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“I wish to return the favour.”
His voice comes like an afterthought. There is a certain edge to his tone, tinged with exhaustion but garnished with something she struggles to place. Melinoë wipes blood out of her eyes with the heel of her palm, dislodging her laurel and getting the darkening liquid into her hair. The wind outside the titan’s chamber whistles endlessly at this height, snow and ice, debris and flame, whipping in the turmoil.
Her shoulders heave with the weight of her laboured breaths, the moonstone axe held tightly in her bruised knuckles. Aetos caws loudly from the perch high above the platform, before disappearing into the snow, leaving only the heat of the room, the bloodied witch, and the titan before her.
She licks her lips. Her face still warms at the implication of his words.
But she cannot appear to be too excited. Melinoë hardens her gaze despite the very obvious blush on her cheeks, standing a little taller even as her legs threaten to buckle under the weight of fatigue.
“And what could you possibly owe to your enemy?” Asks the princess. “One you have so cruelly beat down already this night.”
The Titan of Foresight smiles with his teeth. Nothing about it is kind or comforting. He threatens her with only the poison that drips from his tongue. The very notion makes her lightheaded.
“I remember,” he begins, his voice thick like honey, “many moons ago now, when you charged into my domain and demanded I find myself near prostrate before you, my eyes to the sky above as you took advantage of me.”
…Advantage?
Her skin bristles. Melinoë, unknowingly, takes deep offense, scowling. “I didn’t take advantage of you!” The princess seethes. “You allowed me to touch you!” ‘Taste you,’ she doesn't say but she knows he thinks it. His eyes are glued to her face. His attention makes her hot, her knees weak with want.
“Yes,” he croons, in that voice of his that she hears in her dreams sometimes. “Yes, I allowed your hands on me and in doing so I gave you a grave advantage. The upperhand.” She bites her tongue. The titan continues. “I would like to return the favour,” he echoes, and she cannot find it in herself to move as he starts towards her, one heavy step at the time. “I ask that you allow me to touch you, little goddess. I want to know how you feel.” He pauses, looks over her entire body now that he stands right in front of her, her neck craned upwards so that she might look him right in the eyes. “And, if you’d let me, I desire to know how you taste. If the warmth of you bears resemblance to the ambrosia you cannot seem to resist showering me in.”
His gaze is arresting.
“It haunts me,” he says flatly.
She sways at this, blinking rapidly, almost like she had been hit on the head with something hard.
“Oh.”
Prometheus does not speak. Instead, he watches her with those hot, fire-like eyes of his, the darkness of the night making his bright pupils look like smoldering coals. The titan waits for her to respond to his proposition. The princess’ heart swells. A proposition! The weapon in Melinoë’s hand grows heavy. She isn’t sure what compels her to drop the axe to the heated tiles, his eyes following the clattering blade. But when she swallows and nods, she swears she sees his jaw clench.
He offers his hand to her and she takes it, sliding her skeletal hand into his charred palm.
It is unwise to allow him to take him somewhere else, unbecoming and unladylike of a goddess given her position and status, but Melinoë allows it nonetheless, curious. He leads her through the winding, frigid halls of Olympus with ease, a path unbeknownst to her making itself known to him, and she envies his foresight and memory if only for a moment.
Soon the chill of the eternal winter melts into that of a comforting heat.
Prometheus has brought her to a fountain room.
Melinoë has been here before, respite hidden away on the Mountain of the Gods, but she has never been here with another. She never thought he’d know about it either, given how the earth seemed to reclaim the well, the natural spring overrun with plants and wear, the marble statues crumbling under time, yes, but also under the extreme pressures exact upon it by the war.
He watches her when he finally lets go of her hand, and she finds herself missing the warmth it provided. Prometheus makes no move to rid himself of his clothes so Melinoë starts first. She strips herself of her ornate silvers and hides her smile when he averts his gaze at the sight of her bare neck and collarbone. Her saffron dress falls to the wet tiles, her laurel placed atop it, and then she sinks into the pool.
She bites back the moan that threatens to leave her. The water is nice and warm, soothing where the chill of the mountain is not. She submerges herself for a moment, entranced with how the blood, dirt, and grime that clung to her is washed away almost instantly.
