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To hear tell of it, Zagreus was a very lucky man. He had not only the good fortune to have been born handsome, clever, and rich; he was also blessed to be the only heir of a lordly father, adept at cards, and a quick step on the dance floor. Unfortunately, this was where his good fortune ended, and further, this listing of his attributes presented an altogether rosier view of his situation in life than was merited.
All of his blessings were hollow: his lordly father had nothing but contempt for him, his ancestral estate may as well have been in the pits of hell for all the joy it gave him, and all the dancing acumen at the world couldn’t change either of those immutable facts. So intolerable did Zagreus find his life that on the eve of his society debut he contrived to slip his minders, steal a sure-footed mare from the stables, and attempt to escape his father’s clutches once and for all.
This went about as well as any of his previous attempts at escape had gone, which is to say that he found himself thrown by his horse, set upon by his fathers’ lackeys, and dragged back to his chambers posthaste.
To add insult to injury, Lord Hades took the opportunity to pay an especial visit to his erstwhile heir’s chambers and lambast his son’s poor qualities in great depth and detail while Zagreus stared at the floor and wished the mare he’d stolen had had the good manners to break his neck and put an end to his misery.
He bemoaned his sad situation to his father’s wards, but neither Megaera nor Thanatos had any great sympathy to spare. (“On the eve of your debut!” Megaera hissed. “What were you thinking? And you’ve put your lord father in a right rage, and of course you’ve no concern for us, that have had to deal with him all day.” Thanatos was more composed. “You’ll have to do better next time. It’s embarrassing seeing you brought back to the house slung over a horse like a sack of grain.”)
His dance master was more sympathetic when he stopped by Zagreus’ chambers that evening with a cup of hot tea and a hot compress for Zagreus’ skinned knees. “It’s a shame, lad, that he treats you thus.” Achilles offered Zagreus a small smile. “But it was a cruel thing to run on the eve of your debut, what with how the servants have been working day and night to ready the house. Miss Dusa was in tears.”
Wincing, Zagreus resolved to apologize to her on the morrow. He limped over to accept the tea and the compress both. “The ball was what spurred me to leave, actually.”
That got a raised eyebrow. “Truly? The note you left intimated that you ‘could not take one more goddamned second in this godforsaken house, damn it all to hell, especially you, father’.”
“There were, er, several motivating factors,” Zagreus mumbled. “But the ball was certainly one. Heaven only knows what dreadful suitors Father has invited to paw at me. I don’t fancy being sold like a cut of meat to some lord thrice my age.”
Achilles tutted. “Ahh, perhaps it shan’t be so bad. Perhaps you’ll meet some handsome young thing that stirs your blood.”
“Perhaps,” Zagreus answered. Privately, Zagreus suspected Achilles to be a romantic of the worst sort; the wistful glances he cast at the estate’s gardener weren’t fooling anyone. But Zagreus knew better than to bring up that particular connexion.
“Let yourself enjoy the party, lad. You may have a good time despite yourself.”
And Lord Hades might one day wake up in a good mood. “Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”
Achilles chuckled, and damn him, there was a twinkle in his eye. “Sweet dreams, lad.”
“Same to you,” Zagreus muttered, and went to bed hoping he might be lucky enough to die in his sleep.
***
Zagreus did not, alas, shuffle off the mortal coil in the night, to the unhappy effect that he had to attend the ball after all.
He spent the greater part of the day sulking in various dark corners of the manse, entertaining notions of a second escape attempt, perhaps all the way to the continent this time. But before any such plans could be put in motion the lady Megaera caught him and dragged him back to his rooms to get dressed for the evening.
Defeated, Zagreus stood with ill patience as Nyx adjusted his waistcoat and attacked his hair with a variety of pomades. “Perhaps no one will wish to dance with me,” he mumbled.
From her vantage on the window seat, Megaera snorted. “Your father has a million obols a year; everyone and their father will want to dance with you.” At one and twenty she was an old hand at balls, for all she hadn’t deigned to accept a suitor yet. This was her third season, and Zagreus envied that her mother was content to let her manage her own affairs without insisting on a match. Unlike his own father.
