WHO: Apollo and Melpomene WHEN: Sunday night WHERE: Melpomene's WHAT: Prophecies and pregnancies WARNINGS: None, unless you count death threats
Apollo sat in Melpomene’s bed, watching her sleep and slowly stroking her hair. She was curled around a pillow and the tension lines between her eyes weren’t going away, though they’d softened a little since he’d started stroking.
Everything had been going so well with the sex plan before she’d started crying. They’d had some tea, and Apollo had even tried some of the raspberry leaf that Calliope bought over and deemed it acceptable, before going back to massaging out the aches and cramps in Melpomene’s legs and feet.
They’d had some brownie, and Melpomene had managed a corner before she snapped at them both to stop being so encouraging (the massage had worn off quickly) and then Erato had shared her poem and she’d burst into tears in Apollo’s arms. In the midst of her sobs she’d been trying to say something and it was only Apollo’s long familiarity with all of the Muses that he’d been able to translate a gasped “I didn’t – even think – Urania knew – my due date” followed by more exhausted, sickly grateful tears.
He’d carried her to her room and gone to say goodbye to Calliope while she was in the bathroom, and when he walked back in she was sitting on the edge of her bed with a wild look in her puffy red eyes. Merlin had a prophecy about her and Melpomene was convinced it spelled her death; Aphrodite’s intervention was the only reason for a baby seat in Ares car. Apollo had to pry the phone out of her hands to look at it, shaking his head. “That hack,” he said. “You believe him, over me? Don’t you think that if you were dying I would have seen it?”
“Give me my phone back!” Melpomene snapped, reaching across him for it. “He’s being a little bitch! Let me tell him he’s BEING A LITTLE BITCH!”
Apollo (who was rather fond of Merlin) suspected that pissing off one of the most powerful wizards in history might not be the best idea, but telling Melpomene this would piss her off, and that was an even worse idea, so he kissed her.
She was heated, firey and upset, head swarming with thoughts of labour and death and fighting Aphrodite for her child back when she came back to life. “Fuck him,” she hissed against Apollo’s mouth. “Fuck him, fuck him fuck him.”
“You want a prophecy read, babe, you come to me,” Apollo ran his hands through her hair, and she groaned against him, two fists in his shirt pushing it up his torso. “This does not mean Aphrodite is going to win.”
“While I can?” Melpomene repeated Merlin’s words, pulling back to stare at Apollo frantically. Her cheeks were dark red with her emotion, and Apollo raised his thumbs to try and soothe them but she gripped her nails into his wrists. Her voice bordered on hysteria. While I can?”
“What do you think happens if Aphrodite tries to take your baby, Melpomene?” Apollo asked darkly, freeing one hand to curl around the back of her neck, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “We already know she’ll do anything for Marcella. Aphrodite touches your son, I’ll touch her daughter. I don’t give a shit about this truce, I’ll break it for you. I can promise you that. I swear it on the Styx.”
Melpomene crumbled into violent tears against his bare chest, interrupted from time to time by a fist pounded against his breast while he wrapped his arms around her, holding her till she was exhausted.
She still looked a mess, even after she’d fallen asleep.
This whole business! Apollo sighed, deeply, and smoothed a curl over her temple.
It was all Ares' fault, when you got right down to it. Stupid motherfucking Ares and his stupid motherfucking influence. Apollo was sick of it. Honestly. He loved this woman, but he'd be so relieved when it was all over.