably does, but he still waits to hear it from her lips.
"Close the door behind you."
Zagreus grins, and his eyes twinkle merrily in the light of the braziers. He obeys, and Megaera returns her attention to her paperwork so he won't see her smile. As she continues her task, comparing the three lists in front of her, she hears the click of the door and Zagreus' flint-like footsteps approaching the desk.
"That looks positively miserable." He drums his fingers on the wood, once, a nervous tick swiftly suppressed when Megaera clucks her tongue. "Sorry. If I'd known you were doing parchmentwork of all things, I'd have brought more than one bottle."
She scoffs, but does not look up. "Come now, Zagreus. Did you expect I'd be whipping shades in my private chambers?"
"Well, when you put it that way... I suppose not. What's all this, then?"
"Records of my sisters' assignments, and mine. It's my job to confirm the numbers add up to the total of shades sent to the pits, and ensure not a single one of them slips our notice."
Out of the corner of her eye she watches Zagreus walk around the desk to stand beside her chair. Close enough to infringe on her personal space. He peers at the three lists for a handful of seconds—the longest span of attention he's paid any parchmentwork ever presented to him—and then points at the one on the left. "I'll take a wild guess and say this one's Alecto's."
It isn't a wild guess at all, and the tone of his voice makes it clear that he knows, and is sharing a joke with her. The list in question is written in an erratic hand, cramped and full of abbreviations. It screams annoyance. "Correct."
"And I know your handwriting, so that one on the far side must be Tisiphone's," he says, correct again, and he leans forward to inspect it. He is mere inches from Megaera's side, and she has to fight the urge to roll her eyes at how obvious he's being. "Huh, would you look at that. She has lovely handwriting... Not that I ought to be surprised by that, I suppose."
"Speech has always been a challenge for Tis, but her records are impeccable."
"They certainly look that way. You and your sisters are dedicated to your duty, I know that much."
There's no trace of the resentment that might have accompanied that observation once upon a time. Rather, he sounds amused, even fond. It's a pleasant change to notice in him—one among several since he made it his mission to get back into her good graces. He understands that she keeps work and play separate, even when the lines between the two might seem to blur, and he respects it.
Respects it most of the time, anyway.
"I could pour you a drink, if you'd like," he says, voice low and velvety and about as subtle as a hammer.
He's still standing close enough to her chair that her arm will brush against his side if she moves to rearrange the items on her desk. She makes a point of doing so now, calling his bluff. Zagreus' breath hitches near imperceptibly at that fleeting contact.
She doesn't bother looking up as she tells him, "You know where the glasses are."
Zagreus hesitates. "Glasses, plural?"
"You brought that Ambrosia for me, didn't you? One glass."
He chuckles, but doesn't argue. "Alright, then. Be right back."
He leaves the bottle on the desk before turning away. Leaves it next to her inkwell, so her eyes are drawn to it every time she dips her quill to make an annotation or cross out a shade's sentence from the master list.
The scratching of her quill on the parchment helps her focus. She's aware of Zagreus' steps across the room and the soft crackle of his laurels, so similar and yet distinct from the fire of the braziers. The hinges of the cabinet creak when he opens it to retrieve what he's looking for, then closes it again.
Zagreus returns. Without a word, he grabs the decanter and pours two fingers of amber liquid into the glass, which he holds out to Megaera.
He's smiling when she looks up. She accepts the glass and sips it, to hide her own smile.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, Meg?" he asks, as sweet as the liquid on her tongue. His manner is easy, but his gaze is as intent as ever. Always trying to anticipate her every reaction and drinking it in, committing it to memory.
"Tsch. You're the one trying to persuade me, Zag. I'm not going to tell you how to do it." She licks her lips to gather the last traces of the Ambrosia, and sees his eyes fall to her mouth. Predictable. She pauses to feign consideration. "This is a good enough start, but you can do better."
"It's up to me to figure it out, then, is it," he says in good humor. She knows that tone of voice, has heard it a thousand times at the edge of Tartarus and in their more private encounters. It's the way he talks when presented with an alluring challenge. "I suppose I have a few options to try. You mind if I think out loud?"
