Inheritance - a sequel to Shelter

Fading - Apollo

After Apollo is certain the boys had left camp, he visits the dining pavilion where breakfast is already being served and takes his seat at the main table. Chiron joins him before long, but the effort of not thinking about the challenges in store for Nico and Will make it hard to focus on pretty much anything. Fortunately, Chiron seems to be in a similar mood and doesn't press him to talk.

Chiron leads the year-round campers to the arena for sword fighting class after the meal, and Apollo leans his elbows on the table, propping his chin in his hands. His mind is so far away from camp, he startles when a cleaning harpy comes by and sweeps the dirty dishes into a giant bin, spraying his arm with rainbow colored milk from a bowl of Froot Loops.

He shakes his head at himself, walking back to the Oracle cave. Normally he can handle having his mind split in a thousand directions at once. It's a necessary skill when you're the god of so many spheres of influence, but today ... Will and Nico's parting words bounce around in his brain like an echo in an endless cavern. Tartarus is rising? Asclepius is there with his mother? When had his mother been sent to Tartarus? As far as he is aware, she's been vacationing for the past thousand years in Hyperborea. Now though, he just can't think about it. The quest, Hades' show of heroism in defiance of Olympus, all of it threatens to overwhelm him with grief. If it is true, that Tartarus is rising, he would know about it. His oracle would make sure he wasn't left in the dark. But that trail of thought opens a whole new can of worms. He's been avoiding Rachel. He's not sure why exactly, but thinks it might just be a bad habit. For more than fifty years, his Oracle was trapped; nearly silenced. The renewed connection feels odd. Later, he tells himself. He'll think about it later.

He passes the volleyball court, pushing those thoughts to the very back of his mind and wonders if Zephyros made it to Olympus. Apollo hopes he won't be gone long, even now, his body feels incomplete without the constant kiss of Zephyr's warm breezes over his skin.

He climbs Half-Blood Hill, his body feeling off, different. He's always been fond of his human form, and seldom feels the need to alter it, but now it's as if ... It wants, he decides. Yearns for feathery wings, a hot and firm chest: Zephyros. The idea is entirely ridiculous as Zephyr hasn't even been gone long, not even half of a day.

He pushes the purple curtain to the side and crosses the cave to his couch, then throws himself face down onto it. Pining. That's what is happening to him. Why does it feel so much worse than it had in the past, when he'd pined after potential lovers? This time it's physical, like his body screams, thrashing against the trappings of skin to reunite with its other half. Is this what it felt like to the humans when Zeus split them in two? He'd felt an absence when the Oracle part of him was removed, but being a god, he could still access her in spite of the severance.

Maybe it's because he'd declared marriage between himself and Zephyros, or maybe after being twice stripped of his immortality, he's held onto a little too much humanity. He dismisses the thought as he breathes in the leather musk of the couch cushion. The scent of Zephyr and his last coupling fills his nose, promising relief. His godly nature has already healed the lingering stretch he'd hoped would last longer. He longs for it now, his pants growing tight, grinding his hips against the couch.

"Screw it," he mutters, his voice muffled. He's horny and there's one solution within easy reach.

He transforms the couch into his bed with half a thought, vanishing his clothes with the other half, then rolls onto his back and spreads his legs open at the hips. He conjures a toy modeled after Zephyros with another thought, and then gets down to it.

He closes his eyes and allows his consciousness to sink into sensation. He revisits his memories of giving himself to Zephyros. The first one, right after he'd spirited Zephyros to Delos and had taken him first. How Zephyros turned the tables on him, spreading his wings and flipping their positions. The desperate look in his dark eyes that begged for a balance of power, and Apollo had been so moved, he didn't even question it. And then, how Zephyros seemed to know Apollo's body, hitting all of his hot spots without effort, stealing the breath from his lungs before giving it back, his kisses dominant and eager. Apollo had known he couldn't give Zephyros up, couldn't have only one night with him and then move on to whatever came next.

"Apollo."

The sound of his name in Zephyros's voice sends him over the edge. He shudders, gasping his breaths, his smile stuck on his lips as endorphins flood his body and leave him tingling.

"Mhm. It figures. Where a man uses a phallus, there am I with him."

Apollo stills immediately. The voice doesn't belong to Zephyros at all. He recognizes it at once, his face flooding with heat, but too sated to bother with embarrassment. He rights himself, turning the bed back into a couch in an instant. Then he opens his eyes and stares up at the newcomer.

