Who: Hades & Nutmeg What: An overdue talk leads to the kitchen being used for non-culinary reasons When: Let's go with recent? Where: Meg's loft Rating/Warnings: High for adult scenarios Status: Complete!
He wasn’t even sure what to think of the OC lately, especially after the most recent debacle. It wasn’t necessarily awful, and it wasn’t necessarily beautiful either - kind of some mysterious, mystic in-between that Hades had a feeling he’d become accustomed to the longer he settled in. This place was like a couch you sank down into and then just couldn’t get up from - shit, it was like fucking quicksand and he was still here being given pieces, maybe even gifts (if you wanted to consider them that), to help him step through this life. This very long life, if godly immortality had anything to say about it.
That was something he was unsure about as well.
Then there was Meg, stubborn and headstrong Meg, who made a deal with the very embodiment of darkness and burning coals; Hades wasn’t going to ask for that, but still, he did want something. It went beyond the idea of touching her, of groping like some teenaged kid would do - but it was just this all-encompassing need to be closer, something catastrophically large, a need to be within and beside a soul to be claimed. And it would be easy to take it but he wouldn’t and maybe unconsciously, he ended up where he did because the ever-present internal argument of whether he wanted her entirely or just her soul continued to nag at him. But that was a whole other Hades - the heart, sputtering as it did, knew that collecting souls like punches on a card wouldn’t solve his problems. It was also wrong.
And he’d ended up in her apartment, that is. There was a puff of black smoke, revealing his presence in the modern kitchen, where he sat atop the counter and blinked eyes that looked almost human in this light. Nearly gold, not so bright yellow and uncomfortable to have on you.
Well, damn. He hoped he didn’t scare her to death. Resurrection was a skill he wasn’t certain he had mastered yet (then again, he hadn’t tried it).
In the name of Zeus and his children and all his goddamn whores (and there were many, it was a common mythological fact about the deity of the skies), Megara wasn’t exactly scared to death but let’s be fair - she did not expect her sometimes bipolar employer to suddenly poof into her kitchen, perched on her kitchen counter like some asshole cat who owned the place.
Still, her heart was sounded like thunder in her ears for a couple seconds. Only a couple, because the reality of the situation sunk quicker than the Titanic and the initial shock was pushed aside to make room for curiosity. With a dash of annoyance, of course, considering that if he simply knocked on the giant steel slider of a door like a normal mortal person would (as it is custom), she would have had a chance to put on pants.
So here she was, entering her kitchen, in a white tank and satin ladyware, balancing an empty plate and cup that she miraculously did not let drop to the ground.
With Hades on her countertop.
Meg sighed, and carried on to dump things into the sink with the expression on her face back to its usual resting place. The infamous stoic bitchface. “You do know I would have actually opened the door if you came over like a normal person, right?”
“Oh, I know, but then would you have put on pants?” Hades smirked, aha, see - they were on the same brain wave there. “Because right now, that’s a good look for you.” The satin undergarments, yep, those were nice - he wasn’t staring. Maybe a little.
Off the counter he slid - it wasn’t a particularly long jump to the ground when you were somewhat on the tall side anyway - and he settled for simply leaning against it instead. Meg could kick him out, if she wanted, but he had a feeling that she wanted to talk just as much as he did - it was simply that he wasn’t good with words, with actually saying ‘hey, we should have a conversation.’ Instead he showed up during a teleportation, godly power practice session. That sort of spoke for itself - or at least, in Hades language it did.
“I’m getting better at that though? Didn’t end up on the roof of Taco Bell.” Thank everything - fake chicken was all well and good, but cat food in a soft shell? No, Hades drew the line there.
It was a good look on her, wasn’t it? Probably one of the reasons why she didn’t wail and blush in embarrassment like a prudish damsel - Hades knew the risks of popping up into her home, he’d simply have to deal with her buttmounds out and about. “I’d have known you did if it showed up on the news, burned to the ground,” Meg chuckled, her own smirk sultry. “You want something to drink? Coffee?”