"As long as you're not too loud. I need to focus on this."
Megaera puts the glass down again, at the edge of her vision, and returns to her work. Unforgivable crimes listed in crimson ink, cross-checked and recorded for eternity. The scratch of her quill ensures justice will be done, and it brings her nearly as much satisfaction as the screams of her charges under her whip when she's on duty.
Zagreus pours more Ambrosia into the glass, and the splash of liquid catches her attention. He lightly grasps the glass from above; Megaera waits to see if he will defy her and drink. But he traces the rim with his finger, lingering on the pink print left by her lipstick and then withdrawing entirely. He chuckles beside her.
Only a few dozen punishments to match on the parchment. Megaera wrests back her concentration.
"Those are long lists, Meg. I'll wager it's going to take you and your lovely sisters a while to discipline all those shades in the pits."
"The rest of eternity."
"Right, I suppose that's the point." He steps away from the desk and comes to stand behind her chair. "I know you're proud of your work and you'd never complain, but your shoulders probably get tired from all those whippings. I could give you a massage, if you'd allow it."
So this is his next idea, then. "In the spirit of helping me relax, I assume."
"Absolutely." There's laughter in Zagreus' voice. He sounds unfazed by her skepticism, content to be so transparent in his intentions. He acts more confident around her since they've been back together—another change Megaera can't help but appreciate. "I'd have to remove your armor. May I?"
She pretends to ponder the offer. It wouldn't do to accept it too quickly. Zagreus awaits her answer patiently. She makes a few more checks on the list, then puts down her quill.
"Go ahead," she says, and at once there's an eager intake of breath behind her and his fingers are deftly unlatching the clasps. "You can do my shoulders and my back down to my waist. Don't touch my wing."
"Yes, Meg."
Zagreus obeys her instructions to the letter. For now, at least; he tends to grow daring given time and praise. But to begin with, he is happy to comply with what she asks of him, nothing less and nothing more.
He knows how to remove her armor. The pauldrons go first, easily unhooked from the neck piece and set aside. Second, he undoes the clasps on the gorget and brings a hand around to pull it free. Megaera can tell he's taking care not to make unsolicited contact when he leans forward. Even so, his knuckles ghost along the underside of her jaw as he withdraws. She closes her eyes for a moment.
"Sorry." Zagreus sounds sincere. He interpreted her reaction as annoyance, perhaps. She chooses not to correct him.
"Nevermind. Put those down on the vanity."
He does so. Takes long enough for Megaera to draw straight lines across three more names properly checked. Then he's at her back again. He settles his hands on her left shoulder—warm and broad and robbed by the Styx of all the calluses he once had.
"I'll start on your left side, so you can keep writing." His tone is calm, but his breathing betrays him. It's just a touch faster than before. He slips his fingers underneath the blue fold of her robe, and through the single remaining layer of fabric between them she can feel the tremor of his hands.
"How considerate of you, Zag," Megaera teases. "Have you given up on persuading me to take a break?"
He laughs, a little hoarse. "I don't want to accidentally mess up your list. That'd mean even more work to fix it, wouldn't it?"
"True. Go on, then."
"Your wish is my command." Zagreus delivers the words in jest, but there's too much honesty in them and the joke falls flat. Megaera laughs. Then he presses down on the tension between her shoulders with the heel of his palm, exactly right , and she has to bite back a sigh.
"Good?"
"You just started," she points out, "you haven't earned your praise yet."
Zagreus laughs, and she can just picture the obnoxious delight on his face. This is what she gets for letting him touch her like this, she thinks. It's harder to mask her reactions when they're so close.
"I can do better," he promises, and proves it.
His hands are as clever as his tongue. He runs them over Megaera's left shoulder and down her side, within the limits of her instructions, kneading in circles with his thumbs wherever he finds tension. He works out the knots in her muscles one by one; some of them Megaera herself hadn't noticed until now. It's distracting to realize anew how well he knows her body.
Megaera holds onto her concentration through sheer willpower and reads the next sentence on her list for the fourth time.