Melinoë licks her lips when she resurfaces.
“It’s nice,” she tells him.
And so he joins her, quiet.
She is not as shy about her body as he is, though she doubts that it is his reason for playing coy. The witch stares openly when he removes his sash, blushes hotly and averts her gaze when he takes off his pants. She watches him unravel the bandages over his wounds. They’ve healed now, dark and pink, the skin taut where the rest of him is not. The titan steps down into the pool and the princess pushes herself a bit further away.
The water is jostled as he settles.
The contented hum that leaves him is involuntary.
“I told you it was nice,” she says, cotton filling her lungs.
“I knew your words to be true,” he answers. He is strangely at ease, given how vulnerable he is. He either trusts her or knows she doesn't pose a threat to him at all. Not like this. “I've been here once before. I didn't think you'd find it yourself. It's so far off the path you usually take, but here you are, just as I saw.”
“And I didn’t think titans working for my abhorrent grandfather would find the time to relax and be lazy, but here you are,” she echoes, snarky.
He looks at her then and his red hot eyes make her want to hide. Instead, Melinoë finds her words.
“And so you wish to return the favour,” she parrots, shifting the conversation so that she might control it once again. Prometheus nods, his eyes closed. Lethargy settles deep in his bones. This she knows. She continues, the water shifting as she moves closer. “And how might you do that?”
She stills after a moment, sitting on the small platform in the pool, arm’s length away from him.
When his eyes finally find her, something in her gut churns.
“Would you rather I tell you, or show you?” He asks, sitting up straight. Melinoë has all his attention.
“Show me,” she breathes, and then he is moving towards her.
Prometheus closes the distance before she can even finish gathering her thoughts. He is in her space, filling her senses, and Melinoë isn’t sure if she wants to hold his gaze or watch the way his muscles move under the rivulets of water rolling down his skin. Suddenly, the warmth of the fountain room is oppressive, all too dark and all too stuffy. She shifts until her back hits the edge of the pool and the titan follows her until he has truly boxed her in. Her chest heaves under the water but he doesn't look; the heat of his gaze robs her focus.
His left hand— bare, scarred, but undeniably flesh— grabs hold of her chin.
She had expected his touch to be rough but he is so gentle with her, gentle but firm.
When Prometheus kisses her, his lips are even softer than his hand. There is no fighting the way she melts under his touch, under his tongue. He licks into her mouth and Melinoë doesn't know what she wants to grab. The ledge? His hair? He decides for her, lifting her unearthly hand to his shoulder. She slides it along the skin there until it settles on his nape.
Prometheus pulls her tongue in between his teeth and Melinoë keens.
“Enough,” she pants, pushing at his shoulder. He abandons her mouth to drag his lips along her jaw instead. He kisses the crown of her head with reverence she doesn't think she deserves. He kisses her cheek, and then her ears, combing her hair out of his way so that he might bite and suck on her skin in peace.
He drags his tongue over the dip in her neck and she shudders.
Prometheus chuckles; Melinoë doesn't find this very funny.
The heat of him and the pool are overwhelming. He lowers himself into the water and she follows him as he does. Being at eye level with the Titan of Foresight is unsettling, an oddity she isn’t sure she wants to get used to. He doesn't give her time to think about the intensity of his eyes, sinking his teeth into her neck and holding her down when she thrashes underneath him. Not out of pain, no, she welcomes the sting, the weight of his arm around her waist, but it is still so much, and he is so warm.
How ironic, for a god to be out of breath.
When she looks back on this night later on, she knows for a fact that mortification will threaten to swallow her whole. There is nothing to excuse the sounds that fall from her lips, how desperate she acts, unable to hide it on her face, in her voice. But in the moment Melinoë could care less, blinking owlishly at Prometheus as he starts to maneuver her.
He settles her back on the edge of the pool, her hips and legs hanging over it.
It’s uncomfortable for a moment. She starts to tell him as much too, hiking her fingers through her darkened hair. The sight of him however, his head level with cunt, makes her stop.
“You asked that I show you how I intend to repay you,” he drawls, his voice thick and heady. It makes her hot. The titan settles between her thighs and Melinoë has to fight to keep herself up on her forearms as he sinks into the water. He pulls her forward so that he can hook her knees over his shoulders and Melinoë gives up.