Something a big stronger, maybe? Though if he did she’d have to disappoint - all she had left was the little bit she and Zatanna didn’t have the stomach to finish after their night of gorging themselves in Turkish pastries. It was all small talk, anyway, because she knew if he wanted to discuss trivial, working matters, he’d be blowing up her phone with texts. A couple of them in capslock depending on his mood.
His presence led her to the assumption that this particular visit was on the more personal side.
“Or do you just want to choke out why you’ve poofed into my kitchen? I’m good with or without the small talk.”
Normally he’d take her up on the coffee, because Hades could consume it like life force, but he didn’t need to be even more jittery. Or close to drunk (could he even still get drunk?) so maybe it was best that Meg was skimping on the alcohol. “You - “
He sucked in a breath. You died was what was on the tip of his tongue, but telling Meg she got crushed by a pillar and how messed up it made him feel when he looked back on it was kind of a big spoiler. Should he say something or not? Considering she almost met the same fate here, except with an aisle of energy drinks, maybe so - but beyond Wonder Bread and his man tears, he didn’t have any additional details anyway so he didn’t know how helpful it’d be. Obviously the deal regarding Hercules and his strength was now null and void, but. What happened with Meg’s very soul, he’d have to wait and see.
“You know, it was weird - the night of that whole grocery store thing, I was actually okay with who I was for a minute there. Everything made sense. I’m not sure that it does now - I don’t know what I want, or who I am, or what the point of all this is. If you wanted to lose the top as well, I wouldn’t complain,” he added, which was seemingly nonsensical but, what, Meg was standing in front of him all scantily clad, he just thought he’d tack it on there.
Tongue in cheek, Meg placed a hand on her cocked hip and leaned her arm against the stainless steel of the sink - and honestly, she was sort of squinting at him. As if her stare could burn a hole into his twisted little mind and see how those godly brain gears worked, because one moment he’s self-reflective and somewhat philosophical and oh, the next he’s suggesting she go topless.
Rewind there, bub. Rewind.
“Instinct kicked in, Hades, you did exactly what you would have done there - the God of Death’s part of you, but he’s not all of you.” No, he had an entire lifetime he was living out here without the complications of an entire pantheon dictating where he’d rule for the rest of his immortal life. Not to mention his family, which she knew was a motivation to stay away from self-destructive habits. Mostly.
Megara eliminated the distance between them and corrected his shirt’s collar. Sloppy man. “You’re going to drive yourself nuts thinking about the point, then it segues into an exhaustive philosophical search, maybe a bit of an existential crisis?” A shrug - sounded about right. “Just be happy you were born with a prettier mug here, boss man.”
A click of her tongue, a flirtatious wink.
The problem of the pantheon dictating where he’d rule, what he’d do, how much darkness would seep into him and how much loneliness he’d suffer because of it - that was the issue, he didn’t want to become that. Didn’t want to become a soul-hungry being who lived forever, watching his loved ones wither and die.
“Do you think I could do any good?” he asked, and it was all a matter of balance - finding that balance, striking it perfectly. Hades wasn’t certain how - he was just so concerned with teetering too far in one direction or the other. “As the God of Death, but not...entirely?”
Oh, Meg, such a character too. The remark about his mug caused him to snort a laugh, and he poke-poked both brows upward - the same brows that caught fire a moment later, just a brief burst of flame. On purpose. He was getting better at that, along with everything else - easing into it, like it was a second skin. “And you’re not worried all I want is your soul?” Another question, as he let his hands rest on the sides of her waist.
“Well, so far you haven’t created any plans for a total Olympian uprising,” Meg pointed out, an eyebrow quirked - and damn him. She was about to blow out his eyebrows like a set of candles, too. Next time, Hades. “You also don’t need my soul to keep me around, so, no - not really. I trust you.”