"Dionysus?" It's unnerving, but not unpleasant to find his baby brother restored to his youthful vigor. His dark brown curls framing his face in ringlets, and his body a mix of hard and soft, of round and flat, dressed in a simple white robe. "You look fabulous. Damn. It feels like forever since I've seen you strut your stuff."

Dionysus waves away the compliment. "Yes, well ... It depends on my mood," he says as Apollo sits up and makes room on the couch. "Am I interrupting?"

Apollo wrinkles his nose. It's pointless to get worked up over his brother walking in on such a private moment. It's not the first time it has happened and likely won't be the last. He shakes his head and gestures for Dionysus to sit.

"What brings you back to camp so quickly and looking so young and dapper?"

Dionysus takes a seat, his eyes tightening at the corners, looking pained. "Appearances can be misleading." He sighs, then adds: "I don't want to talk about it. I need a place to lie low for a while, and pray that father gets his shit together soon."

Apollo raises his eyebrows, but it seems as though Dionysus is not in the mood to elaborate. He fishes for a change of subject, half-hoping to hear news about Zephyros without flat out asking.

"Did you, uh ... What are the other gods up to?"

Dionysus shifts his hips on the couch, giving Apollo a suspicious glance at the hesitation in the question, then settles back, frowning. He looks sulky.

"Most of them are doing the same thing as I am. Retreating to their comfort zones and lying low. Well, except Athena. She's still hanging around. And Hera, of course. She actually called Iris back into service if you can believe it. I've not seen such a pout on the rainbow goddess's face in years. Aphrodite refuses to retreat, but she's beating a dead horse in trying to get father to let up on Ares." He sighs again. "For some reason, and it makes absolutely no sense, he thinks Ares is his greatest threat."

Apollo makes a face. "Yeah? But wasn't Ares like, not even sired by–" Dionysus interrupts him with an elbow to the side. "Ow. What?"

"I am aware of how Chloris assisted Hera in Ares' conception, but how safe is it really, to speak of it with father in his current state of mind? For all the eons he and Hera have been married, he feared siring sons by her. I believe it was her own feelings of deficiency that inspired her to bear Ares and Hephaestus, and considering their only other children are Hebe and Eileithyia, she probably questions her own right to claim marriage and motherhood as her domain."

As Dionysus summons the remote control from the shelving unit against the wall, Apollo doesn't argue. The signs of Hera's self-doubt – her many rages against her husband's lovers, her frustration with Zeus acting outside of her control – throw light on Dionysus's observation. Even if he wasn't the god of prophecy, Apollo suspects anybody interested would be able to see it. Equally true, it is probably in their best interest not to speak freely about these matters, especially with Zeus's increasing lack of clarity.

He tries to steer the subject back to before Hera cropped up. "Did you tell anybody that you'd be hiding out here?"

Dionysus flips through the channels, almost like he needs something to keep him occupied than because he's interested in watching television. He exhales through his nose, then turns the power off. He hums, his lips pursed as if he's weighing the pros and cons of answering truthfully.

Apollo waits, reading his body language. The way his jaw clenches means he's carrying some sort of burden. The way he shifts his eyes from staring intently forward, not really seeing the room around him, and then glances at Apollo from the corners of his eyes – Apollo reads as Dionysus wanting to confide in him, but being held back by fear. Finally, he speaks.

"I did mention it to one person, but it's somebody I believe I can trust. I'm pretty sure anyway. Oh bother. I don't even know why I talk to anybody anymore. I think he's got the right idea though, and Aphrodite, and even Athena ... Something has to give." The last half of his answer he says under his breath, more thinking aloud than talking to Apollo.

Apollo's interest is piqued. "Well, who is it? If you feel comfortable telling me. I hope that you feel you can trust me to keep what you say between us."

Dionysus rolls his eyes, and slaps Apollo's thigh. "Don't be daft. I've always trusted you. I don't think there's a dishonest bone in your body. Deliberately misleading, yes, but not dishonest." He huffs and readjusts his position, moving one leg onto the couch, and sitting on his foot so he can face Apollo without needing to turn. "I'm willing to tell you who it was, but first ... Are you still nursing owie feels over that mortal golden boy from three-thousand years ago?"

