7 • Madness

When Ganymede awoke it was midmorning, and he felt hunger prickling in his belly. He had rolled over in his sleep, putting Zeus on his side while Ganymede wiggled out from under his arm.

Washing in their baths was a welcome return. Ganymede swam until his fingertips felt as if they had aged a century. Creeping on tiptoe to not wake him, Ganymede carefully opened his chest of raiment and dressed. Then he knelt beside Zeus to whisper, “I’m going to get breakfast,” and kissed the arched bone of his brow.

He was not sure how Hephaestus knew to cook for them, but the dumbwaiter was rising with steaming platters as he approached. Ganymede piled the roasted meats and sliced fruit on his arm as well as looped the carafes of juice and tea on the other before he called down, “Thank you!” as the platform slid back down.

It was refreshing to feel the burn in his thighs and throat as he climbed the stairs to the king’s room. The familiar marble under his bare feet was not something he expected to miss, but after a long night of sleep in his own bed there were many things he was appreciating about being home.

He initially planned to set the dishes down quietly, but Ganymede figured it would be a soft awakening to hear breakfast arriving. After setting metal and glass down with distinct clatters, Ganymede peeked over to see Zeus still slumbering soundly. He sighed with mild disappointment and settled on a cushion to eat. Ganymede liked the thought of eating together but his current hunger outweighed the ideal.

It was not until he occupied his time with routine chores and returned to the food for luncheon that he realized something was wrong.

Zeus had not moved.

At all.

Ganymede knelt over him and shook him, felt the shoulder move in its joint. He stared hard at Zeus’s chest, trying to see it move with breath. Maybe it did, barely; he could not tell. Ganymede put his fingers underneath the god’s nostrils but in his rising panic he could not feel if it was air or his own trembling.

“Athena…Athena! ATHENA!” he screamed.

Her step was light but certain in the room not a second later. Ganymede rotated, still trying to shake the god into consciousness. “He won’t wake!” he said hoarsely. “I can’t wake him!”

“When did he last sleep?” she uttered calmly, her silver eyes wandering his form.

Ganymede shook his head, on the verge of tears and utter collapse. “I don’t know! He said once that he doesn’t sleep.”

“Mm,” she only hummed. His neck craned, his eyes wide and pleading. “Move.”

He was leaden, unable to understand—

“Move,” she uttered again, only she yanked his arm herself as something grey streaked past her.

It happened quickly; too quickly for Ganymede to process, but being amongst gods for so long made it easier to discern Athena’s owl landing on Zeus’s face. Its talons scored through his eyes, dragging over cheek and lips—

The god sat up, holding the screeching owl aloft by its wings. Zeus looked out of his good eye to Athena. “My eagle would make a quaint meal of this one.”

She smirked. “Your threats are moot if you make them every year.” Athena kneed his chin and took her owl. “Heal yourself and console your beloved. Take care of yourself so you don’t sleep a century at a time.”

She delicately set the owl atop her shoulder as she strolled out of the room. Its grey head swiveled to glare at them before proceeding to clean its feathers.

Zeus inhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face with all the grogginess of a normal man despite the grotesque lacerations healing in his palm’s wake. Perhaps it was his eyes focusing or Athena’s words finally reaching him, but his gaze landed on Ganymede. The youth was where Athena had placed him, slumped backward on his hip, frozen in horrified panic.

Zeus glanced at the wall to see whether his face had healed and then said clearly, “Ganymede, I am sorry…”

He reached out, touching Ganymede’s ankle. The whites of those hazel eyes were ruddy from being open too long. They darted to the hand on his leg, then back up to his face.

Zeus slid near him, carefully touching his knee, his forearm, working his way up Ganymede’s body. “I’m sorry I frightened you. Ganymede, I’m…”

His words sputtered out when Ganymede’s hand abruptly touched his face, tracing where the owl had landed, needing tangible proof he was unharmed. Zeus pivoted his head so his lips could drag across Ganymede’s wrist before kissing the hillock of his thumb. “I’m sorry I left you for so long.”

He could hear Ganymede swallow. “It wasn’t long,” he said quietly. “But you weren’t waking up.”

Zeus gathered him on his lap, the better for Ganymede’s restless hands to wander his chest and face. “I haven’t much practice in waking up,” he murmured soothingly. His hand buried in Ganymede’s hair. “Or falling asleep. This would have been an accomplishment if the former had gone better.”

Ganymede fell into the safety of his neck, a dry sob heaving from him. Zeus held him tightly, massaging his scalp. It was then he saw the food. “You ate without me.”

Ganymede sat up, his head knocking Zeus’s chin up. “Whose fault is that?”

“Mine,” he acknowledged, rubbing his jaw.

But he had sparked a response and Ganymede was not finished. “I wanted to eat together—what do you mean you don’t have practice? It’s opening your eyes! Do you mean I need Athena here if I want to sleep with you?”

“No, of course not,” Zeus tried to console.

“It…it is just breakfast,” Ganymede dwindled. “But I want you to sleep and rise with me. I feel uneasy when you’ve been with me but you haven’t slept. Is that…selfish?”

“No, love, it isn’t. It is the opposite.”

“But if you eat with me without sleeping, it isn’t fair—”

“This is not a precedent of me never waking promptly.”

“But—”

“Ganymede.”

He twisted his seat so he could slowly dump Ganymede onto his back and hover over him, claiming his full attention. “I am sorry I frightened you. It has been a long time since I slept…since I had such peace of mind to sleep. Nothing is your fault and you are not selfish in wanting a proper morning after making love.”

He pecked Ganymede’s lips, slowly and soft. “Can we consider this a delay? I am ravenous.”

Ganymede’s glare slid to the side. “The food’s cold now,” he grumbled.

Zeus’s lips dusted over his temple and high on his cheekbone so Ganymede had to close his eyes. Those eyelashes fluttered on Zeus’s lip. “Don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” Ganymede denied. “I’m just…angry.”

Zeus chuckled. “It’s the shock. But it is convenient loving a god.”

Ganymede followed his gaze to the freshly steaming food. He peeked sideways at the king’s smug grin, and shoved his face to the side. “Don’t be cocky about it.”

He meant to crawl toward the food but Zeus caught him and dragged him back underneath his large body for a torment of kisses and tickles along his belly and waist.