Which spoke volumes in comparison to how things with them were unrolling in this other world - there, she was his captive (by her own doing, but what can you expect when you make a pact with a god?) and clawing for freedom. Running errands for his grand plan of domination with the promise that he’d shave off a couple years from her sentence of being an underworld lackey. Megara was desperate to get out and away from him, especially from his orders of deception when it came to Wonder Muscles.
Then again, she could have said no. Accepted her fate and dealt with it, but she wanted to be selfish. Being selfless was how she’d gotten herself into the situation she was, and she’d been willing to go against her moral code to get the hell out of it.
Neither of them were the best people there. “Did me not decking you in the face after you slobbered over my mouth on KFC building not prove that enough, or do you need another example?”
In some weird way, Hades didn’t even want Meg to leave so extending her soul sentence seemed prudent - he didn’t have much in the Underworld, besides omnipotent magic and impish henchthings; companionship was definitely lacking. Turning his sultry ‘minion’ over to Wonder Dick and watching them prance off for a happily ever after while he stayed in his literal hellhole and rotted was about as appealing as drinking a paint cocktail.
Maybe he was a little jealous. Okay, a lot jealous. Of Hercules, of what he would have with Meg, of how stinking cute they were, all that shit.
“It would probably have been more awkward slobbering on each other - “ Because, hey, she’d kissed him back. Right? “If you were really shacked up with my nephew, so I’m kinda glad you’re not.”
He also didn’t know if he truly even had a nephew or not - maybe that was something to look into. Hades didn’t really want one though, could he return potential Hercules to the shelf? Anyway. “Another example might be nice,” he shrugged. “What do you have in mind?”
Gods. “Don’t ruin this by talking about Herc,” Meg deadpanned, because she did not need those otherworldly feelings of romance about the almost-but-not-quite god creeping over. Not to mention that she didn’t even want to think about if he did exist, and if so, would the Fates cackle down upon them (again) and have him and Hades related? That’d be their luck and for the moment, she was content with thinking that he was elsewhere and none of them would ever cross paths.
But, let’s see. What did she have in mind? For starters she wasn’t throwing kitchen appliances in his general direction for popping in announced - didn’t that count for something?
Probably not. Too subtle.
A husky chuckle rumbled her throat, fingers acting as if they were possessed when they undid his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Instead of telling him, she’d show him - by pulling the trousers down a bit, dropping onto her knees, fishing for a handful of cock to start stroking because she wanted it a bit stiff before her mouth swallowed him up.
Holy shit. In the name of all the blessed deities, what was that, and his pants, and there was a tongue -
The sound Hades made, it was like he’d grabbed a scorching red-burning pan at about a thousand degrees and held on - not to mention he nearly jumped about ten feet in the air, actually stumbling back a little with one hand grasping the countertop for balance he so sorely needed. He just hoped he didn’t crack a chunk off in his grip, which had his fingertips turning white it was so hard.
Yeah, and speaking of that particular attribute. It didn’t take a lot for Meg to accomplish her goal.
Her too-hot mouth on him, sparking his nerve endings and making him quiver like it was embarrassing (it was, a little, but he'd get over it - she deserved to know that her skills were capable of rendering him incoherent)? Oh, the intended effect was happening.
“My fucking god,” he breathlessly laughed. “That is...you’re...it’s - “ Damn words, damn them, forget about them entirely. “Fffff.” There, that clearly made much more sense.
Sucking the words riiiiiiiiight from the tip of his cock to the back of her throat was what she had planned on doing - because didn’t she say she would go through some kind of judgment lapse and get a taste of godly spunk sooner or later? And here she was, on her kitchen, kneecaps against the hard floor, tongue tracing his length and over his tip, up until her lips sealed over his width. Hands weren’t just idle with the occasional twiddle of thumbs, either; they were as ravenous as her mouth, and they erotically juggled those immortal jewels.
Maybe she wasn’t exactly ready for a sweaty romp in the sack - or the counter, taking into consideration their location - but Megara was well aware that blowing her employer had the possibility of changing. Everything. In a potentially good way or in a potentially explosive way that was a trainwreck ride right into the depths of his domain; either way, a gamble she was risking to take.
