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Lance was tired of his monotonous life.
Very much so.
Ever since Zeus — oh, well, Shiro in reality — had taken possession of Olympus and Lance had had the misfortune of being the god of love and desire (however much some might criticize it), he had attracted a great deal of unwanted attention from goddesses and gods alike, turning Olympus into a battlefield over «Who gets the unmarked omega who proclaims himself single?»
When Lance was not in the mood to be coupled off, he loved his freedom, the pleasures of life, of the flesh — he had no desire to rot away in a loveless marriage, dull and flavorless, like those ancient lovebirds Shiro and Adam. Not that they didn't "love" each other in their strange and even destructive way (which was funny, because everyone had committed a cardinal sin at some point, in varying degrees of severity, and everyone knew it — nobody bothered to voice what was already understood). It had been around that time that his freedom had been bound to the sweet and gentle Hunk.
Don't misunderstand! Hunk was lovely — he was the kind of attentive man who gave gifts, and most of the jewelry Lance wore most of the time, with gallantry and even pride, was truly beautiful. Precious stones, diamonds, emeralds, minerals Hunk himself would mine and forge into gold — ankle bracelets that highlighted his long legs, earrings, crowns. What more attentive man could you ask for in life? He even cooked, and he was very good at it.
It was simply.
Not for him. Lance loved passion, strength — he wanted something with an edge of danger, and Hunk was the opposite of dangerous. All soft, all gentle, and while that was something in his favor — since he had never tried to touch him beyond what was necessary, unlike others who felt entitled to do so just because of «Passion» — passion, yes. He didn't always seek out (emphasis on not always, which does not mean never) attention on his own terms. Sometimes he just needed to lie on his bed with his beta handmaidens for company and look out at Olympus through a window that was far too large yet far too closed, as though he were some poor peacock whose feathers someone wanted to hide on a shelf, never letting them be displayed as they deserved.
Nothing changed. His routine was always the same — bathing in the royal pools of his modest home, knowing Hunk would be forging weapons and would come back late as always, and he had to endure staying alone, or simply lying in the great beds alongside his oldest handmaidens to warm it for a while. Or he could simply go out? Yes.
He wanted to go out.
He was tired of the same four walls every day. He needed adrenaline in his veins, needed to see a few alphas — girls or boys, he didn't care — and he could always go out if he had company, but today he had dismissed them all with a wave of his hand and a "Keep this a secret, dear, yes?" And whenever Lynnhian was in a good mood she let him go out without her.
So he had gone out armed with his finest weapon: a toga that revealed the delicate but firm curve of his immaculate, smooth neck — because no one was yet good enough to ensnare the god of love and desire in their clutches, especially since, first and foremost, Lance only ever wanted one thing from them and had no intention of any long-term commitment. Difficult to process, isn't it? Pure white, which set off the beautiful dark honey color of his skin like forbidden ambrosia; short, neatly cut brown hair because he didn't like it bunching at the nape of his neck; and a long slit running down the length of the toga that left the side of his leg almost entirely visible to the enchanted eyes that lingered in his direction far longer than necessary. A delicate diamond pendant in his earlobe — a gift from his dear husband — and an armband on his bicep to complete the look.
No sooner had he arrived and settled among the cushions of the great Olympus — which enjoyed an exquisite backdrop of the very sky and its pillars — than the door burst open.
What dreadful manners. Hadn't anyone taught this one to knock?
He glanced around, noticing further away how Pidge, the small strategist Athena, was studying her scroll with a contemplative look, and he nearly felt the urge to go find her and bother her. That was how Lance McClain entertained himself in such a monotonous place when he wasn't down in Sparta fighting alongside soldiers and enjoying himself in ways somewhat more varied than the traditional ones most would expect Aphrodite to be associated with — but watching humans throw themselves headlong into passion and desire for some other being or a lover was delightful entertainment when you were an enthusiastic spectator.
"Keith." Pidge's voice sounded exactly as it always did, with that touch of sarcasm she could never quite shake as she judged you with her gaze. Lance pretended to look out at the horizon, but his attention was fixed behind him, listening to everything. "You really should stop encouraging the war in Sparta. A great many humans have died. The other gods are upset because they've received fewer sacrifices — for obvious reasons — ever since you agreed to join that little skirmish between the Romans and the Spartans." She sounded mildly exasperated. "They all died."
