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Sorrow’s complexion suffuses with pink as she hides her eye-roll. That’s plenty for him. Whereas only she can drive him crazy, apparently only he can make her grin.

It reminds him of his manifesto on sensuality, how it needs to be savored in doses. The same rule applies to being with this goddess.

For centuries, he hadn’t been able to stand her. Recently, he’d just wanted to bed her.

Now? Now he’s finally knowing Sorrow in pieces, liking her in pieces.

While dancing with him, she gazes at his mouth. After a moment’s thought, her almost-grin falters. “I don’t know how to feel like this.”

The confession brings Envy up short, because he understands. A steady drip of apprehension slips through the cracks, filling his mind. He’s not doing any better than she at identifying what they are now, who they’re becoming.

All he can do is strap her in a hug. Just a hug.

“But you know how to feel this,” he whispers as their arms entwine.

15

Sorrow

Sorrow has seen a million hugs, between a million mortals. But she hasn’t been on the receiving end of one. To her befuddlement, Envy is right. Despite her lack of personal experience, she knows how to feel a hug. She knows what to do with it.

Nuzzling into his hair, she closes her eyes and draws his jasmine-and-myrrh fragrance into her lungs. Her chest vents with his, their inhalations and exhalations in sync. He has big arms, which makes for a big hug, containing her like a talisman, like something sacred, durable enough to withstand the ages.

What an infinite moment. She can’t put it any other way.

Envy’s face burrows into her hair. Like a fleece blanket, or a swig of currant nectar, the hug loosens the knots in her shoulders.

The violet sky evaporates with morning. Nearby, a sheet of water rolls through the lagoon.

When their arms unwind, it’s all Sorrow can do to face Envy. Her gaze wanders as much as his own, both of them shuffling.

Who makes the next move?

It’s a tie, because their fingers clamp together at the same instant. Or it could be a pact, some unspoken agreement to put animosities to rest, once and for all.

Without a word or a glance, they mosey into the cavern, where they continue the trek to her chamber, where the lamps pour golden light across the moss. Envy crawls into the bed and takes her with him, then continues introducing her to the most vivid forms of pleasure.

He massages every inch of her anatomy, until she melts into the mattress. He feeds her currants, then licks the juice from her lips. He enchants a blindfold, so that she can’t anticipate which erotic path his mouth takes across her flesh. By the end of that arousing journey, his head sinks into the nexus of her limbs, and he sucks on her wetness to the point of unconsciousness, her moans cataclysmic.

At last, he folds her in his arms. Days, and weeks, and months, and years, and decades, and centuries collect into a single mental and physical mass. The embrace must have magic, because it saps her energy. Fleece blankets whisper across her knees and elbows, proceeded by another hug from behind as the vainest god in the universe aligns his torso with her spine, their sodden clothes forgotten.

Her lips quirk. Blackness floods her mind before her smile can lift fully.

Yet it seems like seconds when her eyes drag open. The motion takes effort, her lashes cemented together. When Sorrow blinks awake, bleary and mussed, the deepening blue of afternoon leaks into the hollow. They’ve been asleep for nearly the whole day?

Sorrow twists, intending to nag Envy. But she stops. He rests with half of his visage mashed into the pillow and puffs through a partially open mouth. He’s wrinkled and uncombed, and ugh, it would be stellar to get this on camera. If only those contraptions worked on deities, she would produce one.

The cloth around his injury rises and falls with his breaths. By tonight, he’ll be able to remove the dressing.

Her mouth compresses as a buttery emotion flows through her. That, and pride. He’d risked her seeing him like this, when he wouldn’t be caught dead letting anyone else.

Is he a light sleeper? Carefully, she tests that possibly and brushes a swatch of black hair from his chin.

Nothing. He barely stirs, the blanket shifting over him. For a while, she watches Envy until her fingers grow restless. Either she leaves now, or she’ll get naughty and fondle something she shouldn’t.

Sorrow groans, hauling herself from the bed. Straightening her robe, she pads down to the cavern’s threshold. The cliffs buffet a subtle breeze. Grown dragonflies zoom overhead in streaks of silver.

Settling at the lagoon’s rim, she dips her feet into the placid water and takes a moment to replay last night. The things he’d done to her. The things she’d allowed him to do. The words they’d spoken.