“Why are you dressed?” he complained among Ganymede’s giggles. “How dare you wear clothing in my presence…”

Ganymede was one arm out of his shirt by the time he had enough air in his lungs to exclaim, “I had to get the food! Stop it! I thought you were ravenous!”

“For food or you, it is hard to say,” Zeus disregarded, his mouth finding the place behind his ear that made Ganymede’s body go slack. With him distracted he pulled the shirt off completely and found Ganymede’s nipple with his lips. Zeus’s fingers splayed across his ribcage, the pads of his fingers counting the arches and exploring the muscles framing Ganymede’s shoulder blade.

Ganymede’s voice hummed involuntarily, encouraging Zeus to slide his thigh in between Ganymede’s legs. He found the soft orbs there and created gentle friction against them, adding to the mewls Ganymede made with every swirl of his tongue—

“Umph,” Zeus blurted when Ganymede’s arms yanked him close. He just managed to remove his mouth to avoid biting him. “Mm…Gmmy?” he rumbled against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly. “I’m still scared. I thought…I didn’t know what I’d do if you didn’t wake up.”

Zeus’s eyelids sagged to half-mast, his lashes heavy and soft. Carefully so his own strength did not break Ganymede’s, Zeus extracted himself so he could speak clearly. “It’s all right. You need more time for the shock to fade, and you’re right, I should eat properly. As you said, we have time.”

He helped Ganymede sit up and pulled the trays onto the palette. He hummed gruffly as he shoveled pita and beef into his mouth. “I am sorry I missed this the first time.”

Ganymede allowed himself a laugh before he surprised Zeus by throwing the crimson himation across his lap. When Zeus looked at him, Ganymede tried to hide his blush under a glare and a full mouth. “You’re naked and it’s distracting,” he uttered around pita and vegetables.

Zeus was the epitome of smug before he considered, “Are you cold without your shirt?”

“I’m fine,” Ganymede said as he reached for orange slices, but Zeus could see the ripples of goose-flesh on the backs of his arms. Ganymede froze mutely as the god pulled him by his pelvis to sit between his legs, but then he leaned into Zeus as the red cloth encompassed both of them. Ganymede broke the rind of an orange slice and held it up for Zeus to tear off a wedge with his teeth. Ganymede finished the rest and was halfway through a slice of melon when Zeus surprised him with a kiss.

“Sweet,” he said, with the briefest taste of his lips.

“You taste like pepper,” Ganymede blurted.

Zeus guffawed, hardly bothered as he continued eating. Once the initial rush to quell hunger was abated, they nibbled slowly, Zeus answering Ganymede’s questions on how the festival ended and how people behaved differently without the inspirations of the holiday. Then Zeus picked Ganymede’s mind for his favorite moments during Dionysia: why did he enjoy the temples? What vendors’ wares did he seek, usually? The conversation became a retelling of the events in which Zeus did not directly take part. Was he comfortable in Oenopion’s home? How did he spend his days before the festival, and why was he sad on the ship to Athens?

Ganymede’s chuckle was soft in his throat, remembering the wind, sun, and salt spray on his face. “So that was you.”

Zeus nuzzled his forehead while his hand brushed his cheek, feeling like the wind he had felt while standing at the edge of the ship. “I was unsure whether you would accept my company but I could not refrain from being with you.”

“I was missing you, so I didn’t mind it,” Ganymede leaned against him. “At the time it seemed strange to be in a place full of wind and sky without you.”

“Shall we go sailing, you and I?” Zeus purred. “Overwrite the memory with a fonder one.”

Ganymede smiled up at him but admitted, “It was a bit boring just being on the sea for so long.”

Zeus chuckled, “With better company it will not be, and my brother has a palace on a peninsula to which we can return if I am wrong.”

Ganymede frowned slightly. “Will we be imposing?”

“Poseidon prefers to live in his oceans,” Zeus assured. “And with it being a palace on land, technically it is within my domain, should he raise complaints.”

“You don’t need to be selfish for me,” Ganymede laughed.

“I will always be selfish when it concerns you,” he uttered, his tone deeper than usual. “When would you like to go?”

“We only just returned,” Ganymede said, but it was the same time another voice joined their conversation.

“Make up your bloody minds,” Dionysus strolled around the corner into Ganymede’s quarters. Ganymede’s eyes locked onto something he was holding in his arms as the god continued, “It would be wise to go now, while Ganymede’s body is still acclimated to a lower elevation. It would also be kind to a certain ball of fur who has her head in the clouds.”

Dionysus adjusted his position and tilted his arms to reveal a much smaller, orange version of Pétra in his hands. Ganymede hopped up and untangled himself from the himation to look closer at the kitten, whose swollen eyes reluctantly opened to peer up at him. A sound burst from it that was something like, “Mew!”

“She is not yet ready to be parted from Pétra,” Dionysus informed in a velvety tone as Ganymede stroked a finger between the kitten’s folded ears.

He perked up. “You mean, she’s for me?”

Dionysus nodded. “When she is ready. Out of the litter, her temperament will suit you best: cuddly with a dash of adventurous spirit. She only just opened her eyes fully this morning, so I thought it an appropriate time for the two of you to meet.”

A paw stuck out, the pads stretching while the pink tongue curled out of a yawn. Dionysus chuckled, “My power protects her from this elevation for now. When she is older I will adjust her lungs so she is not working for each breath. Until then, the sea sounds like a lovely holiday. It is almost like we didn’t just finish one. I’ll have something whipped up for dinner!”

“You are not invited,” Zeus exclaimed, but Dionysus wiggled his fingers over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner once more. Zeus only had a moment’s notice before Ganymede lounged across him like a settee. The king’s mouth flattened, knowing something was coming.

“I want to see the litter,” Ganymede announced.

“That is not the sea palace I had intended,” Zeus commented dryly.

Ganymede smiled. “I know, but I don’t know anything about cats. We shan’t be there longer than the morning if you’re impatient.”

A brow lifted. “Me?”

Ganymede, his arms already thrown around Zeus’s neck, pecked a kiss on his mouth. “Or a different day is all right.”

Zeus reclined fully with an arm curled underneath his head. “I suppose I cannot expect to keep you to myself.”

Ganymede giggled, “More like you can’t use me as an excuse to avoid people.”