His fingers find her first and she notices immediately that they are both longer and thicker than her own. He drags them through the water and slick that has gathered in between her legs. She hates how it sounds. She hates that she’s aroused. By her enemy no less. She should have never let him bring her here. She should have been stronger. She should have used his momentary lapse to strike and bring him down like she was trained to.
It’s like he knows she’s getting lost in her head.
The titan’s thumb— the scarred one— presses down on her clit and she yelps.
Melinoë can’t help it: she screams when he finally puts his tongue on her, hot and thick, and far too much.
His mouth is relentless and it reminds her of when they fight. He is precise and observant, because of his foresight, yes, but it’s also just how he is. No detail can escape his eye. Not a sound, not a movement. He hears when her voice hitches and doubles down on whatever caused it until her voice has risen to a fever pitch. His fingers fight along his tongue and it makes her squirm. She wiggles so much he has to hold her hips down so that she stops. It drives her mad.
She wishes she could grab his hair. Melinoë so desperately wants something to hold on to, something to pull as he fucks her with his tongue and the scarred, burnt fingers of his right hand.
There is no warning when she comes, with her thighs clamped around his head. Had he been a lesser being she might’ve killed him, but the witch has met her match with this one, this much she knows. She is shivering under his touch but Prometheus will not let her move. The titan keeps her there even after her orgasm has washed over her. He keeps her there until he wrings another one from her frame, her throat raw from use.
He laves at her until she has to shove him off of her, the sensitivity shifting from pleasure to pain. Her legs tremble as he rises, water rolling off of him, water and her slick clinging to his mouth, chin, and nose.
Melinoë groans, hiding her face in her hands.
When she peeks at him, he’s licking his fingers with little care for his audience. She feels her face warm and she knows she cannot blame it on the humidity.
“Was that to your liking?”
The inquiry is surprising. She doesn't trust her voice but she nods anyway.
“You’re… very good with your mouth,” she mumbles, blushing hotly.
The titan chuckles. Melinoë sits up when he begins to move away, walking further into the pool. She watches him sit a few feet away, the steam clouding her vision. He doesn't say anything for a moment, threading his fingers through his dampened hair. To no one’s surprise but her own, it is still as unruly and fluffy as it would be had it not been wet at all.
Then, “Come here,” he commands, and there is no room for argument. Not that she would. Melinoë slides into the water and swims into his arms.
She always knew titans were large. Her mentor towered over her and so did her grandfather. Sister Selene dwarfed them both. Lord Prometheus was no exception, especially since she encountered him so frequently, but it was nothing compared to being in his arms, strong as they were holding her in the space between.
Curious, maybe, she spreads her spectral fingers along his chest, tracing the scar there with her nail. She feels her eyes on him as she does, but she pays him no mind, taken with the stories he has not shared but she knows regardless.
His body tenses underneath her when she leans forward, and she hears his breath hitch when her lips replace her fingertips.
The witch looks up at him from underneath her eyelashes, her mismatched eyes finding his own, and the titan averts his gaze.
Strange.
“We are not done,” he says suddenly, and the mood shifts. She remembers their position and the ache in between her legs makes itself apparent once more. The water sloshes as he manhandles her (again), her back to his chest and her legs spread apart by his thigh.
“We’re not?” Melinoë asks, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.
“No, not yet.” He says this one against her ear, his breath, hot and damp, ticking the skin of her cheek. She blinks rapidly. He is so close and his hands— Melinoë watches as his left hand slides against her leg under the water, trailing up along the inside of her thigh. It is too much and not enough, the intensity of his attention, the warmth of him behind her—
She presses her thighs together, uncaring for the hand in between them. He chuckles when she does.
“That’s not fair, little goddess,” he says, and she hates how it sounds if only because it makes her feel so weak. He pinches her thigh and she lets him pry her thighs apart with ease. She is glad the lower half of her body is submerged if only because she doesn't need to hear the sound of her own slick, his laugh enough of an embarrassment as he slides his fingers along her leg.
The whine that leaves her when he finally pushes a finger into her is mortifying. Her hips cant upwards, her hand fleeing from its spot by her side to clasp over her mouth.
