Little God

2

“You must think me a naughty creature in need of punishment.”

Melis cocked his head curiously at that one, though the voice was not the one that had drawn him here.

He didn’t quite understand the meaning of the words, but the desire beneath them was more than clear.

He wondered if he would be thanked tomorrow by the man currently receiving the punishment he’d asked for, but doubted it.

If he or his lover thanked anyone, it would The Fair-Shaped as Physical Pleasure. But they might not even bother with that. Most humans didn’t.

She should be thanked for the loud, and strangely stirring, sounds of enjoyment Melis left behind as he continued on.

But so should he.

Melis was not only Wanting; he was the moment passion struck.

He was racing hearts, and flushed cheeks, and the sudden absence of clear thoughts. He cackled over it at times, watching the arrogant trip over their words and certain know-it-all gods kneeling at the feet of some hapless human.

Desire Fulfilled, Antero had rightly named one aspect of him.

For that alone, he deserved an answer from Melis.

Melis stopped outside the door he’d avoided for too long to consider the solid craftmanship of the door itself, and then the two human guards directly in front of it.

But they were easy.

It didn’t take more than a single covert glance from one tall guard to the other for him to see that even the bravest of warriors could fear actions when actions might lead to their hearts.

He reached out to brush his fingertips over a muscled thigh.

The tip of his wing touched the shoulder of the other guard. Both of them gasped, one clutching her leg as if she could still feel Melis’ touch. Then the second guard stepped closer to the one she had long adored in secret.

Melis slipped past them both while they were trembling and staring into each other’s eyes.

Their shared ache for a kiss lingered along his skin like the sun’s light and warmth.

A shiver carried through his wings, so he extended them to shake the feeling away.

The rush of air through feathers did not cause the form lying on the bed before him to stir.

The hour wasn’t late.

Many nights, the king walked the length of his bedroom until the moon was high, searching for a solution to a problem of governance or unable to sleep for some other reason.

Melis had never stepped into Antero’s private chambers, but knew the wide window overlooking the sea as if he’d seen many times; that was where the king stood when his thoughts turned to his loneliness.

After long days, he would stand near the ledge of stone, the breezes stirring the curtains and gathering his words before it brought them to Melis.

The window allowed moonlight into the open rooms, a silvery touch nearly extending to the bed itself.

The moon would not dare go farther.

Melis assured himself of that with a vicious glare toward the window, then returned his attention to the rest of the space.

A table of carved wood and lacquered chair, a smaller room connected to this one, possibly full of articles of clothing or armor, for the king had studied arms and combat even as he strived to keep his city free of trouble.

The walls held murals, not of any gods, but scenes of their works: a field in the summer sun, a deep forest, the sea, mountains that seemed to tremble before Melis’ eyes.

There was no cot in the corner of the room as he had seen in some noble houses in different cities and countries.

No servant stayed in the king’s rooms with him at night.

There was only the king on his bed, a large shape beneath a light blanket, almost hidden by curtains of fine mesh tied to the canopy above.

For now, Antero slept alone.

But Melis would take care of that, and perhaps, in the future, visit to make sure Antero was happy.

Not that Melis made mistakes.

He was a god.

Small and annoying, but a god.

Truthfully, War and the others were not entirely incorrect; the god of Overwhelming Passion, of Desire and Desire Fulfilled, Melis the Cruel, Melis the Prankster, Melis the Merciful and Most Giving, did not actually know much of love beyond those first moments he sometimes helped along.

He didn’t really understand it, but the other gods didn’t seem to either, so they had no room to talk.

Perhaps it would help Melis in his work if he observed human passion and affection and need for each other up close.

And what better human to witness than Antero the Faithful, who had yearned for the other part of his soul for so long?

He yearned for it now.

Melis put his feet to the floor to creep closer to the bed.

Antero had fallen asleep with an ache in his chest—having also observed the longing glances between his two guards and ensuring they were assigned night duty together more often.

A similar ache formed within Melis at the realization. Antero had been happy for them, and then also faintly despairing as he entered his unlit bedroom, stripping his clothes away by himself to sit on the edge of his bed and look out the window.

Human, Antero couldn’t hear Night’s song begin, but he’d smiled to witness the moon appear.

He’d thought, I shouldn’t let it pain me.

I am blessed in many ways.

