InsaneJournal

One of the best things about working at Diogenes was the people, Much had believed that from the beginning (aside from the first few weeks of his job, which had consisted of a lot more suspicion and a lot more Keeping An Eye On Other Immortals, Especially Greeks.) Sure, recently that had changed a bit from ‘I love the people’ to ‘I love the sexy people who are up for a good time’, but… that still fell under the broad category of ‘people’…

One of the worst things about working at Diogenes is that sometimes it could be so busy that you couldn’t hear specifics of what was going on on the other side of the room.

Like tonight.

Tonight Much had been tense anyway, because Apollo was in. He wasn’t… doing anything, there’d been no threats, and whenever Much looked at Apollo (and he looked every spare moment he got) Apollo wasn’t looking at him. Whatever he was talking about, he was engrossed, and more often than not when Much looked over, Apollo had his head in his hands. Much didn’t trust it one bit, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled a warning, even as Apollo sighed morosely. He was itchy to text the Merry Men and let them know… but was wary that calling backup might actually summon a problem. So no, he was just keeping an eye on Apollo and the two women he was talking to that Much didn’t know (and he was watching them closely too, in case they needed rescuing, but they just kept patting Apollo’s hands sympathetically and looking at each other meaningfully.)

He was blending the first of two jugs of margaritas (one traditional, one strawberry and basil) when Ariadne arrived at the bar, and smiled brightly at him. She made a little mime of two horns sweeping away from her chest and mouthed Asterion? over the sound of the blender, and Much shook his head: no, he wasn’t working tonight. Much mouthed a merlot? back at her and she winked her approval, turning to scan over the other denizens of the bar while she waited for him to stop blending.

As Apollo stood (pushing himself away from the table like his body was weighing him down) his movement caught Ariadne’s eye, and she hesitated a moment, looking thoughtful, and then set her shoulders and strode over, cutting him off before he got to the door.

And now Much couldn’t hear a thing. Ariadne firmly stopped Apollo, explained something, raised both eyebrows in a question and held out her hand like she was waiting for an answer to fall into it. Apollo replied, and Much strained to lipread but he was looking at both of them in profile. Apollo didn’t look aggressive, or sinister; he’d taken on a look like a man who believed he was having a rational discussion with someone, but Ariadne said something sharp and upset, and then her face turned sad and tired as she pressed her fingers against her head. When she spoke again, she looked like a woman who believed she was having a rational discussion, and both her hands were spread now, imploring. Then on her face Much saw a look he’d seen hundreds of times before; it was Marian’s I’m right and you know it face, and dear god, there was something about Ariadne pulling that face at Apollo that was both really fucking terrifying and really fucking hot.

Much poured the second blender of margarita into its jug, garnished it with a few slices of strawberry and passed it over to the pair of Amazons (they’d been Much’s main focus before Apollo walked in; he was pretty sure they were on a date. Earlier, they’d arm wrestled. It had been hard to stop watching. But then Apollo, who’d been enough to distract him from constant thoughts of sex. And then Ariadne talking to Apollo. And now he only gave the Amazons the briefest glance as he passed their drinks.) Apollo was leaving, and Much hurried to pour a (very generous) glass of merlot as Ariadne returned to the bar. “What was that about?” he asked, with no restraint whatsoever.

“Ah,” Ariadne said, taking the glass. “One of my flatmates, his mother is in treatment for melanoma. She’s forty nine. I was making sure Mr Sun and Medicine over there was doing something about it.”

Much’s eyes widened. Holy hell. “Say more right now.”

Ariadne smiled at the look on his face, and leaned up against the bar. “I just pointed out that anyone with several million in shares in solar power better be investing in the fight against skin cancer, too.” Ariadne said, proud of herself, but also quite keen at being looked at like she’d taken on a dragon. She hadn’t; Apollo wasn’t a dragon to her, more of a brother-in-law with an ego and a half, and while she was well aware of the crap he could pull… Luke’s mother was forty-nine; there was some stuff not worth staying silent about.

“Holy shit,” Much passed a hand over his forehead, raking back his hair. “Is your friend’s mother doing okay?”

Ariadne smiled, knowingly, as she sipped her wine. “She’ll be doing even better once her hospital bills disappear.”

“Fuck,” Much swore again, struggling to take his eyes off her. “Fuck that’s the sexiest thing I’ve seen all day.”

Ariadne turned to give him her full attention at that, her eyes examining every inch of him for a moment, appreciating the appreciation, appreciating the way his shirt hugged his torso, the way his hair flopped over his forehead, and the way he leaned closer to her when she did. “No it’s not,” she told him. “It’s just the sexiest thing you’ve seen yet.”



His break couldn’t come fucking soon enough. Much fell into the toilet stall with her, kissing her like his life depended on it. She made a small surprised noise at the force of it and something spiked inside him, warning him to slow down (how though? – oh god) but then she was pushing him back up against the wall with her knee pressed firmly between his legs, and then she’d pinned both his wrists above his head and oh, oh oh oh god his knees could barely hold him up.

Ariadne pulled back for a moment to read his face, check there was no discomfort here, but he chased her mouth so quickly she didn’t think there was any chance he was uncomfortable with her taking the lead. She squeezed a little harder on his wrists and the noise of abandon he made sent a flush of warmth between her legs. Ariadne wouldn’t mind exploring that dynamic a little more... but the vital part of bathroom quickies was that they had to be quick.

Oh – oh but for a while, she kissed him so, so slowly, enjoying the simple but thrilling feeling of his body growing harder as she moved against him, enjoying the way he strained against her hands to kiss her. She was sure he could break her grip if he wanted to, but she was even more sure that he didn’t want to.