Zeus grinned. “You mean you can’t imagine me locking you high in the sky where no one can reach you but me?”

Ganymede’s fingers had been reaching for his stubble and habitually rubbed his jaw. “Dionysus would find a way to break in.”

Zeus’s mirth turned deadpan. “You’re right. For no reason other than curiosity.”

He laughed and piled his fists on Zeus’s chest to prop his chin. “Do you not like Oenopion?”

“Oh I haven’t any complaints,” Zeus assured, watching Ganymede’s heels lazily kicking behind his head. “He has all of Dion’s good qualities and none of the…more cumbersome. His wife’s a right bore, only for her inability to hold a conversation.” Ganymede laughed in agreement. “She is sharp, though. I can see this is why Oenopion loves her. I have never presented myself to their family as Dion’s father but she was not fooled any more than her spouse.”

Ganymede realized, “I should have asked…is it all right to have my own animal?”

Zeus laughed, “Why wouldn’t it be? It will be an absolute treat watching it torment Athena’s owl.”

Ganymede stared at him for a moment before snorting against his hand. “That’s awful—wait,” he realized, “won’t the eagle…”

“No,” Zeus smoothed his bed-head curls out of the way of his face. “I send him to hunt elsewhere. But something else must occupy your thoughts.”

A puzzled expression clouded Ganymede’s gaze. Zeus smiled, “A name, philtatos. What will you name the kitten?”

Ganymede’s eyes widened and his lips pressed together, deep in thought. The answer came rather quickly, however. “Phil!”

Zeus’s brows lifted. “Phil?”

“For philtatos!”

His eyes turned deadpan. “Your philtatos ought to be me, not a cat.”

“Tato?”

“No.

“Tatos?”

“You’re missing the point.”

Mischief curved the side of Ganymede’s mouth. “I don’t think so.”

Zeus blinked. “You’re making a jape of me.”

“Yes,” he laughed. “Great Zeus, jealous of a small cat. Not even a godly one.”

Zeus rolled over then, cushioning Ganymede’s head with his arm but stroking his fingers over his neck as he said, “Don’t be cruel to me, Gany. I have a weak heart.”

The youth laughed, “Then I’ll try to treat it tenderly.”

Zeus’s fingers wandered over his neck, behind his ear and nape while his lips nuzzled between Ganymede’s eyes. When his movements began to slow, he heard, “Don’t fall asleep.”

“I won’t,” he chuckled. “We have a ship to catch.”

* * * * * * *

When Ganymede opened his eyes he heard the squalor of seagulls above him. Zeus set him down and his feet touched the deck of a ship; Athena smiled at him as she handled the rigging. Dionysus was singing a shanty as the sails filled with wind. Ganymede went to the starboard edge and felt salty mist on his face. They had already cast off from the docks, but land was still close enough for seagulls to perch on their masts, and the hubbub of the harbor to be heard faintly.

Zeus came behind him, his arms on either side of Ganymede’s as he pressed his cheek against Ganymede’s hair. “We will arrive at Oenopion’s home by midday.”

“Really?” Ganymede turned slightly in his arms to look up at him. “It took longer to sail from there to Athens.”

“That was aboard a normal ship, with normal winds.” Ganymede followed his gaze upward, where the great lapis lazuli sails engorged with wind. Looking around, Ganymede realized only gods were aboard: Athena and Dionysus tied off the rigging and Apollo sat near the bow carving what looked like a flute, but of metal.

“Porpoises,” Zeus said, pointing toward the horizon.

“What are those?” Ganymede wondered as fins arched over the water.

Athena was the one to answer. “Warm blooded creatures that come to the surface for air. They’re like whales, but much smaller, and are good omens for fishermen since they travel in large families. And large families need a lot of fish.”

“I thought sharks were good omens,” Ganymede remembered.

“Those too,” Athena nodded, “but a porpoise has been known to spook a shark away.”

“Really?” he squinted up at Zeus. “Why were Poseidon and Ares fighting over bears and sharks if porpoises are stronger?”

Zeus laughed, his hands lowering onto Ganymede’s waist. “Because it is the numbers that make porpoises formidable. Sharks usually travel alone.”

Dionysus approached to press a weaved hat atop Ganymede’s head and over his eyes. “Take care, milk maid, or you’ll burn like my cooking.”

Ganymede pushed the hat to a proper angle as the wide brim protected his face and shoulders. The journey back to Chios was brief, as Zeus promised, but it was perhaps this length of time as well as the company that made Ganymede enjoy the sea more. As they approached the harbor beneath the cliffs of Oenopion’s house, Ganymede asked, “Does he know we’re coming?”

“He always knows I’m coming,” Dionysus said proudly.

“That’s a no,” Athena reiterated, “but he’s used to it.”

Sure enough, as they tied off the ship and climbed the stairs carved into the rock, Oenopion emerged from the house to greet them on the tiled veranda. Ganymede saw the king’s smile falter as his eyes flicked to Zeus, and he lithely lowered onto one knee. Dionysus hoisted him back up to embrace him, the latter exclaiming, “Father, you were just here this morning. I did not expect you back this soon.”

Dionysus was mute as he stroked a hand over his son’s hair. Leaning out of the embrace, he said, “Are you saying I’m imposing?”

Oenopion laughed, “Never.”

“Would you tell me if I was?” the god challenged.

“Would it make a difference?” his son returned with a grin.

Dionysus returned it. “Absolutely not. What have you in the way of pear trees? I have a thirst and a chilled glass of juice would quench it just right.”

“You know my pear trees are ripe. They are yours, as you please.”

Dionysus put an arm around Oenopion and led the way inside the house. Within, Oenopion’s wife and a number of servants were waiting to meet them. Similar to her husband, she saw Zeus and bowed at the waist. Dionysus sauntered past them, all but singing, “No time for formalities, lovelies, there is drink to be had and sun to absorb. Gany, in here.”

Ganymede eagerly went into the intimate room that looked like it was used for small meetings or reading. In the corner was a chest of blankets in which Pétra had claimed for her litter. She lay on her side, the kittens in various states of slumber or nursing. Ganymede recognized the rusty red one that was to be his and stroked a finger along her soft back. The creature wiggled in its sleep, its paws pressing against its mother.

“Don’t be fooled,” Dionysus smiled softly. “They do nothing but sleep now however once those ears stand up fully, you’ll be hard pressed to keep up with her.”

