by Eileen Glass
The entire kingdom is going to see me practically naked!
This is certainly not traditional wear for a bride on her wedding day!
But Seph supposes Hades chose to dress him more like an athlete since he is a man and not a virginal young girl.
He feels like a virginal young girl as he re-enters the dining room, carrying Hibus’s basket in one hand and quickly sneaking one more tug in the back to cover his assets. His new belt jangles a little when he walks, and he quickly learns that he had better straighten his head or else his circlet and flowers are going to tumble right off.
By the time he reaches his couch beside the dark god where he will dine, Seph has abandoned his natural state and moves with more balance and care. Even sitting and assuming a lounging position is done tactfully, or else the revealing chiton will expose his butt and balls.
Which, of course, is exactly what an athlete would want, to get more coin from admirers.
The dark god, on the other hand, is entirely covered by his northerners’ garb. Only his hands, face, and neck are visible. He even reclines with his boots on, which would earn Seph a sharp scolding from his mother if he ever tried the same in his sandals. His form, however, is pleasantly apparent by the shape the clothes take over him. And after a while, tasting a small portion of roasted pig, Seph realizes he and his new husband have been staring at each other for long silent moments since he sat down.
Their couches are positioned perpendicular to each other, their heads at the meeting ends. For the rest of the night Seph is aware of every movement the god makes, and particularly of the interest displayed in his expressions, and sometimes the distance of himself to those hands.
Glancing at his new husband is done with an assassin’s care to not get caught. Yet somehow, at the same time, Seph is always watching, never taking his eyes away.
Seph decides to rest on his back, thus saving the diners behind him the view of his rear end. He props one leg folded up. Then stretched out. Then crossed at his ankles, to see how he’s most comfortable. And what affords him the most modesty.
There is a moment during this that Hades eyes the vicinity of his legs and definitely wears a promising smirk. But then his mouth disappears behind the rim of a tilted wine goblet. And he drinks for a while, leisurely, leaving Seph to wonder…
Does he like what he sees? Did he put me in this revealing outfit on purpose? Or perhaps he truly thought this was fitting—athletic wear for marrying a man? Or perhaps he thought this chiton was appropriate for a man my age?
Seph is extremely young for a god. Perhaps Hades saw what other adolescents were wearing as he prepared this outfit.
Is he smiling for the satisfying taste of the wine?
Or for me?
And when he licks his lips—just once, as the goblet goes down and gets refilled—does that mean anything?
Quietly in Seph’s mind there is a constant state of analysis and emergency. The merest thing, like a twitch of an eyebrow, or especially a slight smile, will send Seph into a hopeless maze of possibilities. And meanwhile, he tries very hard not to show too much of himself to the many friendly children. Dancing and celebrating and chattering goes on all around.
The dining hall is enormous, like a complete palace to itself, with rows of pillars extending far beyond where they sit, open archways all around, and floor-to-ceiling windows beyond that.
Seph suffers through many meal courses. At a wealthy man’s party, the dinner may be so elaborate and continuous that the guests have to puke to keep feasting. Seph eats little and slowly, for a long time. And the only thing Hades says to him, sitting so close nearby, is, “Did you like the wine?”
“Y-yes. I loved it.” Seph does not remember the wine very well. He was too nervous during the ceremony. But it was sweet, without the strong bitter flavor he expected.
“Have some more. Have as much as you like.” With the wave of two fingers, a serving boy comes and pours a pitcher over Seph’s empty goblet. “It is the finest, most delicious wine in all the realms. And I only allow it to be enjoyed by the permanent residents of Elysium. Zeus has been after it for ages, you know. He’s completely jealous. My wine is the only kind in existence that can make a god drunk. Though, it does require many hours of drinking.”
That is strange. Seph has tasted many strong liquors with Teysus and his uncles, and a lot of them made him gag outright. But they didn’t get him drunk. Not even a little. The maroon wine tastes more like one of the weaker, gentler drinks. Except… It settles. From one sip, pleasant tingles warm up his insides and spread gradually into his limbs. It is the best wine he’s ever tasted, and it has just enough lingering warmth to make him want the next sip, soon.