“Hush, Megaera,” Nyx said as she tied his cravat in a byzantine-looking knot. “Now come, child, see how you look.”
Zagreus allowed himself to be shepherded over to the mirror, where his reflection stood, looking as if he was on his way to his execution. Oh, he looked fine enough, he supposed. White silk stockings clung to his calves like a second skin, his waist coat and tailcoat were cut from a brilliant crimson brocade edged with gold details. His cravat was stiff enough to cut glass; even his shoes were new.
All in all, he looked like a silk-wrapped present that some lecherous old duke would have a wonderful time unwrapping. Zagreus couldn’t help the sigh that fell from his lips.
Behind him, Megaera pursed her lips, and Zagreus suspected that she was wrestling with something akin to sympathy for him, no doubt an unpleasant experience for her. “If the suitors are truly unpleasant,” she said at last, “perhaps you could tread on their feet while you dance?”
Zagreus accepted this with all the charity it was given, and nodded gravely. “I shall endeavor to try that, Megaera.” The two shared a smile in the mirror, and just for a moment, Zagreus felt his heart lighten somewhat.
***
Zagreus’ good spirits extended until it was time to enter the ballroom itself. The estate looked like a different place that night, something out of a fairy story perhaps. For as long as Zagreus could remember the hall had been locked up, silent as a grave while Hades mourned his wife. No guests or visitors had been by, and all the good furniture had been kept under sheets like mournful shades. But now the hall thronged with visitors and every room had been polished by Miss Dusa until everything from the banisters to the baseboards gleamed under the light of a million candles.
Zagreus survived his initial entrance to the ballroom and managed to abscond to a secluded corner before anyone could ask him to dance. He eavesdropped for a bit. Everyone was aflutter with the news: not one, but two dukes were in attendance: Duke Zeus of Olympus and Duke Poseidon of… somewhere; Zagreus couldn’t recall. Some place by the sea, perhaps. He’d received a lecture on the guests from Megaera a few days past, but how he was expected to remember the name, rank, and title of every guest, he had no idea.
Regardless, mention of the dukes served to sink his spirits: by all accounts they were both old men, and doubtless his father intended one of the two to make an offer of marriage for his son’s hand. Zagreus didn’t fancy dancing with either of them. Well, perhaps he could step on their toes. Would clumsy dancing be enough to dissuade either from wishing to marry, when his father had a million obols a year? Probably not. He sighed. Perhaps he could ask some truly boorish questions of them, or chew with his mouth open.
Neither of the rumored dukes had seen fit to arrive yet, so Zagreus took the opportunity to survey the other attendees. A young woman in a pink satin dress and a crown of roses was already the star of the dance floor, and a society matron in an icy blue gown watched her and the dancers with a gaze that could have withered springtime itself. Nearby, two wallflowers were deep in conversation, one in a gown of pale green watered silk, the other wearing a brilliant blue feather affixed to her turban. On the other side of the dance hall a rake in an outrageous purple brocade waistcoat sampled the punch with relish.
And there, walking through the double doors was…
“Hey,” Zagreus whispered to Megaera, who had appeared at his side, no doubt under orders to drag him towards the nearest eligible gentleman. “Help me: who’s that man?”
“You were supposed to have them all memorized,” she hissed.
“You may tell me off later, but for now: a little help?”
Zagreus watched her as the desire to make him grovel warred with the desire to show off her knowledge; luckily for Zagreus the latter inclination won out. “That’s Lord Ares,” she said. “He’s an army man, and a decorated veteran of the wars.”
“Which wars?”
“All of them.”
Zagreus regarded the man interest. He was terribly handsome: tall and broad shouldered, with the most striking features Zagreus had ever had the pleasure of seeing. There did appear to be a military mien to his gait, and the elegant lines of his waistcoat hinted at a well-toned body beneath. “And would my father be pleased if I danced with him, then?”
