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Moros sat at his post in the crossroads going through his ledger with a tired look in his eyes. The fated list of prophecies his sisters had given him before they disappeared was extensive and seemingly never-ending. It was a wonder Melinoe hadn’t laughed in his face when he presented it to her initially.
Melinoe.
Moros felt his face flush at the mere thought of the princess of the underworld. Their first meeting hadn’t gone at all how he imagined it would. He’d initially figured she’d be a little more like her brother Zagreus; brash and cocky. Instead, the Princess held a sense of discipline and poise to her that demanded you listen, that demanded respect.
The liking Moros had taken to her was thus immediate.
When he first laid eyes upon her and shown her the ledger, she’d taken it in stride as if it were her duty to do so, and he supposed it was, as fated. As they’d gotten closer over the upcoming days, weeks, and months, however, their relationship had noticeably changed. Moros knew he was a touch too high on the awkward scale, had been teased by Eris and Hypnos about it relentlessly growing up. At a certain point, the princess noticed it too. Whether she noted the awkwardness first or the poorly-concealed attraction towards her first, however, was a different matter.
Sometimes Moros would stare a little too long, eyes lingering on the princess’s eyes, the quirk of her lips, the pout of her cheeks. The princess, in turn, would sometimes stare back at him in question; brows arched in curiosity at his pause, at the intensity of his gaze.
Every once in a while, she’d give him nectar. And they’d talk for hours on end, Melinoe taking a break from her grovel in the depths of the underworld. Moros would reveal more about his family, about his duty, about his need to watch over those he cares for, despite his monicker as doom incarnate. It was nice, their little talks. Pleasant in a way that wasn’t usually associated with Moros, for Melinoe was the first person in a long while that took interest in his conversation and humored the low baritone of his voice, the slow methodical way he talked. She made him feel seen in a way that was not at all familial, but more. It made him warm all over.
That rising warmness halted and began to chill over, however, once he realized his growing interest in the princess was more than an errant attraction and curiosity. One day in the state between dream and wake, a formerly forgotten memory from the fates spoke to him that made him mourn his own feelings. He had half a mind to abandon his post to go out and find the fates himself, to demand questions of them, to demand they make the impossible possible and change the very nature of their being. He knew his actions would be fruitless, however. Because even if he were able to miraculously find the fates himself, the job of fulfilling such a thing as prophecy was for Melinoe and Melinoe alone.
He could talk to his sister Nemesis, he supposed, but they’d grown distant in their age. Being that even he didn’t know how to articulate how he felt about Melinoe in a succinct way, he imagined any attempted conversation wouldn’t go over well anyhow.
In his dreams, the fates had reminded him that as doom incarnate, he was destined for the morning light, whose luminance shone so bright she’d be able to break through even the darkest force to reveal the beauty within.
He had told Melinoe this one day at the taverna, forlornly, trying his hardest to mask the disappointment in his voice. Being that she was the Princess of the Underworld, a decidedly damned place, he knew that his destined was not Melinoe. While Moros was not necessarily keen on seeing to every whim his sisters conjured up as the fates, he was inclined to adhere to this one simply because he’d feel remiss to start disobeying them now in their absence.
Even if the obedience formed twisted knots in his chest.
Moros had grown accustomed to reading the princess at this point in their relationship, so it wasn’t hard to see the light dim behind her eyes as he spoke. She blinked over at him as he told her that she was decidedly not the person he was destined for while he stared down at the tall heavy glass of nectar she poured him. At her increasing silence, Moros had began to fluster, stating that he felt they were growing closer, that she ought to know before anyone got hurt, before the lingering touches to the small of her back, or the occasional squeeze of her hands on his arms could be mistaken for anything else.
He supposed it was abrupt, but he needed to get it out. The princess, once she regained her poise, once she masked her disappointment, offered a consolatory name: Eos, Dawn incarnate.
Even the mention of the foreign goddess, however, left a foul taste in Moros’ mouth, for Eos was not who he wanted, for Eos was not who he spent long hours night and day lingering on. It was Melinoe. Melinoe.
Moros waited a long moment for Melinoe to stop talking about the Goddess, for her to stop deflecting in the wake of his unfortunate confession. The more she lamented, however, a nervousness in her voice, the more agitated with himself he grew. The regret he felt for even revealing his ill-fate to Melinoe was immediate. He longed for her to give him an inch, for the errant touch to his bicep to come, but it never did.
