"Ares?" Apollo asked her. "Have you been inspiring more than limericks?" There was a dark edge to his voice, something in his eyes Melpomene loved, a hint at his bringer-of-deadly-plague side.
"I have," Melpomene admitted. "But this wasn't Ares."
"You have a secret lover? Melpomene," Apollo said, pleasing her, the way he said her name and pleasing her, the way his attention was hers.
She leaned in to him, pressing a little more against his fingers, till his hand slid around the back of her neck. “I’m sure your clever tongue can loosen mine,” she purred, her lips parted, and she made a small but not-so-small-Erato-wouldn’t-hear moan of satisfaction as he moved his hand into her hair and pulled her in to kiss her.
Gods but his tongue was clever, though. It had been a long time, since she'd last been with Apollo, and he kissed like he'd invented the art. She moved to deepen it, but he was already there, tongue against hers, and Melpomene clenched her thighs together as a shudder of pleasure went through her. He kept his hand curled in her hair when he pulled back, smiled at her like he knew everything, and reached for his champagne again.