Work Text:
The Harvest God always seemed so innocent in the outside. No one bats an eye if he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear or smiles in a somewhat different manner, except the War God that is. He notices the way Olivine would show a little bit of skin, to flash multiple accessories and chains that sets prettily across his body. He notices when he gathers his beautiful green hair to his one should and showing everyone how beautiful and pale the side of his neck could be.
It was all true, the statements he says. That the Harvest God is one of the most vain God he had ever met in this realm. Olivine wears jewels and gold solely because it was beautiful, not caring over meaning and purpose of those jewels and gold has. He flaunts his body, every banquet they went to, wearing such scandalized robes, soaking in everyone's stares. The plump of his thighs, the curves on his belly, the smoothness of his arms— The War God, Quincy, had seen it all.
He likes to think that he is above human's emotions. As a War God, Quincy couldn't possible risk losing a land for something as feeble as relations and intimacy. And yet, for more than he can count, he imagined if the Harvest God's skin really is as soft as it looks. If he really does smell of fields and orchards in the juncture of his neck. And once, as he stared at his spoils, sitting atop of his throne, Quincy thought that someone as vain as the Harvest God would perfectly fit in this room filled with nothing but extravagance.
Though these kinds of thoughts had passed through his mind, he never dared act on it. How could he? How can he?
The War God is sure that if he managed to get the Harvest God in his hands, he would not be able to stop himself from breaking him.
Tongue driven deep in the warmth of Olivine's mouth, Quincy tightened his grip on the dainty wrists that he had pinned down on the cold marbled floor. The struggles had long stopped— Olivine no longer tried to break free from his hands, and his legs finally stopped kicking in defiance.
It's like taming a kitten, Quincy thinks. He tilted his head to get a new angle for their kiss and Olivine lets out a gasp in delight. How overpowering that is. That out of all the Gods who had leered and ogled to this vain and pretty little God, only Quincy had the courage to keep him down and elicit this kind of reactions out of him.
When they managed to pull away from each other, Olivine's hands are no longer pinned down but instead has found its way around Quincy's neck. Quincy's left leg on the other hand was in between the Harvest God's thighs, stubbornly pressing on the heat that makes the latter whine.
Olivine pants, eyes filled with cloudy gaze and yet he tried to speak as if he has complete power over him, “Has the War God decided to ruin his... reputation even more? What would the other Gods think... finding you assaulting the Harvest God? Should I go scream for help?”
But Quincy was never one to play and entertain any kinds of games. He smirked down at him, “I'll just have to shut you up, then.”
The Harvest God gasped, squinting his eyes, “You dare—!”
Before that sentence could even be finished, Quincy had leaned down to catch his lips again in another round of a kiss akin to a deprived beast. He kisses with full intent to suffocate him, make his lips numb, toes curled and body trembling— he kisses until he is sure that Olivine would succumb to him and be conquered.
Olivine didn't made any protest either way.