And how nice, that he trusted her with how close her teeth were to his divine manhood.
Of course Hades trusted her. It felt too good to not trust - in fact, good was not even a word that touched it; to really find one that did might require making a new word up. Not that he had any mind for making anything up right now, not when all he could do was make another sound that curled in the back of his throat, shaken from his mouth which had sort of dropped open simply due to, uh, this.
All semblance of control was leaving his body, drawn out of him slowly with each sweep of that tricky tongue (not mention what her hands were doing). He fought the growing urge to reach a conclusion, a hardening knot in his stomach; eyes that had darkened had also lidded, watching where Megara's mouth stretched around him, cheeks hollowed and looking like the very definition of sex.
He hit the back of her throat then and just about whimpered with the sensation, the futility of holding off on any conclusion finally smacking him full-on. Because nope, it was happening. “I’m going to - ” he gulped out, body starting to tense. It seemed fair to warn her at least, though the tremor which ripped through him and the tight pull in Meg's hair probably told the story for him.
Then, well. Warning given. Felt like everything literally burst into flames as he came with bone-crunching force into the sweet heat of his most favorite assistant's mouth. Hell's bells.
Oh, how considerate - a warning. It was only the polite thing to do, to give the lady a moment to brace herself for the incoming fill of her mouth with something else aside from his throbbing manhood. Megara’s fingers went to dig into his sides, holding him still, and there it was; hot on her tongue, hot down her throat, guuuuulp.
“Not bad,” she chuckled once those swollen lips slowly dragged off him, and she wiped the corner of her mouth from the little bit of, ah, residue that there was - the rumpled hair thanks to his fingers in them was a good look on her though, especially while on her knees. “And see, I didn’t even bite you.”
A last lick to his tip to make sure she had drank every single last drop, and she used him as an anchor to get back onto her feet.
Hades helped her, managed to assist with getting Meg upright again as he held onto her - and what, what was she asking? Or saying? Something? “Was I supposed to be concerned that you’d bite me?” was his question, but it seemed more like a rhetorical one. He wouldn’t give her much time to think it over.
Because he had her by the sides of her waist, hoisted up onto her own countertop - he also had a little too much height to be able to get where he wanted to comfortably be so that’s why, snap of those fingers, poof, a little bit of magic and a puff of smoke meant he’d summoned a chair from somewhere (seriously, where did it come from?) to sit on. Oh, here we go - now he’d see if she fell under ‘not bad’ but he had a feeling that the taste of her would far surpass that description.
First he surged forward in between her thighs and leaned in to smack a kiss on her - a real one, because it meant something, because it was one of those moments, a memorable one. The kind that stacked atop each other to make a whole lifetime, and there were still always those moments within. His cold, rusty heartbeat quickened and gravity slipped - up and up and up, then down, down, down. All the while stroking her over that silky lady-wear.
Down again, that too - kisses pressed to her throat, skimming down her body until he got comfortable enough buried in between her thighs. The barrier in his way was discarded, and the kitten licks he was giving Meg wouldn’t last long - not when he could use his fingers to help spread her open and replace those kitten licks with deep, flicking thrusts of his tongue.
For the love of - gods, it all happened in a whirlwind but at least she did manage to kiss him back, quick but heated, and she didn't even think about the poof that had conjured the chair Hades so happily sat his immortal ass on. That wasn't the focus here, no, the focus was how her panties were there and then suddenly weren't, and it was a warm wet tongue on a warm and wet -
Megara hissed, a result from stifling a cry by biting her lower lip. But her long, slender fingers wove into his hair and her hips rolled into his mouth, legs curled over his shoulders. “You between my legs,” she purred, taking a moment through the haze of lust to appreciate the sight. “It’s a good look for you, boss.”
Sort of a violation of professional ethics but considering they wouldn’t be the first or the last, she had no qualms with the idea of her employer eating her out on a kitchen counter. Dine away and get her off, Hades, because she that grip she had on his hair wasn’t allowing him to rise for air until he did.