Prometheus clicks his tongue.
“None of that.”
He moves her hands again: one to his hair and the other he rests on her own chest.
“I want to hear you,” he tells her, his lips moving against her skin as she nods, furiously.
What happens after that is a blur. He fucks her with his finger and then he adds another, scissoring the two until she is mewling and writhing against him. He takes her earlobe between his teeth as she bucks her hips. It’s all very involuntary, her reactions to the well-timed pumped of his wrist, the arch and spread of his calloused fingers once he adds another and then another—
“My— Prometheus it is too much—”
“It is not, not yet.”
He sounds just as desperate as she does, and Melinoë swears he moans with her when she comes for the third time that evening. Her legs are twitching, her head thrown back against his shoulder. Not that he minds; Melinoë tangles her fingers in his hair and pulls as she comes down from her high, mindlessly grinding against his hand until it burns.
It means she almost misses the pained sound that escapes the confines of his chest.
Almost.
She finds enough sense in herself to pull his hair again and Prometheus groans this time, his fingers losing their barely-there rhythm before slipping out of her entirely. The witch quickly realizes she’s desperate to know what he looks like when he’s properly dishevelled.
Melinoë is suddenly made very aware of the hard line of his cock against the curve of her ass. Ancients, he was huge, far bigger than anything she’s ever taken before. And she’s had her fair share of lovers, of which she is rather proud of, but Prometheus is unlike anything else she’s seen, or rather, felt, before.
Swallowing nervously, she tugs on his hair again, twisting slightly so that she could watch his face as she does. The satisfied sound he rewards her with makes her chest swell.
The silence lingers, amicable, but her curiosity continues to bloom.
She takes his hand in hers, unable to name the feeling that fills her when he threads their fingers together.
“Something tells me this isn’t all you’ve planned,” she says, not quite looking at him, and Prometheus chuckles. Melinoë realizes she’s quite fond of his laugh. He kisses her hair and then she is being turned so that she faces him. Melinoë rests her hands on his shoulders, her fingers seeking the hair at his nape out of habit.
The Titan of Foresight kisses her again and Melinoë decides that she adores his mouth. His is so attentive, it makes her warm, his large palm settled on the small of her back, the other holding her hip, keeping her firm against him.
She slips one of her hands in the little space in between their bodies. She shoves her tongue into his mouth when she gasps, her fingers wrapped around the base of his cock.
“Melinoë—” he starts and, oh, he’s never said her name like that before. It’s a warning, that’s what it is, a warning she ignores as she slides back on his thighs, tightening her hold. He scowls, but he doesn't fight her off anymore. He kisses her within an inch of her life as she works his length in between her fingers. She sighs into his mouth, forgetting her task just for a moment if it meant she could indulge. Prometheus kisses her like he fights her: full of passion and desperation. It reminds her of her lovers and she quickly understands why her burden-bearing cousin is so drawn to him.
They are like moths to the ever-burning wick that holds his flame.
It’s not enough to distract her, however, and she knows he knows it when she bites down on his lower lip, squeezing the head of his cock as she does. He moans and her heart skips a beat. Her hands are small, it’s enough of a challenge already, but it makes her ridiculously proud when he breaks away from her, pressing the skin of his cheek to her hair as he pants into the space above her.
He rips her hand off of him so suddenly the force of it makes her jump.
“You,” he hisses, “are maddening.”
“I know,” she says, rubbing her lips against his own and smiling when he rolls his eyes.
Melinoë knows he’s not mad. How can he be when he touches her cunt once more with two of his fingers? She sighs, looking for friction he won’t provide. Not yet, he doesn't say. She hears it nonetheless.
Not that she necessarily cares about what he thinks: she takes his dick in her hand again, ignorant to how her body shudders as she lowers her hips.
He doesn't touch her, save for his hands that already rest on her waist, her hips, her own squeezing the skin of his shoulder. Melinoë is convinced if the heat doesn't kill her, Prometheus might. Goddess, maybe she was too confident in her abilities. He wouldn’t have stopped her, not at all. The way her voice pitches in her attempts to take him is disgusting, but it is nothing compared to the incessant trembling in her thighs, her knees braced by the small platform in the pool.