“Are you—no!” Megaera hissed. “He might be handsome enough, and rich besides, but there are two dukes here and you can hardly ignore them to dance with—Zagreus, are you even listening to me?”
“Mmm hmm,” he said. Lord Ares was looking at him. God, but the man’s eyes were intense. Even from across the dance floor, Zagreus could see they were a rich red in color, the shade of fresh spilt blood.
Megaera’s eyes narrowed. “In sum: no, your father would not be pleased if you were to dance with him.”
That was all he needed to know. “Excellent,” Zagreus breathed, and took off across the ballroom.
***
The dance floor was not terribly large, but crossing it felt momentous all the same. Dancers milled about waiting for the next set to start, but Zagreus had eyes only for Lord Ares. Their eyes remained fixed on each other as Zagreus approached; he couldn’t help but feel pinned beneath the weight of the man’s gaze. It was as if he were a hero of old crossing a battlefield, and Lord Ares was the enemy knight waiting to engage him on the other side in single combat.
When he arrived, he found that the man was taller than he’d expected; Lord Ares towered over him. “My lord Ares,” he said, looking demurely through the fall of his eyelashes and offering what he hoped was a charming smile. “I would be most honored if you would dance with me.”
Lord Ares arched a single elegant eyebrow. “Would you, now?” he murmured. His voice was low and smooth, like fine whiskey. “Then I suppose I have no choice but to accept.” He reached out in a smooth motion and took one of Zagreus’ hands in his own. Both of their hands were gloved, but Zagreus reveled at the touch anyway and marveled at how Lord Ares’ hand dwarfed his own. God, but the man was big.
“Shall we?” Lord Ares asked; Zagreus nodded dumbly in return.
With a thin smile, Lord Ares placed his other hand at the small of Zagreus’ back. The placement was rigidly correct, not even a centimeter too low, but Zagreus couldn’t help but take pleasure in it all the same. He could feel the other man’s banked strength in the way he held himself, in the way he held Zagreus.
As the musicians began to play the first few notes of the set, Zagreus realized with delight that the dance was a waltz. Scorning the two dukes in attendance to dance a waltz with a soldier. Oh, his father would be furious.
They began to dance in time with the other couples. Zagreus could just make out titters from the sidelines: no doubt someone (probably Meg) was scandalized that he had chosen this dance, and this partner, as his first of the night. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Let them look, let them talk. He’d give them something to talk about.
Lord Ares was a wonderful dancer; Zagreus didn’t think he could step on the man’s feet if he tried. They executed the first few steps together in silence, and Zagreus was beginning to grow nervous that he’d somehow offended his partner before Lord Ares saw fit to speak. “Lord Zagreus,” he said, as if he were tasting the name on his tongue. “I’ve traveled quite far to meet you. It is a pleasure.”
He couldn’t help but flush a bit, to be praised so, especially under the weight of Lord Ares’ singular gaze. He bit his lip. What could it hurt, to play the coquette? Best give his father a show. He could already imagine Meg’s disapproval after the fact, but she could hardly stop him now short of spilling punch on him. “Oh,” he said, letting out a pretty laugh. “And do I disappoint?”
That won him a low chuckle, and a slight squeeze of his fingers. “Oh, not at all. You are exquisite.” Lord Ares’ grip tightened on the small of Zagreus’ back, as if he’d already claimed him. Zagreus realized he should have felt annoyed at the presumption but found himself oddly breathless instead. It was a nice feeling, to be wanted.
“We’re kin, did you know?”
Zagreus had not known, but then he knew almost nothing about his family; there was little his father hated discussing more. “Oh?”
“We are cousins, you and I.” Lord Ares slipped his hand down to cradle Zagreus’ wrist, pushing up the hem of Zagreus’ glove to press his finger against the bare skin there. Zagreus could not quite hold back his gasp. “The same blood beats in your veins as in mine. And flows all through your body.” This last comment was accompanied by a knowing smirk, and Zagreus blushed in response without knowing why.
