Who: Megara & Hades What: Meg's death carries over with a pillar crushing her, and Hades makes his first trip to his underworldly domain to get her soul back When: Last nightish/wee hours of this morning Where: Megara's loft Rating/Warning: Death and high adult situations of the bedroom variety Status: Complete!
Steadily, the post-production processes for Inferno were being worked through - of course, it didn’t feel that way when a meeting to hammer out some sound re-recording, effects, and music seemed to last all fucking day. But the minimal required re-shoots were done, video editing was done, special effects had been added. They just needed to get through all the sound editing and pop some color editing in there too (for instance a blue-tinted film was associated with coldness, which wasn’t what they were going for with fires and damnation), and the film would be complete at last. Ready for the big preview and to win big Oscar gold this year at the Academy Awards. That was what Hades was looking forward to.
Along with passing out for at least a week straight after Inferno’s premiere. That was the time when directors could finally take a rest anyway.
He did his best not to have Meg working copious amounts of overtime. Smoothing out the wrinkles and ironing the kinks of the whole ‘mixing business and pleasure’ thing took some work in and of itself - but that wasn’t anything he minded, they just had to get into some kind of groove. It appeared to be working well enough. Hades was still worried that something would happen to her, like it did in the dreams (was he even equipped to deal with resurrection and returning her soul to her if it did?) but she’d survived the OC’s plague without getting sick and hadn’t been dreaming anything new for awhile. Regardless, it was difficult for him to relax.
With muscles knotted in one big tense knot and what felt like concrete slabs weighing down on his shoulders, he poofed right into Meg’s humble abode late one night, the wisps of black smoke heralding his entrance. And it was late, well past the witching hour (still dark though); he wondered if she was still awake.
Now, to climb the loft stairs and see if she was waiting - or if she was dead to the world (bad joke, let’s hope not).
It wasn’t a bad joke, but the timing of it was.
In ancient Greece, the gig was up - Hades had unveiled her less than virtuous intentions in front of Hercules, and that was after the heroic idiot swore into a deal with the God of Death himself for the sake of her safety. His strength was gone, the Titans unleashed, and now the war for Mt. Olympus raged on. Never in her life did Megara feel like such a horrible pile of reeking shit, for playing along in his manipulation for selfish reasons. Phil was right, and the winged dingbat of a horse had every right to snub her.
But Hercules continued to fight on against a being that was beyond godhood and beyond the hope of any sort of Weight Watcher’s plan, because that Cyclops was anything but tiny. A gargantuan structure of complete and utter fat that tossed the son of Zeus like a hackey-sack. All Herc did was take it, resigned to even die that way - and if he did? It was on her. His death was on her.
Meg had done a stupid thing in the name of love before. It was how she’d gotten roped into the doom and gloom of Hades and his bitter plan for vengeance. Zeus had left him to rule the dead, and he was angry and lonely and therefore decided to come up with the maddest, most dangerous plan to get back at him. Who cares who suffered for it?
And now, she’d done a stupid, crazy thing in the name of love a second time - and instead of making a deal to save his life, she had saved Hercules herself by shoving him away from the path of a pillar. It was the only way she could fix things. It was the only way she could ultimately redeem herself from what she’d done, and the role she played in the entire orchestration of Hades’ plan.
People do crazy things, when they’re in love.
His pact with Hades was broken and his strength returned; that’s the last she dreamt, and she could have sworn it was the last moment she’d taken her breath but the Fates weren’t as kind. Megara awoke by trying to suck in a sharp breath of air, only to be greeted with a monumental amount of pain surging through her body - fire and electricity, the elements mixed in her veins and glass in her lungs. A heavy, suffocating weight was on her that didn’t let her move, and all she wanted was to sink back into the darkness of slumber.
Sleep, however, wasn’t the darkness that was coming around the corner.
There was no scream, no voice that words could claim for the moment. Hazel eyes barely opened, but she didn’t need to see to know what was literally crushing the very life out of her.