“When will that be?” Ganymede asked, petting a black one and another with white patches.

Dionysus shrugged, “Only a few weeks. No time at all.”

“Gany,” Zeus said softly, but his voice seemed to halt all sound in the house. Ganymede looked back at him to see him nod for him to follow. “Let’s harvest some pears before Dion grows ornery.”

“I think it’s less my thirst and more your hunger concerning you, old soul,” Dionysus countered quietly as he passed them to lead the way. Zeus took Ganymede’s hand as they went through the house, and once they faced the rows upon rows of Oenopion’s groves, he reached down for a basket on the ground. He handed it to Dionysus and hoisted Ganymede to sit upon his shoulders.

Ganymede passed pears from the tree down to Dionysus, but as he helped the gods harvest, he could not help but look for Eros and fail to find him anywhere. As they made their way back to the house, he walked beside Dionysus. “Where is Eros? Is he all right?”

“Haven’t seen him since the festival,” Dionysus said and japed, “He’s probably held captive by his mother. He’ll escape eventually.”

But Ganymede frowned. “I’m serious.”

Dionysus’s features softened as he draped an arm around him. “He will come to us when he is ready. As of late, he’s been facing certain mundane challenges.”

“Mundane challenges?” Ganymede puzzled.

Dionysus only chuckled. “I’ll let him explain when he returns to you. He will be glad to know you’re thinking of him.”

Ganymede resigned himself to wait, and Dionysus was caught up in juicing the pears as well as searing them on a stove with honey and spices. They ate in the room that was open to the sky, allowing the household to stand in waiting along the perimeter while a strange number of birds perched above. Ganymede recognized Athena’s owl swooping in for a shaded rafter, while Zeus’s eagle paid them no mind.

“What are the black ones?” he asked, pointing to the pair cawing to each other.

“They’re mine,” Apollo voiced, and held up a cube of beef. One of the creatures flew low enough to grasp it but did not land, instead flying off with the other, competing for the morsel. “Koraki.”

“Ravens,” Athena reiterated.

“I didn’t expect…they’re so dark,” Ganymede said, eyeing Apollo’s golden head.

“They’re the smartest birds alive,” he grinned, popping grapes into his mouth.

“That’s debatable,” Athena disagreed.

Dionysus snorted, “Yours is the equivalent of a cat in the bird realm. I would know.”

“My gem is particular, that’s all,” she declared, but with a smirk.

Zeus observed Ganymede’s lack of eating for the past several minutes and his hand found his waist. “Are you ready?”

“To leave? Yes, but everyone is still eating.”

“There is food waiting for us there,” Zeus refuted.

“He is impatient and selfish, sweetling,” Athena clarified. Apollo chuckled while Dionysus brushed crumbs from his fingers.

“I agree with the old man. I’ve taken up space in this house twice today, and I while his majesty is generous, I know who runs this household.”

He bowed theatrically to Oenopion’s silent wife. Her head bowed in return, but the only details distinguishing her from her servants were her jewelry and Oenopion’s hand entwined with hers.

“Out with you, freeloaders, out! We have another palace to storm.”

Ganymede heard Zeus chuckle behind him as Dionysus and Athena pulled him from his seat and ran from the house. Their ship swayed tranquilly over the sapphire waters as they ran over the stone walkway. On the dock he paused, looking back up the rocky island to wave at Oenopion. He had walked some of the way down and returned the gesture, while his wife remained by the house, motionless.

“Is she happy?” Ganymede asked Dionysus as Zeus filled the sails.

“In a simple word: no,” he responded.

“Does she not love Oenopion?” Ganymede followed him over to where Apollo was talking to a number of porpoises in the water.

The golden head and turquoise eyes turned to them. “She loves him, certainly, but there is an involuntary obligation after marrying the son of a god.”

Ganymede processed that. “So she doesn’t like you?”

Dionysus waved his hand, physically swatting that notion aside. “I am a delight. It’s that bastard she can’t stand.”

Zeus looked sideways at them. “She favors Hera. Those individuals usually have less than admiration for myself.”

“There’s a mouthful,” Athena remarked, but Ganymede’s brow furrowed.

“But she’s always been like that.”

Dionysus cupped Ganymede’s cheek. “Some people are born unhappy, and there’s nothing we can do. Hades is a prime example.”

“I don’t know Hades,” Ganymede said quietly, looking between him and Zeus.

“And why would you?” Dionysus continued. “He rarely leaves his dark realm.”

“He does his duty loyally,” Zeus silenced. Ganymede felt his hand on top of his hat, tilting it so he could bend down and kiss his cheek. “Enough talk of sadness.”

Apollo returned to his conversation with the silvery creatures traveling alongside their craft, laughing at the smaller ones. When Ganymede was beside him, he pointed, “Those two were born just last night! Look how well my sister did! They’re so chatty!”

“You mean…the Lady Artemis?” Ganymede remembered. He had only seen her once, so rare did she meet with the other gods…and he was not keen to see her again.

But the social Apollo nodded. “I know, you’d never believe it, but she’s gentle to those she likes, which happens to be everything not on two legs.”

“She likes you…doesn’t she?” Gany said warily.

“Of course. I’m her brother!”

Dionysus leaned in, “You’re an anomaly, mate. Frankly, everyone on this ship’s a royal freak for getting along...mostly. Right, dear?”

“Do not call me that,” Athena growled.

“But she’s my twin,” Apollo disagreed, “and our interests are vastly far apart. We haven’t any reason to argue. She and I are different from the rest of you. We shared flesh before we split apart.”

“Oh please, I just ate,” Dionysus quickly left them.

Zeus chuckled. “It’s all right. We’re here.”

Ganymede ran to the other side of the deck, where the mainland was quickly rising into view. It was lush with greenery but a pale and rocky finger, curved like a knuckle, reached into the sea. Its surface was smooth so white it reflected the sun’s rays. On it stood a structure larger than Oenopion’s home, and of paler stone. The dock was marble on top of wood, so their feet moved across a seamless white floor, like a great white discus, on the center of which was the house.

Inside the front columns were inlaid tiles of lush blues, greens, and yellows. The front doors were towering slabs of dark wood that opened with a push of Zeus’s hand. With the other holding Ganymede’s, he said, “Make yourself at home.”