Is it not beautiful out there, Melis? I wish I could share the sight with someone who might find peace in it as I do. But for now, the view is mine, and I will enjoy it.

When, exactly, the king had taken to addressing Melis so frequently, Melis couldn’t recall.

But he didn’t mind, which was probably why he hadn’t put a stop to it.

It was also probably why Melis had looked up to Night and the moon in the first place, and paid special attention to their music; Antero had seen the view and wanted it shared, and thought of Melis.

He hadn’t known Melis was in his city on his way to him.

It is beautiful, Melis agreed, rubbing the spot over his heart.

I don’t often appreciate the works of the elders, but they can be lovely.

Is that all you ask for, Faithful Antero? A lover to gaze admiringly at the sea or the sky with you?

Antero, of course, did not answer.

He rolled onto his side toward the window as he dreamed.

The blanket fell away, revealing strong shoulders with brown, warm skin, and a head of dark hair, worn short, but still long enough for half a curl to fall over one perfect ear.

He dreamed of his bare feet in the ocean and a hand in his.

Melis didn’t think he’d ever put his bare feet in the ocean.

Not to stop and study the feeling at least, since he couldn’t remember it.

The breeze from the window was the breeze in the king’s mind, a gentle brush against his bare skin, and Melis couldn’t summon a glare for that because then the breeze came to him, sudden and electric along his skin, as if lightning were near.

The wind would always come to Antero if the feel of it was that pleasant for him.

Melis could give him that even if he also gave him a beloved.

That, Melis would always have for himself, though the king might be happy with another and forget what Desire Unfulfilled was.

Strangely unsatisfied by the thought, Melis stopped to watch Antero’s chest rise and fall.

He didn’t have to do this.

Melis knew that.

Even Antero knew that.

But Melis should not have been reluctant to do it. The Fair-Shaped had given Melis no answers but she must have made Antero so lovely for a reason, some purpose besides keeping him in her bed, since that she had not done.

Melis frowned and moved closer until his knees touched the bedsheets and the mattress gave beneath his weight.

Antero turned again in his sleep, falling onto his back, an arm thrown over his face.

In his dream, he was alone, wandering and exhausted.

Melis could have pushed his hand into the hair on the human’s chest; he nearly did, marveling at it compared to his own although he’d never marveled at Storm-Bringer’s chest, or The Ever-Present’s, or the chests of any of the heroes who dwelled in the stars. All that stopped him was the knowledge of what might happen if the king felt his touch.

The air left Antero’s nipples taut and made him shiver.

His dream changed again, becoming a garden of roses, a soft body yielding beneath his, oil-slick thighs, heat and a whisper in his ear.

Not words but feelings.

Surrender and please and more. Love, the feelings said, love, please don’t make me wait.

Antero’s cock stirred beneath the blanket, filling while Melis could only watch.

Melis had a heart, had blood when he chose, as gods did.

It had never throbbed beneath his skin before.

He swallowed though his mouth stayed dry.

Love, the dream called to him. Antero’s mouth was busy granting kisses and gentle bites; his dream-lover was the one to sigh and beg sweetly. Love, do not make me wait.

Melis furled his wings against his back and clenched his hands against his thighs so he would not reach for the rigid evidence of Antero’s need.

The breeze could not cool him.

Antero, dreaming, pressed him down into green moss and spread his legs with one thick thigh.

“Love,”

Melis rasped, pleading, and Antero flinched as he was pulled from the dream and into the waking world.

Melis fluttered back clumsily, almost human.

He forgot himself and put his feet on the ground, arms tangled in a curtain until he freed himself and spun to face the king.

Antero was sitting up, blanket at his lap, chest and shoulders bare and shining in the presumptuous moon’s light.

His face was the most perfect face Melis had ever seen on a mortal.

He was bronze and shadow, with hair that curled like new tendrils of ivy, and plush, parted lips that looked softer than even Melis’ roses.

His eyes were deep in the dark of his room, warm with life and hot with the passion lingering from his dream. His gaze was like the voice Melis had heard for years now, full of lust and life and affection… and pain now that the dream was over.

Melis exhaled, shaken, and Antero stilled before frowning into the shadows.

“Who’s there?”

he called, then waited, motionless.

Antero the devoted, Antero the lonely, Antero the king, threw aside his blankets to stand beside the bed, his body still affected by his dream.

Melis stared at legs and hips and thighs, at hair and skin gilded from exercising in the light of the lascivious, hateful sun.