Megara coughed for air and instead, there was a strained wheeze and the taste of iron in the back of her throat. Her platform bed was split from the impact and the pillar - that very one she’d rescued Hercules from - laid across her midsection, flattening every organ and every bone there.
Every good story had to have a villain, didn’t it? Hades understood that this was his lot, ever since he started dreaming - he didn’t really consider himself particularly evil, but spending centuries forgotten, maintaining the Underworld while all the other gods parties on Mount Olympus and with no one there to listen really took its toll on him. Wasn’t like he was insane though, he understood people despite his lack of interaction with actual human meat sacks down there in the Underworld - he knew why Megara was cynical, he knew how to manipulate and hurt Hercules, he knew exactly where Zeus wouldn’t look. Maybe he wasn’t so great at long-term plans, but he was reactive. He was adaptive. And maybe there was just something about him - creepiness aside - that you couldn’t help but be charmed by.
Yet he was going to lose. He was going to lose there, and he was going to lose here. Because he didn’t really consider a pillar crushing the object of his affections to be much of a win.
“Meg - “ Hades went to her; as soon as he caught sight of that damn <>thing</i> he was there in a puff of smoke, not bothering with the rest of the stairs. His yellow eyes burned through the darkness of the room, hands resting on the cool marble that was the intended murder weapon - and he disintegrated it a second later, dust swirling up into the air. But the damage to her insides had already been done - he just refused to accept it. “Nutmeg, hey, it’s okay - you’re okay, I’ll fix it. Just hang on, okay?”
He was reactive, right? Still adaptive? He could fix this, could keep her from dying? But as he was careful not to touch her midsection, cradling her head in his lap, but he knew that the Thread of Life would soon be cut, sending her to the Well of Souls. All this anxiety, and staying with her to prevent this, and he’d been too late.
If it weren’t for the glow of his eyes, she wouldn’t have registered his presence among the pitch-blackness. Relief had almost drowned out the pain, but even that was fading, and she was certain it wasn’t because of a miraculous healing prowess Hades possessed. It was odd to her how much clarity there was when her lifeline hung between the two blades of some primordial scissor.
Still, by some mortal miracle, Megara managed a semblance of a chuckle. A tired, raspy, sardonic one. “Is this -” A wince. “Is this why you - kept wanting to stay?” There was something Hades had known about this, something she had picked up on a while go - not that she could blame him, or would blame him. What could have anyone have done? Whatever force that went behind these memories, they’d change and take anyone and anything they’d please; they would give him an immortal life and shorten hers the moment the opportunity struck.
Death in the company of a man who had dominion over it didn’t seem so bad, though, in the scheme of things.
Hades didn’t actually have magical healing prowess, and he knew it. He had a lot of skills, a talent with magic that he was still discovering the limits of and probably would be for awhile, not to mention a talent for contracts - for wheeling and dealing, really, it was so Mephistopheles of him and in his very nature. But right now, he was at a loss - he couldn’t think straight, he just knew that Meg was fucking dying and what was he going to do about it?
“I was afraid something would happen but I was sure that if I was here, I could fix it,” he admitted, with an anguished growl, stroking her hair. “I will fix it, Nutmeg, you’re not going to leave me.”
In their shared dreams, she was his ace-in-the-hole. Sure, he had monsters and beasts all on his side, powerful ones, but Meg was a Faustian bargain in the flesh. In this world? She was so much more; there was life here that he wouldn’t let slip away.
It occurred to her that, well - she had never even seen Hades like this before, a crumbling mess doing his best to soothe her while she was still able to take in those last, shallow breaths. Things didn’t hurt so much now, but in the crevices in her mind she knew that was a sign of everything shutting down; the lights were dimming, the trainwreck show of her life full of questionable decisions reaching its grand finale.