The rest of the dance passed as if a dream. They talked of little things, nothing bold or improper. But the words were not the point: even as Lord Ares made some inoffensive comment about the weather, his hand on Zagreus’ back was inching lower, and his eyes were sweeping over every inch of Zagreus’ body. It was amazing how exposed the man could make him feel, for all that they were both fully dressed.
The dance did end eventually, and the other couples bowed and separated, but Lord Ares did not release his grip on Zagreus’ hand. “I confess,” he said with a low laugh, “that I’m not quite ready to let you go.”
Two layers of gloves separated them, but Zagreus couldn’t help remembering the way Lord Ares’ fingers had felt pressed against the hollow of his wrist: the firmness of his grip, the heat of him. Zagreus realized that he did not quite want to be let go of either. Still… “It would be terribly forward of you to dance with me twice,” he felt compelled to point out.
Lord Ares’ eyes glinted in the candlelight. “It is not dancing I wish to do with you, my kin.”
That was… oh. Swallowing, Zagreus offered up what he hoped was an alluring smile. “We could talk. That is… my father’s library is probably empty. If you wished to talk.” God, his father would be furious if he disappeared halfway through the ball with a man the likes of Ares. And to spend time alone with him, no chaperone in sight! His father would be incandescent with rage. God, it was perfect.
***
Zagreus made his excuses and slipped from the ballroom, but not before giving Lord Ares instructions to follow a breath or two later. Ares joined him in the shadowed servant’s hallway outside the ballroom in short order, and Zagreus wasted no time leading him from there into the dark east wing of the mansion. They were silent as they walked, Zagreus in front, Lord Ares behind him. Zagreus listened to the clicking of their shoes against the floorboards and imagined the weight of Lord Ares’ eyes drilling into his back. Anticipation built in his stomach. He wasn’t a fool, surely Lord Ares didn’t wish to simply talk. Would they kiss, perhaps? Mouth dry, he tried to imagine what it would feel like to be taken apart by the man.
They reached the library before Zagreus could give full rein to his fantasies. He opened the door and gestured for Lord Ares to enter. The fire in the hearth had been banked, leaving most of the room in shadows; Zagreus could barely make out the shelves lining the walls.
“It’s one the largest collections in the district,” Zagreus said as he turned to close the door behind them. He knew full well he was babbling, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Hopefully Lord Ares didn’t think him a half-wit.
As the door clicked shut he heard a boot tread on the floorboards; that was his only warning. Suddenly Lord Ares was on him, his chest pressed firmly against Zagreus’ back, his hands on the wall on either side of Zagreus, trapping him in place. Lord Ares' head rested on Zagreus’ shoulder so that his breath was hot on Zagreus’ neck, tickling the hair there with each exhale. “I want you to think very carefully, my kin, about what you hope to accomplish,” Lord Ares murmured.
“My Lord?” Zagreus asked. His voice sounded high and breathy in his own ears.
“I suspect you brought me here because you wished to thumb your nose at your lord father. But when I play, I play to win. Are you sure this is a game you wish to play?”
Zagreus considered this for a split second, and then considered the heavy weight of Lord Ares’ body against his own, the heat of him, those hands, god, those hands—"Yes,” he breathed.
Silence. And then Ares let out a slow and measured exhale before reaching down and engaging the lock on the door.
The click of the door locking echoed in Zagreus’ ears, and he opened his mouth to say something—what, he wasn’t quite sure—but he never got the chance.
Before he could speak, Lord Ares grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around, and slamming his back against the door and pulling him into a harsh kiss. Lord Ares used his mouth like a weapon of war. He was brutal in his efficiency: every swipe of his tongue, every nip of his teeth had a purpose, and that purpose was the utter destruction of Zagreus’ defenses. He kissed Zagreus until he was overwhelmed and overcome, and felt as if he were nothing more than an open mouth for Lord Ares to plunder.
When Lord Ares finally pulled away Zagreus was gasping for breath and dizzy with want, more aroused than he’d ever been in his life. His cock was almost painful against the tight fabric of his breeches. “Please, my lord,” he gasped, without knowing quite what it was he was begging for.