“When you and I first met I thought that… Well, I thought I might find my fate in this place.” Moros revealed in a minor break of silence.
Melinoe flushed, an uneasy look on her face. She tried to mask the sadness in her eyes, but Moros knew her, knew every one of her micro-expressions at this point as if it were ingrained into his bones.
When she gave him a tight smile and expressed how dark it was down there in the crossroads, that the only light came from the errant magic the shades and Hecate had strewn about the place, her voice had grown tight and closed off. He was losing her rapidly, and only because he decided to sabotage himself by revealing the truth of his own prophecy.
In the wake of Melinoe beginning to pull away with an excuse to get back to work, Moros had spoken softly to her that he had acknowledged the darkness in which they both found themselves living in. This acknowledgment was only truly felt, however, when the glow of Melinoe slipped past him towards the training grounds with squared shoulders and a lost look between her mismatched eyes.
Moros had disappeared for a couple nights after that conversation, seemingly determined to forget it ever happened. He managed to meet with Charon one night, who was more than happy to listen to his woes in exchange for a valuable in return, which Moros was more than happy to provide. The boatman did, however, grow tired of Moros sticking around his ferry at a certain point, valuing his solitude above all else.
To Moros’ surprise, when he finally decided to return to the crossroads with the excuse of dealing with the work of the fates, Melinoe had immediately come to him with the idea of finding the goddess of dawn.
Moros, however, could not emphasize his lack of enthusiasm for the matter. “Princess… If this prophecy hasn’t appeared on the fated list, then there truly isn’t a need for you to concern yourself with it.”
Melinoe, however, took this as a challenge. “You almost sound as if you don’t want to meet this mysterious goddess of yours.”
In biting words he’d later regret, “We are bound to meet princess. Neither you or I can change that, and whether I want to or not is irrelevant.”
Melinoe, clearly agitated by the answer, had walked off, after muttering a halfhearted ‘suit yourself’. In the days, hours, it took for Melinoe to return to him once more, Moros had repeated his apology in his head ad nauseam. Before he could properly utter the words, however, Melinoe had walked up to him and held up a bottle of bath salts in front of her, shaking the salts around leisurely as if it were a temptation.
And it was.
The heat of the hot springs was a welcome distraction amidst the nervousness of Moros. He pointedly looked down at the steaming water when Melinoe undressed, wanting to give her some privacy. He sank lower into the hot springs to mask the flush of his cheeks. Lowering his head back, he sighed heavily as he let the feeling of the hot water caress his muscles in a slow massage. His head was heavy as he slowly lifted it up to meet the gaze of Melinoe.
The two watched each other intently. Moros felt his eyes shift down to the swell of her breasts beyond the murky water. The urge to touch, to pull her closer to him, was not lost. By the way Melinoe lingered on his equally naked torso, he figured the feeling was mutual.
Wordlessly, she moved closer to Moros. He had no choice but to watch her shift closer and closer, his back pressed firmly against the edge of the large spring as she entrapped him. She reached up, and he tried not to stare, truly, but his eyes were absolutely fixated on the light dusting of pink on her lips, to her tanned ashen skin, to the glow of her green and red eyes. As her fingers reached up to take hold of his antlers, slowly releasing long strands of silver hair, he couldn’t help but ghost his hands over her small waist.
The urge to pull the woman into him, to take hold of her, press her into the rocks of the spring, to wrap her in an embrace, was dizzying.
“I wanted to apologize for…” Melinoe trailed off, as if she were unsure of her own words.
Moros denied it without further insinuation. “You have nothing to apologize for princess. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable the other night.”
“I wasn’t uncomfortable, per se. I just.. maybe I was taken aback. I had a fear you were pushing me away, and well.. I quite like your company, Lord Moros.”
She smiled up at him, gaze bashful. Melinoe softly brushed a piece of hair out of his eye, nimble fingers softly chasing after the length of the wet hair, holding it away from his body. Moros watched the movement then caught her hand before she could release the strand. Melinoe sucked in her bottom lip, eyes shifting from the way his hand absolutely engulfed hers to the soft look in Moros’ eyes.