“Oh I shall,” Dionysus chimed, striding in front of them.

“Not you.”

“Too late!” he sang, and curtains of ivy and flowers fell from the rafters and balconies above. “What’s for supper?”

“What do you want, Gany?” Zeus seconded. “The sun will be setting soon.”

He thought about it but during his hesitation Athena provided, “I have an idea, though it may take a strong pair of hands. I’ll be back soon.”

She flew on silver wings, leaving Gany to ask, “Is she going to Hephaestus? I don’t want to bother him when we’re not there.”

“I think he enjoys new recipes,” Zeus consoled, “and he does prefer cooking over Ares’ demands.”

Ganymede would have liked to absorb that information but the sound of Dionysus’s rage drew them into a room lined with racks of wine barrels and bottles. “WHAT THE HADES TITS IS THIS?”

“Careful, if you insinuate insults at Persephone, you may succeed in drawing my brother out,” Zeus warned, but Ganymede looked warily between his mirth and Dion’s anger.

He wielded a bottle at him. “What is this? This? Sour squid piss is what it is! The idiot hasn’t stored any of my wines properly! It’s rotten vinegar now!”

“Are you…talking about…” Ganymede wavered.

“YES I’M TALKING ABOUT POSEIDON!” he stormed. “I made him the sweetest, most nuanced nectar a god can drink and this is what he does!”

“Speak louder, I’m not sure I could hear you.”

Ganymede instantly bowed level to the floor, where he watched sun baked feet stride into the room.

“Problem?”

“The problem, is that you’re an idiot!”

“You’re the supreme master of wine, nephew, so do elaborate on what exactly I’ve ruined?”

Bottles burst like bubbles around them in the wake of the god’s fury. “It is the principle of the thing! If you cannot respect it. Then you should not have it!”

“Principle? Respect?” Poseidon repeated incredulously. “I never expected such rules from you.”

Zeus stepped between them. “Cease your teasing, Pos. He’s right. You’ve left this place to ruin, and everything in this room was a gift.”

“I can do what I like with my gifts. That is the very principle of a gift. Do with it as you like; the original owner has no claim on it anymore.”

“You proud and assuming—”

“I can use them,” Apollo’s pleasant voice curtailed. Heads turned toward him but Ganymede did not dare rise from his bow. “Sour or sweet, I can use the colors. They will not go to waste, Dion.”

“There, now,” Poseidon chimed. “All is well again.”

However Ganymede could hear Dionysus breathe as another bottle popped and a barrel creaked ominously. The tone of the conversation seemed ready to leave the room, but Ganymede’s heart stopped at the sound of, “Oh. You’ve brought him with you?”

His head fell even lower despite Zeus’s order, “You may rise, Ganymede.”

Dionysus shoved a smallish barrel into his arms as he stood up. He was grateful for something to hold as the god seethed, “Help me get rid of it all.”

He, Apollo, and Dionysus worked on clearing out the storeroom while Zeus strolled with his brother to a larger parlor. “Are you using my house?” they heard in passing, as the parlor rested between the storeroom and the foyer.

“I can hardly tell it is yours, Pos,” Zeus countered. “It looks quite available for anyone to use. Should I have asked?”

“Kind gestures are always appreciated,” he remarked.

Zeus laughed, “Are you telling me to leave?”

“I would never, my king,” his brother countered. “Though may I require how long you intend to remain?”

“Inspired to use it?” Zeus teased.

“No, I am possessive,” Poseidon said bluntly. “If you’ve brought the boy, that bodes of an extended stay.”

Zeus sighed, “A moon’s cycle, if that. Surely you can spare your vanity that long?”

“I suppose,” Poseidon settled, “Have you put your cock in him, yet?”

Their heads turned at the sound of a bottle smashing. Poseidon chuckled, “That’s answer enough.”

“You’ve never cared about my passions before,” Zeus said quietly.

“ ‘Cared’ is the wrong word, although I certainly never cared,” the god watched a seagull on the veranda. “But I was always aware. Do not mistake my silence for ignorance. That is one thing I’ll grant our lot: none of us are complete fools, although you’ve seemed to want to prove me wrong multiple times.”

“I could say the same of you,” Zeus agreed in warning.

Poseidon’s deep eyes focused on him as if he had not spoken. “Hera especially. Do not think you are hiding him here. If she doesn’t know now, she will soon.”

“And she will surely make her opinion known, or the lack thereof,” Zeus finished.

His brother laughed. “Lack thereof? When have we ever known her to not have an opinion? Especially where your adultery is concerned.”

“You are, in fact, foolish to underestimate her.”

Poseidon watched him, letting the conversation settle before he voiced, “I ought to be warning you with those words, although you are the one who married her, so I suppose you would know her best. It is redeeming that you think so highly of her.”

“Whatever our arguments, she is my queen,” he silenced. “It is a unique and difficult relationship you might understand, as you also lack a certain fealty to your wife.”

“Just so,” he sighed indifferently, shifting his weight on his seat. “Even humans are rarely loyal to one another. You’d think she would let herself breathe without you.”

“Hera may do as she likes. It just so happens that is not it.”

Poseidon hummed deep in his chest in some sort of agreement. “First to be swallowed and first from his stomach… I suppose she has more than enough justification for her choices.”

“I agree.”

They sat in silence, the both of them deep in their own thoughts as they listened to the bumps and clatters of spoiled wine being removed from the storeroom; namely Dionysus’s disgruntlement and Ganymede’s mortal movements, as Apollo was otherwise as silent as light.

When the palace fell into quietude, Poseidon stood. “I’ll go then. You will leave this place in better shape than you found it.”

“Of course,” Zeus agreed.

A large wave crashed over the marble shore, spraying the veranda, and Poseidon was gone as Dionysus entered the room. “If I find one seagull—one— in any of my vineyards—”

“Please don’t start a feud with Poseidon as Athena has,” Apollo whined behind him. “It’s my dolphins’ mating season and I won’t stand for them coming to harm.”

“Then give them legs!” Dionysus stormed.

“Your creatures are safe,” Zeus reassured. “Dion, will you go see what is keeping Athena?”

“Why? Does my mood hurt your ears?”

“No, because she is with Hephaestus, who enjoys your tirades.”

His son grimaced. “He doesn’t enjoy them, he tells me to stop bein’ a slimy twat.”