“You beg so prettily after a mere kiss,” Lord Ares said with a smirk. “I wonder how you shall sound when I bugger you properly.”
Zagreus whimpered; his higher faculties of speech had completely deserted him. Grinning, Lord Ares leaned down to capture his mouth in another punishing kiss while his hands drifted lower, making short work of the buttons of his waistcoat and undershirt, and then the ties of his breeches and smallclothes.
As the fabric fell away the air of the library chilled him, making his nipples tighten and his skin erupt in gooseflesh. He felt terribly exposed; he was bare chested with his breeches shucked down to his knees, while Lord Ares was still perfectly dressed, even his gloves still in place. Suddenly shy, he brought his hands down to cover his nakedness.
“None of that,” Lord Ares said, capturing both wrists in one of his massive palms and pinning them neatly on the wall above Zagreus’ head. “I want to see you take my cock.”
The enormity of the situation hit him then. God, he was truly going to let a man he’d just met bugger him against the wall in his father’s library, mere steps away from a ballroom full of people. The thought aroused him terribly, and he couldn’t help the involuntary jerk of his hips. His cock was already achingly hard, and more than anything he wanted a hand on it.
A devious smile spread across Lord Ares’ face. “Oh, but you are eager, aren’t you?” He reached down to palm at Zagreus’ cock with his gloved hand, trailing a single finger down the shaft and cradling his ballocks. The kidskin of the gloves was deliciously smooth, and he couldn’t help but arch into the touch.
Lord Ares' finger drifted lower then, to graze the sensitive flesh of his hole. “Oh, but I intend to enjoy this,” he murmured to himself.
Abruptly he pulled his hands away to dig around in one of the inner pockets of his waistcoat, producing a small vial of oil a moment later.
Zagreus raised an eyebrow; Lord Ares smirked in return. “A gentleman should always be prepared,” he said by way of explanation.
Zagreus considered contending the point—he’d certainly never been taught that particular item was a necessity at a private ball—but then Lord Ares was pouring the oil onto his gloved fingers and reaching down to swipe at Zagreus’ entryway, so Zagreus gave the point up as moot.
Lord Ares wasted little time plying at his rim before forcing the blunt head of his index finger through the ring of muscle, eliciting a gasp from Zagreus. God, but his fingers were thick, as wide in girth as another man’s cock might be. He felt split in twain just from the single finger, how was he to take the man’s cock?
In short order Ares forced a second finger in. It was too much too soon, and Zagreus whimpered from the sharp pain of it.
“Steady,” Lord Ares murmured, and crooked his fingers slightly.
God—! Zagreus let out a wordless cry as Ares’ ministrations produced a tight flare of pleasure deep within him. It still hurt, but the pleasure drove the pain away, made it darkly erotic. He needed more. He scrabbled at Ares shoulder in a wordless entreaty, desperation making his hands clumsy.
Chuckling, Ares fucked his fingers in and out again, once again hitting that perfect place. He did it again and again, and Zagreus let his eyes fall shut and his head fall back against the bookcase, reveling in the building pleasure of it.
When Lord Ares removed both fingers from Zagreus’ hole, Zagreus couldn’t help but whine at the sudden emptiness. God, but he had never felt this needy before, this desperate to be filled.
“Patience,” Lord Ares murmured, seemingly amused. “I’m going to bugger you now.”
As Zagreus watched with wide eyes, Lord Ares reached down to undo the laces of his breeches, and pulled out his cockstand. God, but it was large, much larger than two fingers.
Lord Ares gave himself two quick strokes to bring himself to full hardness, and then he was lining himself up with Zagreus’ entrance and pressing the head past the tight ring of muscle.
Zagreus gasped. It hurt. He’d known it would, but it was altogether more, more, more than he had expected.
There was no mercy in Lord Ares’ affect as he pressed in, slowly but surely, as if confident in the knowledge that Zagreus could indeed take it all, no matter how much he panted and squirmed at the intrusion. Finally he seated himself to the hilt with a quiet grunt.
