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“Alright!”
…
“You win.”
Odysseus grins madly at the god below him as he pushes himself up from the floor. Finally, Apollo surrendered.
“What great fun,” the king chides. His voice is laced with monotony, though his tanned face wears a smile.
Apollo does not like his tone. He often didn’t.
“Sure. Fun,” Apollo says with a roll of his golden eyes as he begins to push himself off the floor, only to be stopped by Odysseus. His grin is even wider, his eyes looked crazed. Maybe it was from the adrenaline.
“Ah ah…” Odysseus tuts with a playful lilt. “Remember our deal?”
─ ★
2 years ago, Odysseus had returned home from his journey. Only a month after… The Sun God, Apollo appeared in his palace.
Apollo had never gotten the pleasure of properly confronting Ithaca’s ruler about his grievances.
“Remember Ismarus?” The god had said.
The confrontation switched to arguments, which switched to banter, which switched to bows being drawn.
The god could’ve easily over-powered any opponent wielding a bow, but Odysseus was different. He was sharp… cunning… and silver-tongued. He broke down Apollo’s resolve, and rendered him useless as he blew out the torches in his palace, forcing the god to fight in the dark.
The dark was not Lord Apollo’s strong suit.
Ever since then, Apollo had called for rematch after rematch. It was only a good half-year later that he realized he had a silver tongue of his own.
…Or rather, a golden one.
─ ★
“Good.”
Ah.
“So good.”
Mm.
“I always knew I’d have you on your knees for a mortal some day.”
Bright, golden eyes, filled with animosity glare up at Odysseus. He swears to himself that some day, he’ll bite the king’s dick off.
That day wasn’t today.
A skillful tongue works its way around the mortal man’s cock as he gives an obscene, and almost angry suck.
Ody grunts. He throws his head back as he entangles a scarred hand in the golden locks beneath him. “Be good,” he snaps with a painful tug to the god’s hair.
Apollo glowered at Odysseus from his position as he pulled off the dick in front of him with a lewd pop. Odysseus is the only mortal in this world that would dare pull a god’s hair.
“What gives you the right,” Apollo starts with offense, only for the ever-cunning Odysseus to grip his hair tighter, and force his member back down his throat.
A surprised gag resounds through the room.
Almost as quickly as the mortal thrust in, he pulls back out. Leaving the god choking and sputtering on his own spittle.
Odysseus lets go of Apollo’s hair and leans back on the bed he sat upon. He watches with amusement.
“You lousy, faulty king,” Apollo stammers out as he wipes his mouth, wincing as he stands from the cobblestone floor.
Odysseus shrugs and scratches the back of his neck, spreading his legs; loose and relaxed. His dick rests at full-mast, and he didn’t even thank the god for getting him there. “It was a part of the deal,” Ody replies simply.
“Of course it was,” Apollo snarls. Only Ithaca’s king could lead a, mostly peaceful, and all-coherent god to all anger.
Odysseus nods and gestures toward the door. “Welp, you can see yourself out now.”
“After that stunt you pulled?” Apollo asked, offended. Only stepping closer to the king’s bed and skillfully sliding his hands under his thighs, cupping them tight. “No chance in Olympus.”
A chuckle falls from Ody’s lips as he lets himself relax into his rival’s grip. He likes this turn of events much better than he thought he would. It was a lot better than putting his hands to work to finish the job. He hums in amusement.
“Whatever you’re about to do, do it gracefully. I have a meeting with Lord Diomedes tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah?” Apollo practically spits out. “Is it getting that useless hole of yours filled again? Just like he did back during the war?”
Odysseus’ eyes shift to the side as he smiles with a fond memory, only to be brought back to the present by a sharp smack to the side of his thigh.
An atypical yelp engulfs him as he snarls at the god, “Diomedes is a beloved and respected ruler. Do not bring his name into this again.”
“Of course, Odysseus, ” the god says, spitting out his name like an overly-salty piece of tobacco. “On one condition.”
Of course there’s conditions. There were always conditions with these two.
“You must surrender yourself to me completely. Let me know what’s so good about that hide of yours.”
Apollo already knows damn well what was so good about it. He will not deny that his eyes often lingered on his rival’s form. Or that divine hands subconsciously made their way to grope at the supple flesh.
Alas, it was always Apollo losing these spars. Or Apollo not coming up with a good enough punishment for the loser. This time, he will finally indulge himself.
“As if,” the king retorts with a sneer, “That’s not a part of the deal.”
“It is not a deal,” Apollo responds plainly.
“It is an order from your god.”