His impression was so accurate that a snort of mirth turned him around, revealing Ganymede holding a brass carafe in waiting. Apollo smiled, “Yes, I think that is father’s point.”

Dionysus shot a glare at him but waved Ganymede forward. “What are you doing back here? You’re a guest. Put that down.”

Fluttering over Ganymede put Dionysus’ anger to rest rather quickly as he went back to cleaning and decorating. “Give me this. Go sit on him. Apollo, restring that harp or so help me, I’ll retch from the sound.”

Ganymede wandered worriedly to Zeus, who merely smiled as he pulled Ganymede onto his lap. “I beg you to not let my brother’s words disturb you,” he purred as Dionysus barked orders left and right, mostly complaints. To Apollo’s credit, he weathered the orders with grace or laughter.

“He hasn’t said anything I haven’t already,” Ganymede reminded.

“Your tone is different,” he observed. “What’s changed?”

Ganymede arranged his thoughts and said, “Have you ever told her? Or…does she have to be the one who makes the discovery? I know you respect her, but…have you ever shown it to her?”

Zeus was visibly impressed. “Do you want me to tell her?”

Ganymede shrank from him. “I don’t know.”

“How about this: if you could control the outcome, what would happen?”

Ganymede frowned at him. “I’m going to sound stupid.”

“I don’t think so.”

He pouted for a time but ultimately voiced, “You would tell her. And it would be different this time. She wouldn’t react badly, because of you telling her but also because…because she knows me? I’m not someone you’ve kept secret. I wouldn’t be a bad surprise. I’m not saying she would be happy, but it would be different.”

“That doesn’t sound unruly,” Apollo surprised him. “Also, I like you, and she likes me. His liaisons haven’t always reaped ill rewards.”

It was not quite a glare that Zeus turned toward his son as he rambled, “Although my mother is a titan, so the worst Hera could do was turn humanity against her…”

“Your mother is alive?” Ganymede exclaimed.

Apollo brightened, literally. “Oh yes! Hera’s curse is still over her, so she cannot visit human realms, but she is still very alive and thriving! She spends a great deal of time with my sister on the peninsula in the neighboring sea. That civilization is still getting started so it’s a bit of a grey area for now. Artemis prefers wild terrain, and they help with all creatures’ childbirth. Really, between Hera and the ladies of my family, marriage is able to exist and last. She cannot resent my mother for that.”

Ganymede did not know what to feel but the reigning emotion was hope, so much so that when Athena arrived with a massive array of steaming food, he was eager to eat. “What is it?” he frowned at the pale things on the table.

“It’s pasta! As you are familiar with, but they are noodles and creations Heph has been experimenting with for the people in the east,” she declared proudly and then directed around the table: “Just a little finessing, and we have both dry noodles, noodles in soup, as well as special steamed parcels. Hephaestus has become rather fond of using other forms of water in his cooking.”

Dionysus broke one of the dumplings open and revealed bits of green vegetables with which Ganymede was unfamiliar. “Mm…this…reminds me of something I used to make. I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared, but their glasses filled with clear liquid from the bottom up. Ganymede held a bowl in which he pushed a noodle around, breaking a raw egg yoke in the process before he made a sound of glee as he struggled to inch the tendril into his mouth.

Dionysus was already beside him, looking despairingly between two bottles. “The rice or the plums…hmm…”

“The plum wine tastes like medicine, so I’ll do without, thank you,” Apollo decided, contently sipping on his nectar. When Ganymede went for his own sip, however, he tasted something completely different.

Zeus’s hand on his back was warm through his raiment, easing his coughs as Dionysus grimaced, “I thought I had perfected this one. Rice wine is subtler, but alas, subtle is not my area.”

“It’s…fine,” he coughed and accepted a glass of water from Athena. “I just…thought it was regular water or nectar.”

“What does nectar taste like for you?” Apollo asked. “Poseidon likes his sweet, and Hera’s resembles white wine. I’m almost certain I smelled beef and onion broth as Ares’s once. What is it for you?”

Ganymede shrugged. “Water, but better, mostly. Sometimes milk, but we have milk already.”

“You taste it as it is,” Zeus nodded, his hand still on Ganymede’s back. The other had not touched the food.

“Is that strange?”

He shook his head. “Not at all, although some of my relatives have thought it either tasteless or overwhelming. Curious, how we each interpret the flavor differently.”

“I’ve heard humans say we acquire it via the delivery of doves,” Dionysus chuckled.

“How do you get it?” Ganymede wondered, but the table went silent. Zeus’s children looked to him, and Ganymede did likewise.

“Nectar and ambrosia…” he began, “well, we are what we heat, I suppose. It is tangible and it is nothing, just as we are. It takes shape, as we can, and thus we are able to consume it like food, or we can merely absorb it in our more mercurial forms. As a mortal who has consumed it, Gany, you are able to see it, aren’t you?”

Ganymede blinked, not understanding. “Yes? We’re eating it now.”

Apollo chuckled as Athena clarified, “He means the vapors, sweetling.”

His features opened as his eyes immediately found what she meant: tendrils, like smoke in the air. But they were not as visible as smoke; more like how a fragrance passes by, or a gust of wind colored with warmth or chill. “That’s food?”

She smiled. “Once Hephaestus uses it in his forge, yes. He can use anything he wishes. That is a component which distinguishes us from humans: they may hear and feel a cat’s purr, but they cannot hold it. They cannot sharpen it into a lion’s roar or temper it into a song.”

Dionysus picked up, “That reminds me of the people north of us. They’ve turned poor Cerberus into a wolf, who is chained in their stories. However the chain is made from things they believe do not exist, such as a woman’s beard and a cat’s footfall. These things do not exist because their version of Hephaestus used these ingredients to forge the chain. Mildly ludicrous. I’ve seen plenty of bearded ladies—I am no judge.”

“You speak of the wolf that is destined to kill their Allfather,” Athena recalled. “Then again, he is a madman.”

“There are other gods?” Ganymede gaped, his voice a bit loud in his astonishment.