His laugh in response was like thunder, low and warm. The depraved, immortal (fuck, really? Hades hoped not, but that was a problem for another time) being that he was, he delighted in the sounds and writhing coming from the body above him. He could scarcely breathe, and yet he pushed at her thighs, looping arms around them and tightening to pull Meg in even firmer. His ministrations were neither slow nor uncertain; he licked and sucked and drove his tongue inside of her with an eager abandon that would break only when he did get her off. Golden promise, satisfaction guaranteed.
"Maybe I'll be invited back," he rumbled (between her legs, that is, especially if she liked the view so much), but didn't waste time to talk - he was ruthless, always was, in everything he did. It was why he'd been so successful, driven, and it was how he navigated swimming with sharks in the Hollywood elite every damn day.
Ruthlessness was a main objective now, single-minded determination, but he also aimed to draw the taste of her into his mouth. His sassy assistant whom he trusted more than most, salt and sweet liquid fire; he wondered how this would change things, if it would at all.
Thanks to his relentless dedication on working her pussy like a goddamn violin with his tongue, well, there wasn't anymore coherence from her - words were breathed with whimpers, the heels of her ankles digging into his back, head tilted back with eyes rolling up into her skull.
Threads of pleasure surged under her skin and it built, easily - the tightening of her abdomen, the frantic squirming against his mouth like she was practically humping his face (not to mention, she couldn't even remember the last time someone even tongue-fucked her). The warning was a more vocal than verbal when she felt the release vibrate all over; toes to head, knees even hugging his head and shaking.
Megara found it a bit hard to catch her breath but she managed, swallowing a gasp down as her trembling legs dropped off.
"Where did you get that chair?"
First things first - well, more like the priorities were shifted a bit because Hades had to actually come up with an answer. But before he did that, he went for another kiss - eager to trace his tongue over hers, eager to fill Meg’s mouth with her own taste. Then, something brilliant. Now that his braincells were firing again, sort of.
“Uh, I don’t know?”
There, yes, that surely worked as an answer. He at least took a moment to make with the pants adjustment, because it would be awkward having this conversation (such as it was) with him looking all debauched and...hanging out everywhere. Not that it really mattered much now, but you know. “Just add it to the list of quirks that apparently I need to get used to. Probably can’t abuse that tone too much, huh?” As omnipotent as his magic was in the Underworld, as godly as he was, he didn’t want to get used to coasting by on that. It’d surely lead to disaster.
His lips on her were intoxicating, didn’t matter where he put them it seemed - she was a little dizzied, perhaps even loopy from the last tingles of euphoria in her veins. Probably why her smile seemed drunk, and she ran her tongue along her mouth for a final taste of things. “Well, your quirk worked well for this scenario,” she huffed a small laugh. “I might keep it around for future use, it’s not hideous.”
Megara’s legs shut, considering she was in a state of being oh so indecent in the presence of the death god. At least that cemented her level of trust in him - or at least she hoped so - and now she could segue into the next thing: “You alright there, though?”
An eyebrow distinctly rose. Something else had bothered him. Dreamwise, godwise, or both.
Both. The answer was both - but Hades couldn’t do anything about either, unfortunately. He could only deal with it all as it came; being that he was already barreling down the snowy mountain, creating an avalanche, there was no stopping until he got to the bottom. So, riding it out. That was what he would do.
“I’m alright,” he promised, reaching out and putting a hand on Meg’s shoulder. He anchored her in closer, to rest against his chest - it was kind of like a hug, he guessed?? - and kissed the top of her head. “Maybe you should...stay with me for a little bit. Or I can stay with you. In case you dream something, or something happens.”
Obviously something was going to happen. Megara had died - the exact details of whatever that meant transferring over here remained to be seen. And sure, maybe Hades could fix it, but if he wasn’t with her, how would he know?