“I… am not accustomed to declarations of affection.” Moros admitted. “Verbal or otherwise. I merely mentioned my own prophecy because I felt I had to, given our circumstance.”
A pause, then; “And what do you believe our circumstance is, Lord Moros?”
Melinoe shifted closer as Moros’s eyes lingered down her face to her lips. He took a breath as Melinoe reached out to touch his chest, a question in her eyes.
“You are… the princess of the underworld. And I am a servant of the fates.”
Moros shifted ever so closer to the point where he was sure he could feel Melinoe’s soft breath on his cheek. He brought their clasped hands to his heart and squeezed while Melinoe cupped his cheek, fingers caressing.
“You are more than that, whether you see it or not. And anyone worthwhile would be lucky to have you.”
“The only being of worth in my life is someone I cannot have, princess.”
Melinoe laughed, her movement causing her to momentarily leave the bubble of intimacy she and Moros had created. She released her hands from Moros and tucked her hair under her ear, eyes regretful.
“I’m sure Eos is looking forward to meeting you, my lord.”
Before she could truly pull away, Moros finally let his hand rest upon her waist, lightly tugging her back to him. She was startled by the movement, by his large hand on the expanse of her hip, and she found herself looking up into his intense eyes with a lump in her throat.
“Princess, I… I don’t want anyone else. If the fates will have me doomed to be with Dawn one day then so be it, but I shall not be forcing the outcome. I would much rather be here with you… If you’ll have me.”
Melinoe took only a moment to look back up at Moros before she struck, pressing her hands firmly into a toned chest as she reached up to meet his lips. It was as if time itself had stopped, a feat impossible given the status of Chronos’ life-but that didn’t matter, because it felt like time had ceased to function. Moros felt his mind grow blank as he met Melinoe in her kiss, their movements turning bruising the more they took hold of each other.
Moros relished in the small whine emitting from Melinoe’s lips as he wrapped both hands around her, returning the sound with a quiet groan of his own as she pulled him down by the horns to meet her lips, hands wrapping firmly around the base of his antlers.
He lifted Melinoe up and as if on cue, as if it were a practiced dance they’d participated in a thousand times over, Melinoe wrapped her legs around Moros’ torso, pulling him in. Strong hands pressed into soft thighs, keeping Melinoe in place. The whine from Melinoe turned into a short gasp, a moan, as Moros licked into her mouth, as his fingers kneaded into her thighs, hips softly moving into her.
She didn’t want this to end, was remiss to stop the boldness of Moros’ in the moment, but she could feel the eyes of errant shades peaking into the spring, their gazes lingering on a moment she only wanted for them and them alone. She bit down on Moros’ lip, hoping it’d slow the man down, but it only made him move on from her mouth to her neck.
A long tongue latched onto the expanse of Melinoe’s neck. Blunt teeth bit down on the skin followed by the warmth of plush lips sucking the bruised skin into an equally hot mouth.
“Moros.. Moros.” Melinoe moaned, breathless. Between the steaming heat of the spring and Moros’ attempt to eat her, Melinoe felt helpless. She didn’t want to pull away, but as soon as she felt the graze of his teeth on her collarbone and his fingers starting to knead into her hipbone to meet the soft grind of his hips, she lost it. Before she could announce their activity to the rest of the crossroads, she pulled on Moros’ antlers to yank him back. Moros panted and stared down at her with a dangerous glint in his eyes that made Melinoe want to pull him back into her, to demand he take her right then and there, their audience be damned.
She had plans, however. She moved her hands off of his antlers to cup his cheeks, bringing him down for a soft kiss before pressing her forehead to his. Moros wound his hands back around her waist, his touch now soft and not at all demanding this time around, but sweet.
“Was that too much?” Moros asked, kissing her nose. Melinoe hummed, how the man went from an all-consuming lust to saccharine affection made her heart ache.
“No. Not at all.” Melinoe trailed her hands down to his strong neck, to broad shoulders. “I’d just rather not give the shades any more of a show than we already have. Do you perhaps… want to go somewhere more private?”
Moros smiled, his gaze soft. He lifted her in his arms, instructing her to hold on tight. Once she wound her legs around his hips once more, he teleported them away to his domain, a place between life and death. A place where hopefully, they wouldn’t be interrupted.