Apollo shakes his head, trying to keep from smiling too widely. Still, even if Dionysus says he trusts Apollo, Apollo's not quite sure he can confide in his brother about what he and Zephyr have done. Godly marriage has been under Hera's rule for eons, and she made it pretty clear in changing Iphis into a man before allowing his marriage to Ianthe to proceed that a marriage between men would be taken as a personal affront to her rule.

He pushes his concern to back of his mind once more. At least the thought worked to subdue his grin. "If Zephyr is the god you're hinting at, no. I'm no longer bitter. We've talked ... Moved on, so to speak."

Dionysus throws his head back and breathes a huge relieved sigh, his posture relaxing. "Thank Zeus for that." He straightens up, more gossipy and at ease than he's been in a very long time. Apollo half wonders if he hasn't broken his vow and dipped into his wine stores. "I can't eventell you how awkward it's been – after you two were so close in the beginning – to have to choose which of you to invite to parties, and to swear the guests to silence so the other one wouldn't find out about it. A real pain in my ass, I'm telling you." Apollo wrinkles his forehead and rubs the back of his neck. He stares at Dionysus. Dionysus stares back. "What?"

"What do you mean we were really close in the beginning?"

Apollo wonders if he's missing some sort of joke. Maybe Dionysus planned the punchline and forgot to set it up or something, or maybe – his stomach sinks – maybe he's been pushing his thoughts and memories to the back of his mind for so long he's actually lost them.

"Pfft. Seriously? It was all over Hephaestus TV for the longest time. The two of you, sneaking off and getting busy in corners of the garden, the palace broom closets, raiding Aphrodite's panty drawer. Oh! Then the one time when ... Let's see. Oh yes. Zephyr was being all coy and sexy, waiting for you to come back to your room. He had on this skimpy little black number, and when you came in, he was ready on his hands and knees, looking over his shoulders like, 'see something you want, big boy?'" Dionysus busts out laughing, catching his breath with forced determination and a few gasps, waving his hand as if brushing aside the recollection. "We all saw it, but nobody said anything because it looked like you were having fun and it wasn't hurting anybody. Actually, now that I think about it, Father may have gotten the idea that having a little stress boy around might be the perfect solution to, you know ... distract himself from the ..." He rolls his wrist, obviously trying to avoid invoking Hera's name. "... pressures of ruling."

Apollo's mind is blown. How can he not recall such an event? The idea that he and Zephyros were already fooling around, flaunting the norms before the whole debacle with Hyacinthus is just absurd. As far as he can recall, other than the day Dionysus was born and Zephyr coined the phrase: blow job, they hadn't been intimate.

"Why can't I remember such a thing? Other than one time in the palace garden, you were too young to remember and you were still a demigod, Zephyr and I hadn't exchanged more than a few glances."

Dionysus shrugs, and then stretches out his legs. "I have a picture if you don't believe me." He slips his hand inside his robe and withdraws a photograph, then passes it to Apollo. He snaps his fingers at the television, turning it on, when he can't find where he'd put the remote, and then again to summon a diet coke.

Apollo stares at the picture in his hands, mesmerized. His memory of the day flooding back into his mind as if upgrading from black and white to color. The rest of the memories Dionysus mentioned must be dormant as well, waiting for something to jog them, to make them vivid again.

Hands trembling, Apollo's heart feels like it's breaking. Did somebody do this to him on purpose? To Zephyros as well? He sniffles, unable to keep his emotions under wraps.

"Keep it if you want," Dionysus grunts, his eyes fixed on the television screen. "I've got loads."

Apollo wipes his eyes, blinking at the beautiful pose captured on Hephaestus-invented Memory Cardstock™. "Thanks."

They sit without speaking for a while, Dionysus growing more and more frustrated with not being able to find the remote control, though Apollo suspects most of it is theatrical. He's giving Apollo a chance to compose himself. Apollo digs the remote out from between the couch cushions and passes it over, earning a smile from his brother.

Dionysus squints at him, then sniffs the air. "You're different, Apollo. What has changed about you? You smell like, well not quite, but close to ... a human."

Apollo smacks the back of Dionysus's head, and then sets the photo on the side table.

"Shut up, baby brother. It takes one to know one." He sticks out his tongue as Dionysus chuckles, then stands up and stretches. "You know what? It's been a long time since we've had a duel. You up for it?"

Dionysus's purple eyes gleam, the fire inside them sparking to life. "Oh. You are on!"


A/N: I encourage any interested reader to google: 'Iphis and Ianthe' if you would like to read the myth referenced in this chapter.