Odd request. Now her brows furrowed, like she was honing in on the hidden undertones there - Hades had never exactly hugged her like this but then again, they never stuck their faces between each other’s legs to the point of an orgasm, either. New, uncharted territory she was still trying to grasp and his offer was the cherry on top.
“In case there’s an accident with your godly prowess?” That’s what Megara was mostly assuming, anyway, considering he was still trying to tame those inherited powers. Her hands smoothed up over his shirt and onto his shoulders. “I don’t know what kind of thoughts would go through the mind of your kids if they saw me stay over at random times - and I know they’re going through their own things. Especially Hazel.”
It’s not like she personally had any responsibilities other than maintaining herself, but she was one independent person under her own roof while Hades had some dependents under his.
“Yeah, Nico too,” Hades sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He has a...boyfriend, or something. Whatever they’re calling themselves.” Which meant no sharing a room when Will came to visit - and, alright, Nico was technically an adult and he could copulate with whomever he pleased but just not under the same roof with his younger sister there and potentially his father, Sans, the dog, two imps, a partridge in a pear tree.
Granted, Hades would also copulate with whomever he pleased and in the house at that - but it was his house. Parental rules.
He hadn’t been bringing anyone by, however, out of respect for everyone else living there. Eventually it would happen but it’d have to be eased into. Not be so blatant right away. “Then I guess I can stay with you. Not every night. But maybe some nights.” Most nights. Until he was sure Meg had dreamed her happy ending with the bronzed moronic nephew. Then he’d relax a little.
Those long, bare, olive-toned legs pushed him back some. Her knees snapped shut and she hopped off the counter, kicking up the lost pair of undergarment so slip back into. “You burn this place down during one of your tantrums, you’ll be getting me a new one, furniture included,” Megara told him, passing by with a grind from ass to crotch so she could get to the dirty dishes. “Don’t leave the toilet seat up, and if you shave in my sink, clean it up.”
If he was going to stick around, fine, but she wasn’t going to romanticize it - if this was going somewhere she wanted to take it at a steady pace. Mostly a steady pace. With a couple physical perks that had a habit of happening between two consenting adults, she guessed. But the expectations of etiquette were realistic enough; some habits were annoying, and she’d point it out upfront.
Because, ugh. Men.
Handes snickered throatily, hand unable to resist palming that ass when Megara backed it all up against him. “Fine,” he agreed with a grin, a flash of those razor-sharp teeth, because he supposed he could agree to her terms. Slow was best with someone like him anyway - freshly divorced, also slow to let his own guard down. Somehow, he’d managed around Meg just a smidgen without even being aware - maybe she was just sneaky - but he was actually...okay with it. Possibly never on the road to wedding bells again (it wasn’t quite his thing), but okay with the emotional shit (which he kind of hadn’t been before).
“I’ll go get my toothbrush really quick - and I’ll bring back sustenance. If you promise we can watch Netflix in the hoop thingee again, I’ll even bring beer.”
“We?” Megara blurted a laugh, viewing the aerial hoop from her station at the sink - blame the influence of her acrobatic and highly flexible parents. It was at a height she could stomach without turning into an inelegant hyperventilating mess; the exercise routine with it was effective, and she liked to sit on it like a swing and TV binge when her schedule allowed - but ‘we’ wouldn’t fit without some serious position finagling.
Though she doubted that’d stop him.
Suds from the dish soap were flicked at his direction, her smile sardonic. “We’ll see, now out. I’ll deal with your mug again soon.”
This time, with pants.
With pants, as entirely unnecessary as they were. But Hades wouldn’t protest - it was sweet of Megara to let him stay over without asking too many questions. She just seemed to understand that something about the dreams had him concerned, and he’d need to be indulged for a little bit. No big deal.
The response to her sudsy flinging and her wry smile was a crooked Cheshire Cat grin from the King of the Underworld himself - then a ghostly chuckle, right as the magic took hold and he disappeared. Poof, a puff of black smoke in and one back out.
Returning to finagle a position in the giant hoop was a good incentive to not get other-dimensionally turned around and stuck on the roof of a KFC, anyway.