Yet she managed to capture his hand with her weak fingers and with all the last stretch of might she had, Megara squeezed. “You know where to find me, don’t you?” Ever since all this started, he’d met his godhood with some resistance - it meant immortality, it meant a power beyond human comprehension, the sort of thing myths were literally based off of. What it meant in terms of them and this, she didn’t know, but he’d taken her soul once before.
If there was anyone here Meg trusted to get it back, it’d be him. Souls of the dead were his domain. It was his power to embrace and control.
“So find me,” were her last words as the strength left her body. So did life as the soul departed from her body and went elsewhere, down below into the waters he knew too well. The string of life had been cut.
Her hand went slack, and that was it - Meg was gone. But her presence was still very much alive and well, her last words ringing loudly like church bells announcing the midday hour. Twelve in a row - and it took Hades about twelve seconds to snap himself back into focus to begin with.
First, she was carefully arranged on her bed - her eyes closed, her hands folded on her midsection. He put them like that and she looked - well, she looked somewhat peaceful. Like she hadn’t just been crushed by a pillar, which was the amazing thing. Then he was gone, out the door, on a mission.
Actually using the door was for chumps though. Hades appeared in a puff of smoke on the front lawn - it was still, and it was quiet, and he actually wasn’t sure if this would work. But he knew of no other way to enter the Underworld (since he had never visited the mortal plane in his dreams before); all he could think of was to gather and shift power from where he felt it crackling through him like fireworks to one central location - his arms, his hands, bracing himself because summoning an object larger than something like, say, a chair was more of a challenge.
A flex of both mental and physical muscle, and the onyx chariot - adorned with wings, teeth, the design of a menacing face from the beyond, slid up and in front of him. Quickly, he hopped on - and to the Underworld he rode, off into the night.
He thought it’d be more like coming home, and perhaps next time - if there was a next time - he’d appreciate it more because this was his domain. However, the only thing he could think about was getting to the Well of Souls which was, quite literally, a hellish vortex - a mortal couldn’t survive a dip into it, they’d be lost forever, so it was probably a good thing that Hades really wasn’t mortal anymore.
There was no doubts about jumping in - he let the waters pull him under, the call of his realm a siren song and wrapping around him like a boa constrictor; his lungs burned, his ears rang, still sinking and sinking and sinking. It was that sensation of being dragged into a bottomless pit, caught by the traps of river nymphs with their gnarled hands and hungry eyes. All he could do was keep swimming until he found the soul he was looking for, ignoring the angry screeching and screaming of the others trapped in the same abyss.
After what felt like a lifetime (it had really been merely minutes) he grabbed for Meg’s soul, emerging from the water and carrying the limp form in bridal-style. His skin was grey, ashen, the flesh tones having seeped out as he finally completed the last bit of that transformation. He was truly Hades now, yellow-sun eyes and pointed teeth sharpened by human bones, hair a beacon of a blue flame.
It was Hades the god who arrived in the bedroom, carrying what he’d been determined to get. But Hades the simple man who really couldn’t live without Meg was the one who laid his bounty down, soul returned to be reunited with the physical body.
Death was strange.
How else to describe it? Darkness crept in, smothering and unrelenting, and there was no ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ garbage that people swore up and down was there - one moment there was warmth, the next there was simply just the absence of it. Maybe there was an afterlife somewhere she hadn’t reached, maybe it was nothing and it was, literally, just a cease of her entire existence, but -
There were heavy eyelids to open. There was warmth, there was sensation, there was air. As if the return of the spirit that left her body was a natural healing mechanism, its presence seemed to restore what was damaged. Breath in her lungs, the repair of bones and once-annihilated insides from the crushing weight of the pillar. It brought the natural pink back to her cheeks, too. It was life.
This has got to be a prank. Did she cross over? Because the Underworld felt oddly like her bed.
