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Venus was such a bitch. Psyche was sort of jazzed to see her put in her place. When Jupiter told her straight up to back off, Psyche made an innocent "O" with her mouth and giggled. Venus lunged, meeting Jupiter's arm in her path, and Psyche laughed all the harder.
"You could be a little more humble about it." Cupid, smirking at her. He wouldn't love her if she hadn't been feisty, strong-willed, and ready for every challenge that had met her.
"I could also be way more petty," she pointed out with a grin. "I think I'm being fairly neutral to tell the truth. Considering." She hip-checked him, making him laugh.
"Said the girl who opened the damn box because she wanted to be even prettier," he volleyed playfully. "As if that were possible."
"Considering I spent several weeks being treated like Venus's personal punching bag?" she returned. "I think a little vanity is not too bad on my part. You could end up with so much worse."
He tilted his head, conceding the point. "You know, I never thought I'd say this. Especially after that whole incident where you shined a flashlight in my face while I slept and tried to stab me with a pocket knife."
Psyche giggled.
"But..." He lifted both her hands and kissed them in turn, his wings unfurling just a bit. And she knew what that meant. He was ready for the formal part to end and the intimate part to begin. "I'm glad you're never content."
"I wouldn't have bagged myself a god otherwise," she grinned.
It was kind of strange that all the trials had felt like something out of a fairy tale, and yet here she was in the club of the gods. Everything was neon-lit with a bass-line thrumming outside of the VIP room. They had definitely upped their game in the last few aeons and had no issue with modern trappings. It suited her just fine. Cupid had found her, after all, moping in a bar, wondering when her life was going to get interesting. And then it had gotten way too interesting.
Mercury approached them then with a glass in hand, the liquid inside a small pool of ever-changing color. "Psyche, we have agreed that you should be gifted this."
She took the glass, but she didn't drink it yet. She'd learned several lessons about looking before she leapt. "What is it?"
"Ambrosia," he said. The word was almost hard to catch, since Mercury spoke at around a million miles an hour. "It will give you eternal life. Being mortal, you'd eventually die and leave Cupid alone. We can't have that."
"Oh," she said. "Wow." It was a pretty inadequate way of facing immortality, but she had no other words.
Most in the room were watching her. Venus had tried to leave, but she'd been stopped. Part of her punishment apparently was to watch Psyche thrive and win and be rewarded. But she was standing at the door with her coat looking putout as revenge.
Seeing this, Psyche called, "hey, Venus!"
The goddess turned, realizing too late she likely shouldn't.
"Bottom's up!" Psyche grinned, then downed the drink.
Venus scowled, whipping her head away again, but by then, Psyche didn't care. The colors were in her. The life. All of life. Her body wracked with all of it and its potency and vigor. She shuddered from head to foot, and Cupid caught her up and curled his wings about her. But it wasn't unpleasant. There was no pain. In fact, whatever pain she'd felt under the surface of her human skin that was merely part of life was fleeing. She had a different form of life now that rose above the concerns of the mortal.
She turned her face toward his chest, nuzzling there, and he bid the others farewell as he carried her off.
"Where we going?" she asked in a slurry voice. "Champagne room?"
He snorted. "Something like that. Someplace more private."
The "club" was the skin that a much larger and more unknowable thing wore. It was a limitless dimension with a million pockets. Cupid was taking her to one of these pockets now, a silken one with cushions, warmth, and comfort. She wasn't a bit surprised when the decor turned out to be a deep, passionate red. She knew who she was marrying. He was walking, talking Valentine's Day. When he wasn't the seedy underbelly of love betrayed. And she cherished every side of him.
Cupid draped her carefully across a soft surface, and she felt herself sink in deliciously. He brushed curls from Psyche's forehead, doting, touching the heat in her dark cheek.
"Little overwhelming," she said. "That ambrosia is good shit."
"The best shit," he laughed. "How are you feeling?"
She stretched like a cat. "Absolutely scrumptious."
"Don't tempt me," he purred, leaning in to kiss her sleek neck.
"Why not?" she asked. "Maybe I want to tempt you." Her calf rose just so to rub between his legs, finding him very tempted indeed.
He peeled her clean of clothes, her leather jacket, her t-shirt, her dark jeans, her boots. She was like a plate he wanted to lick clean, and so he started at her dark-nippled breasts, down toward her navel, then inward between her legs. He called her ambrosia, said he could live forever on this taste alone, and she giggled, brushing at his blond head. Her hands stroked his wings and felt him shudder, her fingers passing over and under feathers as she writhed beneath him.
Psyche arched against the plush cushions, giving him more of herself until she was shivering with spent passion. Then he pulled her into his lap, his wings making their refuge feel even more secretive, as if the whole universe contained only them. When she rode over him and felt him press inside, she was reminded of darkened nights and a pleasing stranger. One she'd trusted implicitly and knew now could only ever be Cupid. Her Cupid.
She had a lot of pride. Venus had come up hard against it. But in his arms, trembling with their joining, it fled. She was a wilted flower, the personification of a sigh, and plush flesh. She belonged to him utterly, and she felt him answering in kind. A god brought to his knees, panting against her shoulder and holding her so heartbreakingly tight.
Then cumming in tandem. The sort of thing that never, ever happened but was happening now. The sort of thing that could only happen when you were the lover of the god of desire. They held on for a long time in comfortable silence. Hands stroked over sweat. Neither of them had banter then or cute quips. Instead they had eternity.