Zeus chuckled around him. “No and yes. When humans believe strongly enough, that is enough to make them as good as real. Belief can take one very, very far, even if what they believe in is entirely false. When they fear someone enough, that is enough to keep them from breaking our laws. Never mind that the figure enforcing them does not exist. My family is partial to these waters because we were born here, but our influence is not restricted here. You see us as we have chosen to be visible to you, however humans see or interpret us quite differently elsewhere in the world. I must voice, however, that the northerners’ gods are…interestingly different.”

Heads turned to Dionysus, whose cheeks were filled on both sides. He perked up at the silence and uttered, “Whm?”

Apollo defended, “You cannot fault him entirely for what ideas liquors feed. One or two of my artistic sisters prefer their snow to our sand, and often travel there with me.”

“Snow?” Ganymede uttered softly.

“But the death of their gods’ king,” Zeus eyed his son.

Apollo only smiled. “You won’t die from Cerberus, papa.”

“So Cerberus is a wolf?” Ganymede picked up.

“A dog,” Athena corrected.

Ganymede looked at Zeus, his voice quiet. “Like Ares’ dogs?”

“No,” he smiled reassuringly. “Nothing like them.”

“Cerberus has three heads,” Dionysus provided.

Ganymede’s jaw dropped. “Three…is that normal?”

Apollo mirrored his expression. “You’ve never seen a dog?”

To Ganymede’s eyes, he hardly moved, but Zeus quickly intervened when the god would have otherwise vanished.

“After dinner,” he ordered. “And then Gany can wash the smell off before nightfall.”

Ganymede was not prepared.

He spent the rest of dinner feeding Zeus since he was otherwise not reaching for the food himself, but then when the brusque sound of something he had never heard lifted his shoulders, Apollo’s merry laughter was what coupled it.

“Cats meow. Dogs bark,” Athena provided as she held out her hands for him. He pulled himself off Zeus’s legs and followed her outside, where a creature much smaller than he was expecting was running after something Apollo threw.

“That’s a dog?”

Apollo turned toward him. “You sound disappointed.”

“I…thought it would be bigger.”

“Oh, Cerberus is,” he laughed as the creature used the god’s legs to stop its momentum. “But this fellow is kept in one’s home.”

The light golden fur reminded him of Athena’s hair as he watched the curled tail and floppy ears while the creature waited for Apollo to throw what looked like a short length of knotted rope. He extended his hand toward Ganymede. “Throw it. She’ll bring it back to you.”

He did so, and exclaimed when it lifted its front paws onto him. “Oh! Her fur’s so soft!”

Zeus rubbed his fingers together as he knelt beside Ganymede. The dog followed his hand, lowering off of Ganymede so the hand could pet its head and ears. Ganymede watched as Zeus uttered softly, “Sit.”

Those brown eyes looked up at him as he mimicked Zeus’s movements over her. Dionysus’s voice interrupted, “Don’t get used to it. A cat will look you right in the eye as it defies you.”

“I can’t wait,” he laughed, and threw the rope. He especially liked how the dog would follow him without fear into the sea, leaping off the dock. As the afternoon blushed into evening, Ganymede was covered in dried spray and hair from the dog shaking over him. Apollo carried the dog as if she were no more than a puppy back to her home while Zeus led Ganymede inside the palace for a bath.

His face immediately fell at the bath set within the floor—significantly smaller than he was used to and made up of colorful tiles. “It’s…smaller.”

Zeus looked at him with amusement as the bath filled, already steaming. Ganymede eagerly shed his raiment and lowered into it. “Oh—the tiles are rough.”

“You are spoiled,” Zeus chuckled, joining him.

“I’m just not used to it,” Ganymede defended as he floated on his back. “Yours is metal.”

“So it is,” he purred, grasping Ganymede’s ankle and pulling him over. “Have you enjoyed today?”

“I have.”

“Tell me your favorite moments,” he requested as he moved soap over Ganymede’s shoulder blades.

“I like being with Dion’s family. And I’ve never spent so much time with Apollo before.”

“What attracts you to Dion’s relations?” Zeus asked. He moved a soft sea sponge over Ganymede’s scars.

He shivered slightly, unconsciously. “He’s misunderstood, isn’t he? On his own, Dion is…I guess a god of revelry, but he loves his family, and he’s different with them. He puts them first, like how Apollo loves his porpoises. And I’m not usually a part of the dinners. It’s nice being included.”

“I understand. And Apollo?” Zeus encouraged, tilting Ganymede’s head back onto his chest so he could pour liquid soap over his hair.

“His sister scares me.”

Zeus chuckled. “Yes, Artemis is fierce, and just as ferociously devoted to her twin. She is unique among us. Did you think he was like her?”

“No,” Ganymede pondered. “He’s always been kind to me. I just…didn’t really know him. I expected...something else, because of his prophetic ability.”

Zeus hummed in his chest while he massaged the suds from Ganymede’s hair. “Apollo is also unique in how he has a vast emotional range as well as interests. The ignorant would assume he to be the son of Ares by how he wields his bow, or the son of a Muse by his artistry. Or even a descendent of Poseidon for his fondness of horses and how well he drives Helios’s chariot. But he is himself, and irreplaceable.”

“You love him too.”

“I adore each of my children.”

“Forgive me, but it’s hard to tell.”

The god’s fingertips warmed against his scalp, drawing Ganymede’s eyes open but they simply continued coaxing the suds out of his hair.

“I did not have much of an example to go on, to learn fatherhood, but this is no excuse. I am young in the face of the universe but in the lens of how you feel time, it has taken me hundreds and thousands of years to become the person I am now. I have since wronged my children and I have tried to do right for them. I could have done better for Hephaestus, but I have protected Persephone’s marriage. I can only stand by my actions, right or wrong.”

Ganymede rested between his legs, his hands moving over the god’s knees as he apologized, “I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything.”

“I know.” He felt soft lips against his hairline. “Unions are rarely the joining of two individuals. They are the merging of two families, and I am cruel to have caught you in my madness.”

Zeus peppered kisses in the crevasse of Ganymede’s neck and shoulder, earning refreshing giggles. “But,” Ganymede breathed. Zeus slowed his torment, planting each kiss with care. “That’s not…really accurate. My family’s not involved.”

Zeus paused. “No, I suppose you’re right.”

“Because you gave them horses,” Ganymede growled.

He sighed. “Upon which Priam now rides through the fair hills of Troy. You are hardly forgotten in his life. Part of his success has been due to his family being so favored by the gods.”