To test that theory, she cracked one eye open. Fire was what she registered first. It wasn’t red-orange, the hell and brimstone sort of image, but it was blue - familiar (and in the shape of what she guessed was supposed to be a piss-poor attempt at actual hair). Now this was a sight she’d only seen in her dreams, the God of Death in his true from. Smoke, ash, and eyes of gold.
The second eye opened. Then, Megara blinked. “Mmmm, now that’s a face only a mother could love.”
Kidding. One could argue that she did, too.
The wave of blue flame (a piss-poor attempt at hair, what, he thought he looked smokin’ hot - well, his dream self did) was squelched with a thought, because the dark shade suited Hades best, in his view. He chuckled out of sheer relief, because never before did he want to hear one of Meg’s snarky quips so much.
“I’ll fix that too,” he said, or at least, he’d shapeshift himself into something that resembled an actual skin tone - no one was walking around looking like an alien, or the personification of smoke. It wouldn’t be the best career move. “Later.”
Then he braced his hands on either side of Megara’s head where she lay, shifting to hold his weight carefully atop her so he didn’t crush her like the pillar had - he wasn’t sure how she was feeling anyway. “Nothing hurts still, right?” Because if not, he was going to kiss the ever-loving hell out of her.
Good question. Nothing did seem to hurt, but to test the body she felt her tiny midsection; it wasn’t flattened like a pancake, and she was able to squish and poke herself without any sort of bone jabbing into a vital organ. “No,” Meg confirmed, brows knitted together. “My insides don’t feel obliterated thanks to lovely Grecian architecture.” Where was that pillar? Personally, she’d love to punch it but she knew well enough it’d end up with broken knuckles - instead, she’d mentally damn it to hell.
Death was quick, and fleeting, and she didn’t know how long she’d been dead but she was alive, then - “Look at you, embracing your godhood,” she smirked, lifting her hand to cup his silvery cheek. “I knew you could do it and not burn everything down in the process. Underworld look like just how we dreamt it?” Too bad she didn’t get a chance to glimpse at it, so if he’d found a way down there then it might beg for a trip. Out of curiosity.
The pillar was still dust, though Hades supposed it should be cleaned up at some point. Maybe he’d reform it and make a small, miniature version that they could crush. Might make them achieve some sort of vindication. But he was even more relieved that Meg was okay.
Before he answered her question, he kissed her. Waves of fire licked through him when he did, a current that lit him up like a Roman candle, voltage skyrocketing. Much better. “It does, from what I could tell,” he finally said - once he could form the words. Though he was a little distracted anyway. “If you ever wanted to go...”
At least he knew how to get there now, being that he could summon his chariot and ride off to the other realm. He couldn’t really imagine why she would feel like taking a trip, when all she wanted to do was leave before (they’d both wanted to, hadn’t they?) but maybe for the sake of nostalgia.
His kiss really was revitalizing, like the last vestiges of her soul were pulled out from the other side and to the living - physical violence towards an inanimate object that deliberately crossed worlds to smash her in half was a forgotten urge. Maybe there was a part of her brain that still felt she was in a limbo between barely alive and almost dead, but no. This was a confirmation that she was all living; she could have almost sworn her heart skipped a beat, too.
Megara locked lips a little longer, hoping she didn’t at least look like a hot once-deceased mess; that mahogany hair was curled at the ends from the tossing and turning in bed, and her nightwear was a tanktop and a measly pair of panties, much like when he popped into her kitchen unannounced once upon a time of oral sex on her kitchen counter. “I do,” she mumbled against his mouth, looping her arms around his neck. “If only to at least give it a lovely show of my middle fingers.”
Given to where her dreams had stopped - hopefully for now - and what Hades knew, a question or two was resting on the tip of her tongue. “I have to ask, though. I don’t stay dead, do I? I’m going to go on a limb here that my last breath’s taken next to a half-goat with bad odor.”
