Thwarted desire doesn’t seem to bother him much, but then he rolls with the punches better than anyone else I know. He kisses me and moves away before I can sink into it. “Let’s take a shower and get ready.”
“I can’t promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
He gives me an arch look over his shoulder. “I guess I’ll have to maintain control for both of us, because there’s no way in hell we’re rescheduling tonight. We both know Hades doesn’t bluff.”
The reminder dims my temptation to test our sanctions. Hercules is right. If we keep toeing the line, Hades will slap us down. We’ll deserve it, too. Sometimes the pleasure is worth the punishment, but this one won’t be, especially since Hades ensured we took the edge off.
I sigh. “Being responsible is no fun.”
“Aw, Meg.” Hercules takes my hand and pulls me after him into the bathroom. “Don’t be too sad. You get to peg my ass tonight.”
“You’re impossible.” I laugh. “But you’re right. Planning all the delicious things I’m going to do to you is enough to cheer me right up.” I slap his ass and move past him into the shower. “Love you.”
“Love you, too, Meg.” He sounds kind of in awe of it, like it just hit him that this is our life and it’s real. We’re real.
We’re happy. Really, really happy.
This short originally appeared as the November 2019 short for my Patreon. Each month, patrons nominate their favorite couples and characters, vote on one, and I write a brand new short featuring the winner. For more bonus stories, please consider joining my Patreon.
5
Going Public, Part 2
Hercules
Hercules
I’ve been in the public playroom dozens of times since I moved into the Underworld, all without actually playing. It feels different tonight, and it’s not just because it’s filled to the brim with powerful people. Each set of couches are filled, and as I follow Hades and Meg on their winding journey to the middle of the room, I belatedly realize that there are exactly the same number of groupings as there are territories in Carver City.
Every territory leader is here tonight.
“Eyes forward, little Hercules.” Hades doesn’t look over his shoulder to ensure I hear his murmur. He simply assumes I’ll hear and obey because any other option is unthinkable. He’s right.
I focus on the middle of his back. He’s wearing one of his customary black on black suits, and looks particularly dapper tonight. This scene might be for us, but it’s also for show, too. Appearances matter. I shift my attention to Meg, which is a mistake because she’s distracting as hell. She’s wearing trousers and a cropped bustier thing that leaves a large swathe of her stomach bare and puts her breasts on display.
A space in the center of the room is cleared except for a St. Andrew’s cross and a chest that isn’t identical to the one in our bedroom, but is close enough that I have no doubts about what it contains. My body goes hot and I have to concentrate to muscle down my physical reaction.
Hades flicks his fingers, and I obey instantly, folding into a kneeling position in the center of the space. I swear I can actually feel the attention of everyone in the room as their gazes trace my bare chest and back, examine the tiny black shorts Meg picked out earlier, flick over my thighs and feet. I keep my gaze on the floor in front of me. I’m not running this show, and the relief is enough to make me shake. I trust Hades and Meg to take me where I need to, but I didn’t expect to be so overwhelmed by the audience.
I catch sight of Meg’s trousers a moment before her fingers feather through my hair. “Breathe, Hercules. Just breathe. He’s got us.” She speaks low, the words for me and me alone.
I obey. I was never going to do anything but obey.
I half expect Hades to give some kind of speech, but I should know better by now. Everyone is aware of why we’re here, and Hades isn’t one to waste time grandstanding when his actions can speak for him.
“On the cross, little Hercules.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but I hear every word all the same.
I’m already moving to obey before my mind fully registers the command. There was a time when I’d question that, but we’re long past it. I position myself in front of the St. Andrew’s cross. Meg’s hands are the ones