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She nodded. He hated these bouts of quiet tension that kept rising between them.

“If you need anything, I’ll be down here,” he said and left, adjusting the temperature before returning to his room.

He shed his clothes and showered. He stayed beneath the spray longer than usual, taking his heavy cock in hand, eager to feel release, to no longer feel the fullness hanging heavy between his legs as he had for what felt like days.

Because it had been days.

It had beenweeks.

He thought of how Ariadne had looked in that dress, the way she had obeyed when he told her to kneel before him, the way her eyes burned when she looked up at him, and perhaps it had been with hatred, but sometimes he did not know it from passion, and it didn’t really matter because it fueled the fantasy.

The potential of what could have been took over, and he imagined holding on to her perfect ass and helping her slide down his cock. She would be warm and wet and tight, and she would ride him like she had known his body forever. When she grew too tired, he would take over, pumping into her until everything in his body locked up and all he could focus on was the pressure inhis balls that spread all over his body before he came. There was something about opening his eyes and seeing his hand closed around the crown of his cock, semen seeping between his fingers, that left him completely unsatisfied.

He washed again and stepped out of the shower, feeling no less frustrated than when he entered.

He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist, muttering to himself as he began to grow hard again.

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

“I would, but you aren’t really my type.”

“Fuck you, Hermes,” he said.

He’d sensed the god’s magic the moment he’d stepped out of the bathroom. He didn’t even turn to look at him as he crossed to his dresser.

“Don’t be angry about it,” Hermes said.

Dionysus ignored him and dropped the towel, changing into a pair of boxers. When he turned to face the God of Mischief, he looked a little stunned.

“You don’t have a type, Hermes,” said Dionysus. “You would fuck a rock if you found it pretty enough.”

Hermes found his speech again. “Hey, I have standards!”

“Which is why I said pretty,” Dionysus mumbled, pulling back the blankets on his bed. He did not care that Hermes was here and likely wanted to talk. He was tired.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about why I am here?”

“No, considering the last time you paid me a visit, I dreamed that my testicles were burning off for a week.”

Hermes grinned. “Come on. That was funny.”

Dionysus glared.

“What do you want, Hermes?”

Dionysus lay down, still intent on sleeping despite whatever the god had come to say. He propped his hands behind his head and stared at the god, but Hermes looked unnerved and swallowed hard.

“Well, Hades tells me I am your keeper,” Hermes said. “So I suppose I am keeping.”

“Do you always do what Hades says?” Dionysus asked.

“Only when it’s fun.”

“And checking up on me is fun?”

“Well, it was when I could set your balls on fire,” Hermes said, pausing. Then he raised a brow. “Though I suppose nothing’s changed.” Hermes laughed and Dionysus’s eyes darkened as he glared. Hermes choked and cleared his throat. “Anyway, what I really came to tell you was that Harmonia has been attacked.”

Dionysus’s brows lowered. “What do you mean?”