“Of course you don’t,” Hades scoffed. He shifted a little, but only so he could stroke his hands down her sides, appreciating an intact midsection, curviness, and the measly pair of underthings. However, Meg could probably do without those, really. “My oh-so-dimwitted nephew dives into the Well of Souls to get you - I thought it’d kill him, and he’d be finished. But not so much. We switched places after that - only I didn’t come out of the Well of Souls like he did.”
Not anytime soon, he was guessing. No, he’d been punched in there thanks to Hercules who was always the brawn, never the brains - then the Lord of the Dead received no happy ending, more like a dip with disgruntled spirits who weren’t eager to let him leave that watery prison.
No one was listening to him either. As per usual.
But he supposed that getting his due was all too fitting for that story of good versus evil. Here, he’d managed to find a way back, swimming free - perhaps it was the stubbornness motivating him. Or love, maybe.
It was almost predictable that in the end Hercules would win. Hades wasn’t off the mark when he’d call the man dim-witted, but she was certain the Megara who existed there would be amazed that he considered her worth saving after she wilfully toyed with his heart. She was his weakness, he was her motivation to not be a completely worthless human being with selfish intentions - yet here, things were so much more different, so much more backwards, but she was able to draw the line between her two selves.
It wasn’t hard; could be because her existence didn’t have the complications of godhood, who the hell knew. Meg was all mortal, flesh and bone and easily killed (see: pillar). Everything for her was cut dry and clear, now more than ever: Hades was here. A Hades that wasn’t striking up deals over her soul, a Hades that wasn’t rubbing his hands in malicious glee carefully plotting the demise of Olympian gods. He probably could spin the same act if he wanted to, but he wasn’t.
He’d been the one to push away all his insecurities about what and who he was to get her back, and that’s the reality she’d choose to live in.
“Well, gee,” she began, rolling her eyes as she rolled on top of him, an entanglement of limbs and some blanket. A bit of messy hair tickled his nose. “You made it out here, didn’t you? You must have been reaaaaaal worried about who you’d hire to make sure the morning coffee doesn’t taste like a sugar dump. No one does my job like I do.” Obviously, she didn’t think that - she could easily guess that somewhere in his dead, jaded heart she’d crept in with her snarky nonchalance and attractive ‘resting bitchface’ expression. Having someone jump into a watery hole of spirits just to get you back didn’t seem like a first date scenario.
Another kiss was initiated with a dash of zest, breathing in deep through her nose. “Thank you.”
Hades pushed messy waves of chestnut-colored hair from Meg’s face, not even bothering to fix it (he liked the rumpled, ‘just woke up’ look on her) but only so he could kiss her with the same passion she bestowed on him. “You don’t need to thank me,” he insisted, and since she was here - meaning on top of him, and wasn’t the view from where he was conquered so lovely? - he had room to indulge wandering hands.
If you wanted to argue that he was checking to make sure her breasts were still in prime condition after she’d literally died, then alright. He’d go with that. But up the tank top those hands crawled, where they made themselves useful by giving a brief massage.
“Though you’re welcome, I guess,” he smirked. “I’d do it all over again. I’m kind of glad everything’s...done, maybe?” Could he get away with only having one set of dreams? Didn’t seem likely.
Probably wasn’t likely at all. Sorry, boss, but considering Hazel’s dreams were another window to another version of him, she was fairly sure there were a couple of different universes spanning across the multiverse with other lives to cram into his flaming head - time would only tell. Meg had yet to see what the end had in store, though she could safely assume the formula of “cliche” would be followed and she’d end up bangin’ the pile of heroic muscles that was Hercules.
But there was no fornication with his nephew involved in this life, and instead all sorts of penetration and fondling and o-faces would happen with this deity. Especially with how handsy he was. “For now, maybe,” Megara concluded with a sultry chuckle, nuzzling her face into his neck - she’d graze his skin with her lips and teeth, gentle but maddening nips. “Though I’m getting the feeling my clothes are a nuisance to your pretentious, deathly godliness.”