A complete silence followed, during which Lance touched his chin with his index finger, thinking that this man was an idiot if he wanted to wipe out all the humans alike — where would his entertainment come from?
"That's not my problem." The angry alpha's voice rang out — deep, perhaps even fresh from said war, who knew, but very, very attractive. "I just did what you asked. Didn't you tell me to heed the sacrifices? Well, that's how I do my job. Deal with it."
So he was raising his voice at the goddess of wisdom, hm? What nerve. Everyone knew that Pidge was Shiro's favorite — well, as far as it concerned him, because he objectively believed he himself occupied position negative one, since the only things Shiro had ever granted him were misfortunes and a dead marriage.
"I said listen to them, yes —" Pidge continued with unshakable calm, unfazed by her companion's tone. "But not slaughter every single one of them. Do you want to leave Sparta without men? You were supposed to be supporting that side, weren't you? Pick a position. Either one or the other."
"Look, I do whatever I feel like." The voice he heard was dangerous and very... sexy. He could almost feel it right against his ear. "Next time, tell Zeus not to send me on his errands if he's just going to complain about it afterward." There was a hard edge to his words. "Let him come down himself. Let him handle it."
And that was it. Lance's curiosity couldn't take it anymore — his legs were trembling at the thought of seeing the face of that renegade being who sounded like the furious engine of war made manifest. Nothing had caught his attention in quite some time. He turned around and, with a steady, poised step, approached the two who were arguing (shouting) in the middle of the hall, his jewels chiming softly as his bare feet glided him closer to the confrontation. "Easy, easy. Calm down!" he said with a bright, rather flirtatious smile. "What's going on here?"
"Lance?" Pidge raised an eyebrow as she watched him glide over as if he were floating and lean against her. With irritation she tried to shake him off, but it was already too late because Lance had already made use of her head as a shield. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be confined to your royal bridal chamber or whatever it's called."
Lance shrugged with considerable nonchalance. "I escaped. Can you blame me?"
Then he looked at the man who had caught his attention. And wow. He was the most handsome alpha he had ever seen in his entire life (and he had quite a long list — a very long list). Jet-black hair, an enviable build though he seemed to stand about two centimeters shorter than Lance, arms strong from wielding a spear as though it were an extension of himself. A hard gaze, devoid of empathy. The armor of a warrior stained with the blood of his enemies (and allies — very relevant in this particular case). Purple eyes that hid the kind of pain found only in those broken by the Tartarus. And pale skin covered in scars, each one carrying a story.
But god, he was dying to learn the story behind the one on his right cheek. Preferably with his lips.
Also, ideally, with both of them without clothing. And a good wine.
"What are you staring at?" The god of war crossed his arms and fixed him with a narrowed gaze (Lance could almost swear he had glanced at his neck, but if he pointed it out, they'd probably think he was delirious). "Mind your own business," Keith huffed ill-temperedly at last, then turned to look at Pidge and pointed at her. " And you. I won't be coming back up here, so stop summoning me — because next time, I'll cut out the tongue of that redheaded messenger boy you keep sending to bother me."
He turned around. And Lance quickly tried to call after him. "Hey! Hey! Wait! I want to talk to you—"
Did he just... ignore him? Impossible. But no — Lance stood there watching the gladiator's back recede without so much as a glance in his direction.
How rude.
He loved it.
God. How he loved this nameless, disrespectful, mannerless, utterly brutish mystery of a man — he-loves-it-he-loves-it-he loves it.
Pidge raised an eyebrow, reading his thoughts as clearly as if they were her own. "Whatever it is you're after, it won't work. Keith is practically married to war — his lover is his spear, and his daughter is cold, brutal battle," she explained patiently. "If you think your... charm will get you anywhere — you're mistaken. Not everyone falls to desire, you know."
The brunet gave her a look with a smile, hands already coming together as he mentally drafted his plans to conquer this gorgeous, deadly specimen. "Pidge, Pidge. You know nothing of the fire of passion. And when I am very, very determined — I get what I want." He nodded to himself, thumping his chest. "There's a reason I'm the god of passion. Have a little more faith in me."
Pidge simply made a face with a "Whatever you say. I genuinely don't care."
Oh, Lance. It really does seem like this time you've gone and hit the jackpot.