“Would it be asking too much to see Troy?” Ganymede tried.

“Are you requesting that to spite me?”

“No,” he said stubbornly. “I want to see it. Why can’t I go there? Is it dangerous?”

“No more than Athens is,” Zeus admitted. “It is Apollo’s favorite location. He blesses its people and built its walls himself. Hephaestus was amused and impressed.”

“Then why are you stingy?”

Zeus huffed a sigh. “Because I worry that once reunited with your family, I will no longer be a contender for your attentions. I cannot live with you in Troy. Apollo is already too integrated in their society; adding one more god would dreadfully complicate things.”

Ganymede had turned to be able to see him, and now gazed at him while he blinked softly. “Does that mean…you would let me go? Live with Priam, I mean?”

It was subtle, but the change in the god’s features was striking, and Ganymede immediately wished he could rescind his words. Zeus looked like Apollo mourning Hyacinth.

“I’m afraid it would have to be an arrangement like my brother’s,” he said measuredly, his voice like wind. “Your time divided between Troy and Olympus…but I haven’t the strength to give you up too many times. Eventually I would steal you again, and truly cage you in the sky. Cage us both, and let the world rot away.”

“I didn’t mean…truly,” Ganymede breathed. “I just…wanted to know what your answer would be.”

“And now you have it.” Zeus’s lashes were heavy over his eyes. “What does this mean to you?”

Ganymede shook his head slightly. “It seems unfair. I am a part of your family, but you can’t be a part of mine?”

Zeus blinked, clearly not expecting this. “That…is what you want?”

“I’d like to see Priam again,” he voiced. “To tell him I’m all right. That you treat me kindly. To have dinner together like we do with Dion’s family…I want to be a member of a family…not just a guest of one.”

“Gany,” Zeus hushed. His hand cradled the side of Ganymede’s head. “You are my family. Raised by myself, Athena, and Dionysus; you even have the devotion of Hephaestus and Apollo. Is…are we not enough?”

Ganymede’s chest ached, unable to breathe air into words for a time. “You are enough. I just…I’ve watched a large family all my life without being a part of one.”

“That is my fault for subjecting you to servitude,” Zeus pleaded. He lifted Ganymede’s hands from the water, kissing them and placing the palms on his face. “But I will serve you for as long as you will have me, Gany. We are not customary or traditional, but family is more than blood, because I have none. It’s chosen devotion.”

He bowed his head between the hands he held to his face. The soft skin under his eyes sank and darkened with his heavy eyes.

“Blood?” Ganymede breathed softly. “Then why are you warm?”

Zeus’s lips parted when a kiss was put between his brows. “Why does your skin move and sink like mine?” he continued, pressing his nose to the god’s. “What fills you up and moves when you’re with me? Mine rushes and boils and freezes…but I have no power over you? Are we not real?”

Silver eyes stared at him, slick and heavy as a storm before Zeus leaned forward and claimed his lips. Ganymede let himself fall into his kiss, feeling the god’s arms pull them flush together, his hot palms gripping him tightly.

“Mahh!” Ganymede pulled back for air, but Zeus had his lip in his teeth. “Don’t speak unfairly about caging me away when I’m terrified you’ll vanish like air.”

“I am real,” Zeus moaned huskily. “You’re real. This is real.”

He gasped against the hot hand on his sternum, the warmth seeping through his ribs. “We are real.”

Ganymede’s arms went around his neck as Zeus lifted them out of the water, first to push Ganymede against the floor to suck wet kisses across his abdomen, and then to bite and tease his nipples.

“A bed!” Ganymede moaned. “A bed…please.”

Ganymede barely saw the room Zeus carried him to apart from the blue haze of dusk around them. They landed on the bed and Zeus lifted off of him—

“Wait! Wa…wait…” Ganymede’s breath left him as slick heat moved over his cock. He exclaimed as fingers pushed inside of him, already pressing and massaging the spot that made him writhe. “I’m! Hahh…”

He came in Zeus’s mouth, breathing heavily and trembling over the hands that kneaded his ass. Zeus’s mouth left him with a wet sound as he pulled Ganymede’s pelvis against his groin. Ganymede planted his heel against his collarbone, pushing himself up so his ass was open. Zeus held onto his thigh as he pushed inside, gasping and pausing midway. His head turned to kiss Ganymede’s ankle and bit his calf muscle before he leaned over him, pushing the rest of himself inside.

His pace was strong, rocking Ganymede so Zeus held onto his legs as he watched the pink of his cheeks spread throughout his chest to match the cock bouncing on his abdomen. Ganymede’s throat opened when his head craned up, close to his climax. Zeus’s tongue sliding up the column and then nipping the tender flesh made him tremble and jerk once, before he cried out against the orgasm Zeus plundered into.

“Ah!” Zeus moaned against the nails on his back. Silver eyes glowed in the darkness, but not from pain. Ganymede was out of breath, chest heaving as the tremors of his pleasure began to fade, but Zeus ravished his mouth, and Gany all but screamed against his lips as he felt pleasure swirl within him and spike again.

Ganymede could not say how many times he came, it all blended into one frantic, desperate rutting; the two of them clinging to each other until the god had tasted every part of him. Ganymede’s consciousness faded when he was on his stomach, feeling Zeus’s erection deep inside him and lips on the thin flesh of his scars. It was raining outside, the terrace pattering with thick drops.

* * * * * * *

He awoke and it was still raining. It might have been a minute or hours since he slept, but the sky was still dark with night and rain…

Ganymede’s eyes slowly focused as he realized the rain was a storm. Wind was whirling around the palace and through the windows; only the structure softened its pull on his hair as he sat up. His body was sore but it paled to his concern for the murmurs next to him.

“Hmm—muh...Helen,” Zeus growled in his sleep.

“Zeus?” Gany tried, leaning over him to see his face, but the god’s hair was over messily over his eyes.

“Troy.”

The room lit up brighter than daylight as lightning landed outside. Ganymede was petrified into stillness, watching the storm arrive over his head. Breath rattling in his throat, he reached for Zeus’s shoulders. “Zeus!”

But as he soon as he touched him, Ganymede wrenched backward, both of his own volition and involuntarily. He trembled so violently he slipped from the bed, thrashing on the floor as electricity crackled in his hair.

“Gany! Gany!” he heard distantly, but the thunder was louder.