He studied the heavy cock, and Antero’s chest moving with his rapid breathing, and then his cock again, until Melis’ entire body was aflame.

Then Melis stumbled backward, his heart racing, his legs weak, his thoughts a whirling panic.

His palms had never felt empty before, had never gone damp with sweat.

But he couldn’t tear his gaze away to study them, or his shaky knees, or his feet, which tripped over each other whenever he moved.

He swallowed, but his tongue was too large for his mouth and his thoughts much too loud to allow for clear speech.

The window was near, offering escape and cooler air to calm his senses.

Melis snapped out his wings to ready for flight only to go still when Antero moved quicker than Melis could see to grab a short sword from the side of the bed.

He held it aloft, not rushing forward, but prepared to defend himself.

He probably wielded his sword well, Melis thought admiringly, although he cared not a jot for weapons or combat.

“Who’s there?”

Antero demanded again.

“Show yourself.”

He glanced toward the door.

His concern for his guards rang pure and real through the air to Melis.

Melis wanted to touch all of him at once, and then again, slowly, taking his time with hands and lips and tongue.

Antero’s mortal skin would not be smooth, his hair might be soft or coarse.

He’d offered light kisses and bites in his dream, and used the weight and force of his body to keep a smaller, slighter body down and displayed for him.

Melis could be that body. He wouldn’t know what to do or where to place his hands, he would undoubtedly not be as beautiful as Antero’s past lovers, but he would get to feel Antero and that was surely worth anything.

A more powerful god might have already approached Antero in disguise to gain his trust, or begun seducing him, or taken him to their realm to seduce him without distractions.

Seductions in name only, sometimes.

Those gods thought of their physical desires and nothing else.

Melis was too small to openly defy them, but he thwarted them when he could.

They could not be allowed near Antero.

No matter what it cost Melis, or how much older or stronger they were.

If they’d thought Melis cruel before, they would learn it again and remember it.

“What are you doing?”

Antero suddenly muttered, shaking his head before putting the sword aside.

“You must be half in dream because you are alone.”

He swept another look over the room that appeared empty to him, then sighed and dropped his shoulders.

“As you are always alone, you fool.”

He ran a hand over his face, then twisted to look out the window.

The moon, with some grudge against Melis, flooded its light into the room to drench Antero in silver.

“It’s as if The Most Fair crafted you for me,”

Melis murmured weakly, forgetting that his bare, cold feet were on the floor of a human king’s bedroom and not a world away in a god’s palace.

Antero turned sharply to peer into the dark where Melis stood—where no one stood that he could see.

He drew in a deep breath, then paused and did it again through his nose. “Roses?”

He brought his gaze up to where their eyes would meet, though he couldn’t know that.

His quiet guess firmed into certainty. “Roses.”

There were no flowers in his chambers save the ones in Melis’ crown.

“Are you a messenger?”

King Antero spoke with polite composure, though his wary attention did not leave the spot where Melis stood.

“I don’t know which god has sent you, but how may I help? Ah! Forgive me.”

He didn’t blush, or if he did, the warm tones of his skin and the silvery moonlight didn’t show it.

But he reached for the blanket across his bed and pulled it to his waist to conceal his nakedness.

“No!”

Melis threw out a hand as if to stop him, then froze, fully expecting Mischief—true Mischief, not Melis the Prankster—to dart from the shadows to laugh at him.

Antero stopped at the word, his chest heaving. “No?”

he echoed, his head tipped slightly to the side.

His gaze on Melis—on Melis somehow despite how Melis wished he would look away so he could breathe again—Antero opened his hand to let the blanket fall.

“They didn’t lie about you.”

Melis did not give his mouth permission to do anything and yet he spoke.

Yet he said that, his voice melted butter.

“That is….”

He had no idea what he ought to say after something like that.

He sounded like a young, inexperienced human, not a fucking god.

He stretched out his wings and lifted his chin.

“Antero the Faithful of this sea-cliff city,”

he began, only to wince when the radiant power of his voice struck Antero and made him stumble back a step. “I mean,”

Melis tried again, his voice higher but far more human, “I’ve come in answer to your prayers.”

Not much of an answer, he reflected sadly.

But Antero’s head came up and an expression of wonder crossed his face.

“My prayers?”

Antero wet his lips and even that was perfect.