“I could make them disappear,” Hades responded, with an eyebrow waggle - those same eyebrows burst into flame a moment later, because he was feeling cheeky in response to the sensation of lady shark’s teeth on a mission; nothing that would set Meg’s hair on fire, just something for her to try to blow out and provide entertainment. “But it’s honestly a lot better to peel them off of you.”
His own clothes, however? Those would probably be dispersed in an appropriate fashion - meaning, here one moment and gone the next. Already, he felt overdressed compared to the tank top-and-silky-underthings look. Her first, however, top portion begone. His hands were warm and any defenses he had left, the ones he’d painstakingly built to keep everyone else out had crumbled anyway - chipped off, bits and pieces, chunks of glaciers which comprised those walls sliding away. His whole being felt warm, an actual sort-of flutter to his guarded heart. Gross.
Those flaming eyebrows, really? With her eyes having adjusted to the dimness of the room, the sight of that bright fiery blue was blinding, so thanks for that, Hades. “You’re so fabulous,” Megara retorted sardonically, now realizing what he meant by making clothes disappear - considering how her hands were feeling bare skin before when they were touching fabric, and it was as if it all evaporated into smoke that seeped out from between her fingers. “I do like how you’ve turned your powers into immediate and spontaneous nudity, though.”
Very promising, wasn’t it?
Magic didn’t rid her of her top and that was perfectly fine - touch did all the work, and since she was on top and with, presumably, the reigns, she wiggled that almost-nude body down. Kisses down his chest, stomach, a bite around the dip of his bellybutton and down the happy-trail to the southern region where the one-eyed beast rested.
His cock, that is. Not the titan Cyclops. Definitely not that.
Fingers circled around the girth in a loving grip, but the tongue she applied to the very head of it was lusty. Teasing, long strokes of it around him like she was playing a game of how many licks does it take to get the center of a tootsie-pop?
Hades would give Meg the reigns - gladly so, there wasn’t any question about it. There was sort of a comfort here, one that didn’t have to do with making and breaking deals or even being immortal, a god. Whatever it was, it felt right - and Hades knew that embracing who he really was meant that certain responsibilities came with that, whether he actually wanted them or not.
But he wasn’t going to worry about those now.
Cyclops was also nowhere near his cock - they’d keep it that way. He’d much rather have the warmth of that mouth, those lips, the sensation of his whole body feeling like it was buzzing from the inside. “I’m big on saving time,” he huffed, heart slamming against his ribcage, no doubt glowing like the fire he so easily wielded - certainly seemed that way, in his chest. “Come up here.”
Please? He squirmed a bit, rumbling a groan, and that command didn’t exactly sound as ‘thunder and lightning’ as he intended it to.
Megara miraculously managed a chuckle, a husky one, as her head rose and her mouth became conveniently unoccupied. Tongue running across her lips, she shimmied off the last bit of fabric that had been the final boundary between the two of them. That's when she obeyed his request - crawling over him and ensnaring him in an all-consuming kiss.
"How do you plan to save time, oh great one?" she smirked against his mouth, knees spread to hug his sides and a hand slithered down between them to outright manhandle his manliness. A fondle of balls, a stroke of cock, all in plan to get him ready for the plunge within because there was something about sucking him off that got her sufficiently hot and bothered.
With Meg so imperiously perched upon her throne, that meant Hades was a bit handsy - extending the backside of knuckles down along that familiar curve of her waist, detailing the edge of her hip; his touch was reverent, somewhat languid as it swam up the inner contour of her thigh. He also returned the fondling favor with compelling strokes, cupping and pressing rather than jamming his fingers into her. Amateurish.
"You should just forgo underwear," he flashed those teeth in a grin, a grumble of a groan rattling his throat, hips shifting to push more into her hand because everything a domino effect of increasing pleasure. "Saves time." Reaching for her, he rolled over in one smooth motion, balancing his weight atop her as his hand glided along the smooth skin of her leg and behind her knee. Gave him better chances to kiss her, small kisses that were barely open-mouthed, ones that dotted up her throat, and he nipped at her chin, nudging with his nose.