“It is amazing. I love it,” Seph says, meaning this honestly but not having the wordful skill to describe his appreciation of the wine any better.
He expects Hades to say, I’m glad you like it. Because you will never have any upperworld wine ever again.
But instead his new husband is distracted by the performance put on by the underworld citizens. They wear animal costumes and dramatic masks, and a singing chorus tells him the story of a great hunter who comes to worship his prey, a magnificent white bird who transforms into a woman.
It is a long night. And Seph spends the last portion admiring how the teardrop sapphires dangle from his husband’s ear, laying upon his neck when he angles his head right. And then there is his hair, of course, which is impressive as every god’s mane should be. But it is not curly, nor overly thick. It is not fashionable by current Greek trends, and Seph feels a little ashamed for the man-made curls in his own hair, achieved by sleeping in rollers twice a week. His mother ordered her cosmetic slave to start tending his appearance when he was twelve. Sometimes for a party Seph will even let his brows be connected with a dark line, as is fashionable to the Greek mortals.
He’s glad Hades didn’t snatch him up from a party, where all those trends would look silly and overstated next to such natural beauty. His hair is especially fascinating. It is silvery white, straight, and falls to his elbows with the manner in which he is currently propped. The more Seph drinks the wine, the more he thinks the pale white god in black attire couldn’t be any prettier. Especially not in Greek fashion. That wouldn’t suit him at all.
He must be drifting off. He blinks, opening his eyes to his own name spoken in a gentle and authoritative voice.
“Persephone.”
His husband’s hand waits to lead him to bed.
Eight
If this were a mortal Greek wedding, they would be followed by many rowdy and drunk guests, congratulating the groom for his newly acquired bounty. They might shout things like, Give it to her good! Or, as Teysus’s father said to his older brother getting married, Plow the fields well, son.
Helpful lewd tips are offered up, of course. As well as congratulations for the large belly the bride will soon have. The perfect bride should be ‘fat full of seed’ according to the bride’s grandmother, who was the lewdest of all at her granddaughter’s wedding.
The dead souls do not have that nature, thankfully, though several sway and catch themselves on tables and walls as they follow their king toward his personal chambers. The potent liquor does not only get gods drunk, it seems. And yes, while the small children-appearing souls stick to innocent activities, the few adolescents and young adults are seen openly engaging in sexual acts as they leave the dining hall.
This would also be common at a mortal Greek wedding, since it is good fortune for the bride and groom if their guests celebrate with a physical union as well. Public or private and how far it goes is a personal choice.
Their procession stops at two enormous golden doors. The area before the doors opens up to a small courtyard of sorts, covered by a ceiling of glass, with a large marble statue of Cerberus, the three-headed dog that must indeed be really exactly as his mother described. His marble likeness poses regally at the center of a pool of water, narcissus flowers growing all arou
nd the water’s banks, as though at a natural pond, though this sight of nature and beauty is contained in marble planter boxes. And the pool is an impressive fountain.
Seph has never seen such a thing indoors before. It is a courtyard under a roof, and none of the plants contained here are slowly dying in a vase. They live amongst the tiled floor and stone walls! Which are covered in rugs, tapestries, and art. Benches are all around, with pillows atop them for long sitting, as well as a small table here and there.
It looks like a beautiful room for reading or just relaxing, and Seph looks forward to being here alone sometime, with hours to spend.
Beyond the doors to the personal chamber, there is a large den as Seph would expect, with an enormous curved desk and many shelves containing a personal library of scrolls and a few oddities. Such as a wild mask of feathers and paint like Seph has never seen before. And large, raw, unfaceted gem rocks. Any one of these is probably worth as much as his mother’s estate. He doubts the entire weight of his mother’s jewels equals the weight of a single precious boulder that Hades displays like a simple vase.