"Let me know when it's okay to do the right side," Zagreus says, voice low and pitched for her ears only.
Megaera makes a note on the parchment. She's going to have to double-check everything later, just to be safe. Zagreus' fingers brush the nape of her neck. There and gone—she didn't say he could touch her there. He's growing bold already. But she did give him permission to persuade her, and he's doing a better job of it than she wants to admit.
He swallows hard, the way he does when he's trying to push out words that won't come. The words turn out to be a question.
"May I take out your ponytail?"
It's not what she expected. "If you can keep my hair out of my face," she tells him.
He does. He slips off the gold band. The ponytail comes undone, and he combs her hair back with the utmost care to avoid pulling. Megaera hears his breath catch when he threads his hands through it, as though he can't quite believe she's allowing this kind of intimate touch which she never has before. Then again, he's never asked. She wonders how long he's wanted to.
His voice wavers when he asks, "Is this okay?"
Zagreus, you idiot, she thinks fondly, feeling his fingers hesitantly begin to massage her scalp. I keep allowing you this close, and you still need me to spell everything out for you.
"Zagreus. Do you think I wouldn't tell you if it wasn't?"
He laughs, and his hands stutter in their movements. "Point taken." He continues combing through the strands, more confident now.
The next few names on the list are Tisiphone's charges. There is no cramped shorthand to account for. Megaera transcribes them to the master list, followed by some of her own. She's almost to the end. Still, she takes her time with it, ensuring there are no mistakes. Zagreus' blunt nails scrape lightly on her scalp as he withdraws his hand from her hair to rub down her neck.
"You can massage my right side now," she tells him when the last wretched name is inked at the bottom.
"Alright." He lingers a moment longer. His fingertips whisper down her spine and stop an inch shy of the sensitive skin at the base of her wing. Megaera suppresses a shiver. To mask that reaction, she leans forward and blows on the ink to dry it.
Zagreus withdraws and circles around to her right, careful not to graze her wing. Obedient. It doesn't take him long to reposition himself, but even so Megaera finds herself missing the touch of his hands. A thought hits her then, that her earlier assessment might have been wrong. Maybe persuasion does involve a prior agreement. Maybe seduction is just the art of swaying another to do what they already want to do.
"Are you done with that?" Zagreus asks, seeming to notice she's put down her quill and is clearing aside the parchment.
Megaera glances at him and smirks. "That's none of your business. You still owe me half a massage."
"That I do." He does a decent job of keeping his voice light and steady, but his eyes betray him, as always. His pupils are blown all to hell as he looks from the curve of her mouth, down her throat, to her shoulder. There he sets his hands on her bare skin. They feel warmer without any fabric in the way, and always smoother than she expects.
Megaera looks away and reaches for the glass with her left hand. The Ambrosia, so refreshing when she sipped it before, now makes fire dance along her nerves. Its divine taste is attuned to the mood of the drinker, and it knows the thoughts running through her mind. It burns Megaera's throat pleasantly on the way down.
Zagreus' fingers press in underneath her shoulder blade, gradually working loose the tension accumulated from wielding her whip. Little by little, he feels the spot where her muscles are wound tight and carefully coaxes that knot to relax. Megaera imagines the slight crease between his brows as he concentrates. Zagreus has his own particular brand of diligence; no matter what his father may say, he is more than capable of devoting himself to a task, given the right motivation.
She feels a surge of pride and possessiveness, and extends her wing to wrap around him. He starts and tumbles forward, bracing his weight with one hand on her shoulder and another on the desk. Instinctively shying from her wing—still trying to follow her order not to make contact with its leathery skin.
"Meg?" He's practically leaning over her now, and his breath is hot on the shell of her ear. He's off-balance and must be uncomfortable, but he remains perfectly still, waiting for a hint.
Megaera pours more Ambrosia into the glass, taking her time to watch the amber liquid swirl, as if his proximity doesn't affect her. She hears him gulp.
"Thirsty, Zagreus?"
He chokes out a laugh. "Now that you mention it, yes, quite."
"I thought you might be." Megaera looks at him. He's barely breathing, hanging onto her every word. She offers him the glass. "Here. Have some."