Then with a jerk of his hips he was inside of her, holding her thigh where it was and pushing in as deep as he could get. Hellfire and damnation. He'd take it all, as long as Nutmeg didn't go anywhere.
The warmth of his hands felt like they were seeping under her skin, in every muscle, straight to the bones; she’d been flipped over seamlessly, a gasp caught in her throat. Meg sunk teeth into her bottom lip in anticipation, and that mess of mahogany hair was like a halo splayed around her head - his eyes were beacons in the shadows, menacing to most but comforting to her, the familiarity of them long overwriting what they’d once meant to her once upon another lifetime. “So bossy, even in the bedroom,” came her amused purr and gods, her legs opened up like the golden gates to somewhere happy and warm - close to the truth, essentially - and her hips rolled up, wanting him in.
And he was, fucking finally, a swift thrust of a god’s erection into a slick home. It was a motion that made her body slide up the bed some, those plump breasts to bounce, caused a sound so erotically delicious cry from the lips he’d been kissing - that dance with death must have enhanced everything because she was damn sure getting plowed into her mattress never felt this good. His hand had her knee hooked, she’d have her arms curled over his shoulders from under and her nails would claim his ashen skin, pricks and punctures like a kitten kneading on something hers.
All that talk of time, and it seemingly slowed to a crawl with that first push into her. Hades could feel each muscle stretch to fit around him, a hard clench, satisfaction lighting up like a brush fire and ripping through each cell until all of his senses were completely overwhelmed. His ears rang, silence settling there for a moment, a blast, as if an explosion had just occurred within him. Highly possible.
"We both know you're really the boss," he answered, a groan chasing the last word down and strangling it toward the end. He settled into a rhythm, gripping Meg's hip and changing the angle a little so that he was grinding against her harder with each push in. The muscles in his back clenched as he drove into her and pulled back; he even liked the feel of those kitten claws, the way she held on like he was a lifeline as she drowned in every single one of those feel-good sensations.
That angle, gods, yes. Megara didn’t even have to squeeze a hand down between them to add that extra bit of sensation in touching herself; the friction of skin to skin did seemed to do it, that right kind of grind that caused her to coil those long, olive-toned legs around his waist into a vice grip clench. Heels of her barefeet literally pushed against his divine tush, and she didn’t lie there like a spoiled pillow princess with the limp motions of a floppy fish.
No, those thrusts were matched with all her strength - pelvis against pelvis, a matched rhythm between the two of them, whispers and cries and bossy (his words, then) demands for Hades to keep going, harder and faster and fuck me senseless. Filthy words in her thickset voice, seductively drawn out from kiss-swollen lips that had gotten a little red from biting down on them. Heat rose around them like smoke, and it was almost like her body liquified, shuddered and tensed all at once - she felt it built and built, that grand finale, with electrifying pulses starting from her fingertips and toes and surging through that coiled center about to burst.
Megara writhed the moment she came; a quiver of limbs all around, that excruciating tightness that enclosed all around. Gasping for air almost sounded equivalent to a hoarse whimper, begging him for something but fuck if she knew what.
The room could've lit on fire and, ironically, Hades wouldn't have noticed until it was far too late, so lost in her and the way Meg managed to speed up his very impenetrable heart, how she made him feel, and all that mushy shit he had never really bothered with before. He had loved Bianca and Nico's mother, however he could at the time - it wasn't really enough though, or right, because whatever he felt now was remnants from a whole other time and place and determination to say 'screw the gods' and align the stars.
He went harder as Meg wanted him to, giving her more - the bruising crush of hips, his hands gripping her tightly, appreciating the way her entire body rocked up and shifted back down with each thrust (he'd been with ladies who didn't even move because they were shy or something, man, that was a buzzkill). Curses flew freely from his lips, a string of expletives unbecoming of a God, maybe, but he didn't care.