Or that was the moonlight, drawing Melis’ attention to the shine at his lips.

Antero frowned slightly only a moment later.

“Forgive me but I try to honor each of the gods, and I do not know which you are, or are from. There’s perhaps one I’ve spoken to most often, but that’s because….”

He trailed to silence, bowing his head as if in thought.

He took a breath. “Roses,”

he whispered as he brought his head up.

“Melis, is that you?”

He was too clever, or too hopeful; Melis couldn’t decide which, and his silence while he debated it seemed to spark a worry.

“Melis, are you still there? Have I offended you?”

Melis shook his head—like a fool, because Antero could not see the gesture. “No.”

He briefly allowed some power to slip back into his voice to make sure Antero wouldn’t doubt him.

“No, never.

You couldn’t, most faithful Antero.”

A shiver tore through the strong body in front of him.

Melis tried to gentle his voice again in case Antero was frightened.

“I am here to…”

help him find his match, which meant letting someone else stumble into those considerable arms.

Melis frowned and pushed out his lower lip like Day at his most sulky.

“I am here to… to see you.”

“Now? After years?”

Antero demanded, then gasped and held up his hands.

“Apologies.

I do not question your judgment, Beneficent Melis, but I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Despite the polite words, his thoughts were pained, colored at the edges by bitterness.

“Since I reached manhood, I’ve been chased by others, and I was happy to be chased, and then to chase in turn.

But over time….”

Antero pulled in a deep breath and changed the words lined up in his mind.

As if only too aware Melis was before him, he stated simply, “You already know the desire in my heart.”

“Yes.”

Melis could feel it pulsing outward with every heartbeat, as he had felt the heat of Antero’s body on his bed without touching his skin.

It was making his heart skip and his body flush in response.

“You didn’t answer me,”

Antero went on, without accusation though Melis felt the sting of one, “not even to refuse my need or to tell me to stop speaking to you.”

“I liked it,”

Melis said, still foolish, and hurried forward on his clumsy, almost human feet.

He spoke in an embarrassed rush and stopped short before reaching Antero and falling into his arms.

Melis was young, as gods went, and yet he had never felt so young as he did now, dizzy, hot, and fumbling.

“You are the only one, Faithful Antero, to ever say my names as if you understand them.”

Antero went very still before adjusting to Melis being closer to him.

“It pleased you to hear that?”

The moon found him even when he angled his head down, showing a gaze nearly as warm and knowing as The Fair-Shaped’s.

“Even Desire has desires?”

The ache in Melis’ chest didn’t appear to be going anywhere.

Neither did Melis.

“Beauty has favored you in many ways,”

he justified himself.

The warm gaze would not let him leave, or think, or do much more than stare back, which Antero could not possibly see but seemed to recognize anyway.

“But I am your favored?”

Antero prompted, accepting that more than one god might wish to touch him, because naturally they would.

But he wasn’t pleased by the idea as many might have been.

“Is that why I’m alone?”

The unhappiness returned to shake his voice and color his dreams.

“Am I to stay alone?”

Again a fool who had forgotten he was invisible, Melis shook his head.

“You have tried to meet your equal.

I’m not sure they exist.”

Antero closed his eyes, then lowered his head.

“I am so very beautiful.”

His bitterness now was plain.

“Everyone is beautiful!”

Melis snapped indignantly, annoyed but desiring to dispel Antero’s misery.

“The Fair-Shaped is pleased by all that she has made, and I have never seen one who did not shine with the light of her gifts.

But though she has crafted you to resemble a god, you are more than that.

Devoted. Faithful. Striving Antero,”

he called the epithets gently as if he was the one who prayed, and was relieved when Antero looked up.

“You are a compassionate and respected king.

Your people are happy and prove it when they defend you.

The wind knows you and hears your words, and brings them to me. Most Loving Antero,”

Melis’ voice grew rough, “your longing pleases me even as it pains me.”

Antero drew in a breath, his lips parting.

“You know what I long for? My dreams and stray thoughts? All my prayers to you were heard?”

Melis’ voice did not grow smoother. “Yes.”

Antero swayed forward.

“Did you enjoy those too?”

Melis inhaled the scent of the king, the cardamom and oil from a recent bath, the faint traces of sweat.

His knees ceased to function.

His stomach tightened unpleasantly.

His skin was so hot he might have just stepped from a bath himself.