"Cheers, Meg." Without breaking eye contact he slides a knee onto the edge of her chair, shifting his weight away from the desk and closer to her, and takes the glass. He tilts it as if making a toast, then knocks it back, watching her through half-lidded eyes as he drinks.
Watching for approval, as always.
Megaera makes a point of trailing her eyes down the line of his throat as he swallows. Even such a minor display of her interest is enough to make his grip on her shoulder tighten for a second, and he has a dazed grin on his face when he finishes drinking and she takes the glass away.
He's so utterly predictable, and she loves him for it.
"Look at you." Megaera takes him by the chin and tilts his face up and away. The flush on his cheeks runs all the way down to his chest, and she can feel his pulse quicken under her fingertips. "You're a mess, Zagreus."
"I can't help that around you."
"That much is obvious." He closes his eyes, as though trying to gather his wits. She doesn't want to allow him that, so she says, "It's a good look on you, Zag."
Her words have the desired effect. Zagreus bites his lower lip and smothers a pitiful groan.
"Glad you like what you see," he says after a moment, with a paltry attempt at his earlier composure. He closes his fingers over the heavy gold bracer on Megaera's wrist and brushes his thumb over the hollow of her quickening pulse. "What would you have me do next?"
"I thought we agreed I wasn't going to give you any hints. You know me well enough." He should be able to see through her projected calm, should know that the game is over and she's already relinquished victory. He has her full attention now. "Figure it out."
"Meg..."
"You can think out loud if it helps you," she tells him, smiling when he makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.
He pushes against her hand, trying to lean forward, but she holds him in place. The look in his eyes is as intoxicating as the drink. Pure adoration.
"What is it, Zag?" she purrs. "Say it."
Zagreus draws in a shuddering breath. She feels that tremor travel down her own arm. He licks his lips, and this time it's her turn to be distracted by the motion.
"Let me kiss you," he asks. "Please."
"Since you asked so nicely," she says, and pulls him in.
Zagreus moans when she draws him to her, and she swallows the sound, deepening the kiss to taste the Ambrosia on his tongue. It has a sharp coppery tang that clouds her senses, and it makes her want to yield to the burning desire in the pit of her stomach. Her ichor is thrumming in her veins. Her heart is racing and it's all his fault, if only he would see that.
She breaks the kiss and pushes him back when he tries to follow. One hand fisted in the front of his chiton, and her wing trapping him in place.
"Well done, Zag." A shiver goes through him at the praise. "Consider me persuaded. I'm done working for now."
"That... yeah. Wow." She quirks an eyebrow at him and he chuckles, breathless. "What I mean is. Ahem. Could I interest you in finishing this with me," he glances at the bottle, "in bed, maybe?"
"Hm." A golden leaf sparks off his laurels and flutters down between them.
"We don't have to drink it now, of course. There doesn't even need to be a bed involved." Zagreus gives her a lopsided grin. He slides his hand from her shoulder to the nape of her neck, once again brushing his fingertips down her spine. She shivers, and this time it's impossible to hide it. "I'm very open to suggestions. Orders. Both, really."
He is. He's waiting for her, desperate to hear what he needs to do to please her, explicitly told to him so he doesn't need to read between the lines anymore. She's inclined to give him that, now.
"I think I'll have you help me relax some more, since that's what you came here to do. Isn't it, Zag?"
"Yes," he answers at once. Eager, but there's a tenderness underneath that she's still learning to accept. "Anything you want, Meg."
Anything she wants.
She wants him. She wants to push him to his breaking point, to make him cry out in pain and pleasure both until his throat is raw and his mind is empty of every pointless worry in it. She wants to see him undone at her feet and hear him thank her for it. And then she wants to put him back together, like she has a hundred times before.
Megaera imagines all of this with Zagreus' pulse under her hand and his breath warm on her mouth. For once he looks at her like he knows exactly what's going through her mind. No need for words.
"Zagreus. You already know what I want."
"Yes, Meg." She can already see the anticipation in his eyes, a perfect mirror of her own. "But, please... tell me anyway."
So she does.