Zagreus took a great shuddering breath, trying to reckon with the enormity of the intrusion. He felt utterly impaled, skewered, branded from the inside out—
And then Lord Ares began to move. The sensation was too overwhelming, and Zagreus couldn’t help the piercing shriek that broke from his lips
Quick as a wink, there was a hand pressing firmly down over his mouth. “None of that,” Lord Ares growled, punctuating the order with a quick bite to his earlobe. “Or else your lord father and your servants and all your lovely guests will come to see who’s shrieking like a stuck pig, and get to enjoy the sight of you riding my cock like a dockside whore. Now: can you control yourself, or shall I have to gag you?”
“I-I can control myself,” he gasped.
“Good boy,” Ares said, and then he was snapping his hips forward again.
Zagreus managed to keep quiet that time, but it was a near thing. He bit down on his lip to stopper all the groans and cries and whimpers; before long he tasted the copper tang of blood.
But beneath the bright pain in his lip and his ass was a dark pleasure, and then one of Ares’ strokes hit that place within him and his cock, which had flagged slightly from the pain of the breech, began to harden again.
“Yes,” he hissed, clinging to Lord Ares’ shoulders as he fucked him.
Lord Ares responded with a breathless laugh, and began to hit the same spot unerringly with stroke after stroke after stroke.
Zagreus’ cock was painfully hard before much of this treatment, leaking as it bounced against his stomach with every one of Lord Ares’ thrusts.
“Please,” he cried. “please, please—”
“It not in my nature to be merciful,” Ares growled, “but you seem to have moved me to it.” He reached down the front of Zagreus’s breeches, taking his achingly hard cock in hand, still fully gloved. The drag of the kidskin against his cock was delicious, and Zagreus could not help but fuck Lord Ares’ grip, mewling like a common whore.
God, but it felt good. Zagreus bit at his lip, desperate to drag out the pleasure and stave off his peak. But he was trapped between Lord Ares’ hand and Lord Ares’ cock, and Lord Ares was unyielding, thrusting deep into his ass and pistoning his hand until Zagreus was forced into the spiral of his peak. He came with a muffled scream, shaking apart against the bookshelf and painting his seed across the front of his chest and stomach.
As the aftershocks of his peak subsided, Lord Ares picked him up as if he weighed nothing at all and slammed him into the wall; the bookcase bit cruelly into his back but the pain was bright and pricked with pleasure.
Ares held him in place as a vessel to be filled. He fucked Zagreus in truth then, delivering thrust after thrust as he chased his spend. Zagreus, trapped as he was between the bookshelf and the vise of Lord Ares’ grip, could but lie there and take it, each thrust driving a desperate little cry from somewhere deep inside of him.
At last Lord Ares’ rhythm turned erratic, and with a fierce swear he leaned forward to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of Zagreus’ shoulder, biting down hard as he hammered his peak home, filling Zagreus with his seed.
Still in a daze from his own peak, Zagreus could do nothing but wallow in the sensations: the warm heat of Lord Ares’ spend dripping from his thigh and the cool trickle of blood from his neck.
They remained frozen in place for a moment, and then Lord Ares was pulling away and tucking himself back into his breeches. Into the silence, he finally spoke. “I shan’t be able to stay away, now that I’ve had a taste. Rest assured I shall call on your father on the morrow.”
Zagreus watched as he removed his soiled gloves and replaced them from a second, clean pair he produced from the inner pocket of his waistcoat. With the new gloves, he looked as picture perfect as he had when they’d entered the library, with not a hair out of place.
Zagreus, by contrast, knew he looked as much of a mess as he felt. His clothes were disheveled beyond repair, his inner thighs were slick with spend, he reeked of the heady scent of sex, and outside the locked library doors was an entire ballroom full of people that will notice all of it.
He leaned back against the book case in delighted laughter. Oh, but his father would kill him twice over, once when he emerged from the library looking like a common harlot, and a second time when Lord Ares came to call.
He could hardly wait.