And through a smaller door of many intricate carvings, the three headed dog appearing again up top, they enter, at last, the personal bed chambers. Only four servant souls follow them this far.
Two begin to help Hades out of his clothes, the adolescent boy from earlier kneeling to grab his boots as he steps out.
And two begin to work on Seph. The first, another child, kneels to take him out of his sandals. The other, a teen girl with uncovered breasts and hair cut close to her head, tugs on his basket, twice, insistently.
“N-no, I will take care of it,” Seph says, holding Hibus close. He can feel the rabbit hop inside.
Her voice is rather deep and pleasant, and her Greek is imperfect. “You must put it down to undress you, my king.”
His husband watches with sharp eyes, and Seph feels as though he’s protecting Hibus from a circling hawk. Although he must show Hades what’s in the basket eventually, he feels like his husband will call it a silly pet. Maybe he will make Seph get rid of it. Maybe Hibus will end up in the kitchen, or hopping around the gardens, fending for himself. It took a long argument and a heap of immature stubbornness to convince his mother to let him keep a box of straw in his room, that he would clean of rabbit urine and feces every day.
He does not want to face the same dilemma with his dominant husband just now.
“What be it?” asks the servant girl, and Seph does not answer, merely stepping away from the boy removing his sandals. He bends to set the basket under the bed.
He’s acutely aware of how he is presenting his backside. And how unusual it is to be secretive over a silly basket. He prepares feeble excuses in his mind, expecting the dark god’s curious gaze to turn into questions, while he quickly ties the rabbit’s lead to the basket handle and pushes him far under the bed. Then he removes the picnic blanket and sets it aside.
Hibus looks curiously at him from the dark, one ear gradually lifting up, his nose twitching over the rim. He has lettuce and leaves and fresh things to eat that Seph snuck him throughout the meal. He will be mildly unhappy without his safe cage to sleep in, but he is a very smart rabbit, and Seph can trust him to stay under the bed for now. For urination, he will probably use the blanket, and Seph hopes dearly that it won’t smell before he gets to throw it out in the morning.
Hibus cannot stay a secret for very long.
You are still my bestfriend, he thinks at the bunny, stroking him a few times, though the others must think he’s weird and he had better stand up now. And now you are the only thing I have from home.
Hopefully, when Hibus dies, he will just become a spirit in this underworld. That is a small bright side to this place that Seph can accept.
Another one is the sight of his husband’s unclothed backside as Seph straightens and finds Hades finishing the undressing process, inclining forward so that the adolescent boy can reach to take off his crown. A strand of hair is caught in one of the spires, and Hades untangles it himself, making a subtly displeased expression.
Seph’s servant says nothing, but Seph gets the idea that she’s exasperated. Her hands are on his belt at once, working in an efficient businesslike manner. She gives the belt to another servant, and pulls his clothing away roughly, like removing a towel.
There was not very much to take off anyway. Seph’s fingers curl into his palms, and he looks at the floor.
“Wine for you, king?” asks the girl, bundling Seph’s clothes in her arms. “Kind of food?”
“Leave the pitcher. That will be all, Verah.”
She nods once, and they are gone.
The dark god pivots and strides toward him. Seph sucks in a breath and thinks of what to say—fast!—and prepares to be kissed. Or touched. Or pushed onto the bed for the final act of the evening.
But he passes Seph and crosses to the vanity along a wall. Naked, he sits on a cushioned stool and picks up a brush. A few passes get the already-perfect hair immaculate again, and then he poses one ear at the mirror, and then the other, removing the large, heavy sapphires.
They are so beautiful.
Seph opens his mouth for a moment, wishing to tell him to keep them on. He’s admired them so much tonight. He looked forward to seeing them in bed, perhaps dangling from the dark god’s lobes as he propped himself above Seph.
But soon they are off. Along with his dazzling large ring and two small ones on the other hand. The gold and crystal necklace comes off last, set atop a headless bust that has an assortment of jeweled pendant necklaces stacked carelessly like plates in a wash bin.