“Keep your hands there,” she whispered in his ear, and he made that sound again, his eyes open to watch her as she ran her hands down his arms, over the bare skin of his forearms and the muscles under his short sleeves, over his chest and his stomach to where his hips were straining toward her.

“Please,” he whispered, biting down on his lip, and then biting down harder on both lips to muffle the sound he made when he felt her undoing his pants. The craving to be touched was so strong, nothing else really mattered, and when she wrapped her fingers around him he thrust against her hand, gasping for it.

“Do you have a condom?” she whispered back, her lips playing with his earlobe, tits pressed against his chest.

“Bag – fuck – staffroom,” he replied, distraught – the staffroom might as well be on the other side of the world – fuck why didn’t he keep one in his pocket? Fuck, fuck! “Please,” he begged. “Please don’t stop, I-”

“It’s alright,” she promised, her hand tight around his dick, and she pulled back to give him the most wicked lovely smile, followed by the hungriest wicked lovely kiss. “Maybe you can come home with me, and return the favour later?”

“Oh god yes – yes anything yes–” Much’s babbling took on another layer of desperation as she dropped her light coat on the floor then kissed her way down his neck and over his shirt, kneeling on her coat, right between his legs. He dropped his arms a little, then, to press both hand against opposite walls to support himself as she ran her tongue up him, then to grip his hands in his own hair as she continued and then finally to press both hands over his face as he got closer and closer to release.

Hiding his face because he was so fucking scared it wasn’t going to happen, that just like with Mary, that just like with himself, he was going to come and it wasn’t going to satisfy him at all and why, he wanted to beg why why why why was this happening, it wasn’t fair it wasn’t fair it wasn’t fair!

Somewhere in his head, he did know why, he did – but he didn’t understand how he could feel so gutwrenchingly awful and so good at the same time. Her mouth was – oh dear god it was amazing but it was also not enough, not enough at all and how, how how how how – Much pressed his own hand over his mouth and wasn’t blind to the parallel, there… faking his enjoyment of his orgasm into his palm so she wouldn’t know how much he wanted to scream with wanting, because it wasn’t her fault. He felt so frustrated he couldn’t stand it but he still had to be, well, polite about it.

And the thing was, under a hand, you couldn’t tell if the muffled sounds and the sharp convulsions were a sob or a sign of pleasure.

“Much - hey, are you alright?” Ariadne asked, pushing his sweaty hair back from his face, eyebrows delicately curved in concern as she rose to her feet again.

Okay so – maybe you could – Much laughed nervously, caught out, dropping his hand and sliding it into her hair instead. “Yes - you’re so good,” he moaned, because she still did feel so good pressed against his body, and when he kissed her again it made him want her even more. Fuck, he just needed… something, something more, something more than this. “You’re so good at that,” he said again, after the kiss, half rambling to cover up the fact anything was wrong. “So good – I gave my first blow job a little bit ago and it’s not as easy as it looks but fuck you’re good at it.”

And it was so nice to make her chuckle, pressed against him with his pants round his ankles in the bathroom stall. “You did, did you? Did you like it?” she asked, curious, a little cheeky, so goddamn hot.

Much moaned, and pressed his face into her neck. “Fuck yes, cocks,” he murmured, making her laugh in delight.

“You’re adorable,” she said, lifting his head in both her hands to kiss him again, and he whimpered with need and she loved it, loved that he still wanted her even after he’d come – you didn’t get that a whole lot, from men in bathrooms stalls. “You could come home… and play with me and my husband, if you like?”

His hands had found her waist again, fingers seeking out bare skin under her top. “That sounds so hot,” he breathed, his thumb running across the lace of her bra. She smiled when he found her nipple, made a small noise of her own as he played with it, and kissed him again deeply.

Maybe that’s what he needed, Much thought? More, more he wanted more and maybe what that meant was more people, more hands more mouths more skin on skin.

When Ariadne pulled back it was agony, and Much didn’t realise at first that she’d stopped because someone else had come into the bathroom, had moved with heavy feet to the distant stall. With a silent giggle, she pressed her finger over his mouth, and Much shivered, and couldn’t stop himself sucking her finger into his mouth. She smirked, and flicked her eyes down to suggest he should pull him his pants, and with a painful reluctance, he did.

‘See you are the bar’ she mouthed at him, and slipped out of the cubicle, leaving much to sink down onto the toilet seat and bury his head in his hands.

Was this going to be his life, forever? Just never being satisfied, ever again? Much couldn’t face that because that would mean giving in to despair and maybe it was the folk-hero thing that stopped him doing that or maybe the craving in him was too loud to let despair win– the craving needed to be satisfied so, Much was going to keep trying. All he needed to do was find something, the thing, the thing that’d be hot enough to do it.

And maybe that thing could be found between two gods? Much was willing to try– he was willing to try pretty much anything. Later that night Ariadne led him home, or to Dionysus’ home, and as she pushed open the front door and called out for him, Much felt a thrill of apprehension. Was this okay? An Olympian? But… Tuck spoke so highly of Ariadne– so did Asterion– and…

Well, and Much had forced his morals aside in the pursuit of getting laid before, in much worse ways than this… God, he didn’t want to think about that, not when Ariadne’s hand was in his as they walked through the hall of a brownstone, music coming from somewhere. “I told him we were coming,” Ariadne said, turning back to smile at him over her shoulder. “But sometimes he has the attention span of a sexy goldfish. Baby!?” she called out. “Where are you?”