Pleasure built, until his skin was alight with it, until he couldn't hold back a second more. Unintelligibly he groaned, a manly grunt, an incomprehensible sound - maybe her name too, but he was about to fall off the edge of a figurative cliff All he could do was make caveman sounds.
He held her as close and still as he could manage, so he could bury himself as deep as possible, shaking as he spilled inside of her. Then rather than collapse on top of Meg he collapsed beside her, using what was left of his strength to lean in and kiss her cheekbone, then closer toward her lips, nudging her with his nose. "Still feeling alright?"
Very alright, at least once she caught her breath and brought back to the realm of coherency. It’d taken a minute for her legs, for example, to stop quivering - as if shocks of electric euphoria were still running its course down. Megara was sticky, sweaty, and the musk of sex her perfume. “Considering you didn’t just nail a corpse and I need some time before I can walk without wobbling and embarrassing myself…”
Maybe their night hadn’t exactly gone as expected when it came to her death, the trip down below and the frenzied and emotional wham-bam that happened after things were well again - but right now, things were strangely perfect.
A kiss was bestowed on his mouth, and her teeth captured his bottom-lip for a playful tug. “Take the day off tomorrow. Maybe even a couple days.” For proper processing of everything, for one thing. Now that death had briefly come, the consequences of what her very short mortal life span could mean to Hades gnawed at the edges of her thoughts - she knew immortality bothered him, but she never thought her own mortality would weigh down on her the way it was. “We can stay in bed. And not move during those couple days.”
Take the day off? Like an actual day, where he didn't work? Hades couldn't recall the last time that had happened - maybe Christmas or something because, really, he even was guilty of working on weekends. And some holidays. It was probably yet another thing that drove a wedge in between he and his former wife.
But that didn't matter now - if Nutmeg wanted him to take a day or two off, then he would oblige. She'd just died, after all, they'd realized that her mortality was a very real thing - and that had terrified him into doing basically anything she asked.
Not that he wouldn't do most anything regardless. Because he would. This information could just remain not gloated about for the time being, however.
"You're the boss," he huffed, laughingly, then kissed her forehead. "I can probably send someone else to those meetings anyway."
Oh, good, otherwise there’d be relentless nagging on her behalf - flippant hand motions, eye rolling, huffy crossed arms, and indignant hair tossing if Hades didn’t succumb to her request. Meg liked to think it was a reasonable one, too. Work swallowed him whole, sometimes providing some kind of escape mechanism from everything else that went on around him. “You deserve it,” she smirked, and reached to pull his hand in sight. “Some pampering, too. If your nails look this groes then your man-toes are going to be in an even worse condition.”
It’d been awhile since they had one of their token ‘fuck off’ days of frivolous bullshit anyway - you know, the ones she regularly made appointments for to make sure smelly cucumbers touched his eyes for whatever reason? Fabian would probably be delighted to give him a happy ending.
“Get some sleep.” Megara brought his knuckles to her mouth. “I know you haven’t gotten any yet.” Considering sleeping had led to dreaming, and dreaming had led to waking up just so she could die, the need for slumber hadn’t crossed her eyes yet - but she wouldn’t move, content to stay close to the godly archetype in her bed.
Hades did enjoy a bit of pampering on those patented 'fuck off' days. Or the 'fuck off' lunch hours, where sushi and gossip were the main staples. Much had changed a lot, sure, but then again some aspects of life - like those - blissfully remained the same. At least he could count on certain things with their rock-solid dependency.
"Just for a few hours," he yawned, since it was startlingly close to sunrise anyway. But shit, the night felt long. Maybe because he'd literally been to the Underworld and back again. "Then it'll be breakfast time.”
For now though, it was pass the fuck out time. Maybe cuddle time too, but that would be a secret no one beyond this bed would ever know.