The god regards his fine face in the mirror, frowning and picking at an imperfection only he can see. Unwatched, Seph’s examination strays to lower assets. The curve of his thigh, presented in how he crosses his legs. The plush pale roundness parked on the stool cushion. The little Y crevice, teasing.
And then Hades turns to him, and Seph picks up his eyes like a guard snapping to attention.
“You can go to bed, or do whatever you wish. The latrine is through there.” He nods at one of the doors. “And that way goes downstairs, to my private bathhouse. Which is your private bathhouse now.” He smiles at this, in that very calm way that he does. “They are always heated and full. You might like them sometimes before bed, if the day has been stressful. I do.”
Seph nods stiffly. He cannot imagine Hades wearing one of the beaming smiles that he and his mother are used to.
Will that change for me? Will I start to look and act like him?
“We will live together for some time. Until I am used to you and you are used to me. It will be years probably, maybe ages. But eventually, when we are trusting and adapted to each other, I may construct your own private quarters in the palace. If you wish.”
“Oh. No… it’s fine.” Of course, Seph realizes immediately after he finishes speaking that the dark god didn’t ask him anything. He merely informed Seph.
Hades turns back to the mirror and dips a cloth into a nearby wash bowl. He runs it over his neck and works upward onto his cheeks. Then he finds a round glass container among many on the vanity and dips a finger inside. Some type of thin oil is spread along his jaw.
Seph sits on the bed, a nervous tension vanishing out of him. But also… disappointment. He looks at his own body and crosses one arm, rubbing his shoulder.
No matter how humble he’s trained to be, he could never actually believe he’s ugly. Though, Seph doesn’t think about his features usually. He’s used to his mother doing that for him, caring about his hair and his clothes, and even his shoes. Seph might forget he needs clothes and shoes if his mother didn’t keep replacing the old ones with new items when they become worn. And if his chamber slave didn’t keep setting out something fresh for him, he would probably wear the same thing for days.
As a late teenager, Seph refused the slave’s help to dress. He began to care for himself more and more as he became an adult. He even learned how
to set his own hair in rollers because he felt like his mother’s doll.
Now he looks at his new husband and wonders…
Does he think I’m a boy too?
Is that why he’ll ‘stay up and read’?
He wants me to go to the baths alone?
For all he knows, Hades plans to seek the final act of pleasure and union from someone else!
“Ahem,” he says loudly, standing up as Hades is nearly gone, leaving for the den. Seph doesn’t know what to do with his hands. If he keeps them in front of himself, he will fidget like a shy boy. Or they might shake.
“Yes? What is it?” asks the god, naked and comfortable. His cock is a pinker color than the rest of him, and a simple, elegant form. His eyes are his imposing feature. His physical strength is sculpted and apparent, but that is nothing to the sense of old age and wisdom held in his calm eyes.
Seph does feel like a boy to him. That makes this request the hardest thing in the world. Far scarier than asking his mother to stop treating him like a baby.
“W-we are married.” He swallows and resolves that this will be the last stutter in front of Hades. “So—so you must have asked for me. My father—Zeus—you asked for me, didn’t you?”
Hades returns to the room and stands before Seph.
“Yes.”
Seph nods, forcing himself with extreme will to focus on those powerful eyes. And not on his own feet.
“And why did you ask for me?”
Hades wears the small smile again. “I explained to him that you are a son of the earth. And I am the god of all things belonging inside the earth. The jewels, the souls, the very rocks that make the continents and the mountains. Everything that comes down into the earth is mine. And you, Persephone, are the God of the End of the Harvest. A time of life for the mortals, yes, but a time when leaves fall, and a phase of death for the things that grow in my earth.”
Nothing changes except the light of his eyes, which are beaming with glee, as he finishes, “I explained to Zeus that I have more claim over you than anyone. And he’s not smart enough to come up with his own logic against me. So here you are.”