She groans. Annoyed. Pained. Aroused. She wishes he was on his back, that might’ve been easier, but she clings to him this way instead, with her face hidden in the crook of his neck.
Melinoë knows he’s looking at her already, patient, and it makes her want to scream. Her lips are bruised with how hard she’s biting on them. She pants, her breathing burdened and heavy.
“Do you not realize how large you are?” She’s horrified at the sound of her own voice, doing her best to look at him without pushing herself too far. Melinoë rolls her hips, hoping to settle, and the cry that leaves her is anguished when she realizes she hasn’t taken much of him at all.
“You were never meant to take me, not like this,” he says coolly, and the princess grumbles under breath as she pulls herself back up, adjusting, readjusting. The titan hums under administrations and she prides herself in the red hue to cheeks, heat be damned. “‘Return the favour,’ I said, and yet you insisted on taking control of the situation. I foresaw this you know, your desperation to regain control, and so I offered my cooperation without you asking, just as I knew I would,” he continues, more than willing to amble on with his stupid, long-winded sentences as her thighs— gods— start to shake again. “So then where has your confidence gone, little goddess? You mustn’t run away from me. Sit down.”
The witch stumbles over her words, unsurprised and yet still taken aback by his crude manner of speech. “I’ve realized a severe oversight,” she says instead, breathless. She drags her lips across his shoulder. His fingers twitch against her hips, still watching her, and it’s what makes it all the more mortifying when she loses her balance, her thighs giving up and giving way as her hips meet his own.
She chokes on the moan that leaves her, loud and disgustingly throaty. She really hopes Sister Selene isn’t watching. “I think you’re trying to kill me,” Melinoë sobs, and the titan laughs, a one-note, as he shakes his head.
“I would do no such thing. You’ve brought this upon yourself; I am just a fortunate beneficiary,” the titan reasons, and she despises his need for logic even at a time like this, his desire to talk about things that don’t need to be talked about right now. The stretch is painful, burns in ways she hasn’t been burned before, but it’s not disliked nor unwanted, not even as she rests her cheek against his chest.
Tentative, maybe, she rocks her hips and the water moves with her.
It elicits a moan from her, a drawn-out sound that tapers off into a contented sigh. She does it again and again, fucks herself on the titan’s cock, revelling in the vocal nature of her response even if she gets a touch louder each time. Bolder. Shameless. Prometheus watches her all the while, and when she looks up at him from underneath her eyelashes again, her eyes wet with unshed tears, she feels something in the air shift—
“I’ve had enough of you,” he tells her, holding her down as he moves, maneuvering her so that her back is on the warm, wet tile of the fountain room again. “Enough of your teasing.” He says it with such venom, such veracity. It makes her warm. He’s shifted their positions with his cock still buried inside her. She wraps her arms around his waist as he cages her in again, his forearms on either side of her head. He bends down so he could press his nose against his jaw, his tongue finds the skin there not even a moment later.
She tangles her fingers in his thick hair. He looks at her like he wants to crawl into her skin. She’d let him.
The titan fucks her, slow and deep, a sensual grind that is all very good but not enough.
Melinoë pulls his hair again, smiles with her teeth when he grunts, stills.
The hand against the back of his head eases him down, down until her lips brush his ear, his earrings cool against her skin.
“My Lord,” she starts, her breaths ticking his ear. She rocks her hips against him, stifles her gasps when he mimics her actions. She knows he wants to say something, anything, and she waits until he does, whatever words he wishes to speak trapped on the tip of his tongue. They fizzle out of existence when she clenches down on him in time with the bite she leaves on his ear. A tease, he called her.
“Yes,” he exhales, after far too long, and the princess hums.
“And you intend to return the favour, correct?” She doesn't mean to interrogate him, but she cannot help it, excitement eating away at her. Prometheus pulls away from her embrace, looking down at her. He’s silent for a moment, the sound of his breathing and running water filling her ears.
“Yes,” he says finally. The witch leers. He knows exactly what she’s going to say. Melinoë is positive it drives him mad.
She says it anyway.
“Then,” she starts, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his own, “you’re going to have to do much better than that.”
(he gives her no time to regret her threats, after all. always fighting, him and her.)
FIN