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A night. I CHÓRA TOU VULCAN.
"Why is all this happening now? First, it was Ayla leaving for the gods know where, and now, Prium plotting against us. Why now?"
Vulcan remonstrated, seating on a lone chair opposite the royal bed which was laced about its edges with flowers of several kinds. Flowers which were at the mercy of Athena's will. For they changed at intervals even before one could master their traits and flavor.
Athena was in bed, reading through a scroll. Occasionally she would look up at her worried husband when he was plunged into his thoughts. But now that he had spoken his mind, she tossed the scroll aside and replied,
"Do you feel pity for us or reason, my Lord?"
He sat well in the chair made from cedar but dressed in wools and animal skins to ensure the comfort of whoever was occupying it.
"I don't know what to feel, Athena. I feel like the gods are sporting me. And they seem to take a keen delight in it. I don't know what to feel, neither do I know what to think."
She stepped off the bed at that and walked towards him,
"How many gods do you believe in, my Lord?"
She stopped at his front, towering over him. Vulcan looked up to hold her gaze,
"None, aside the god of love if there is any."
She stretched forth one of her hands towards him and he picked it without hesitation. She helped him up and led him towards the bed.
"Sit, my Lord."
She put her hands on his chest and he sat. She sat next to him,
"But other poets like you believe in several gods. Gods like Horus, Isis of the Egyptians. Thor, Odin and Freya of the Norse. Krishna, Arjuna of the Indians. Budhha of the Chinese."
She paused and sorted her words,
"Even some Greek poets had written the Sagas of my exploits and read them in great halls. Such odes which were passed down from one generation to the other."
She paused again and put her left hand to his cheek. She turned his face to her and breathed the words,
"Tell me, husband. What kind of poet are you. What do you write about? The last poem you wrote, what was it about? Was it an ode to the god of love or an elegy of countryside or the tears of the sun? Oh, I remember, Poseidon once bragged of your works which revolved around him."
He sighed but wasn't concentrating anymore. The rays from the candle were generous enough to share their luminescence on the side of her face, revealing the curve of her soft small lips.
"Yes, I wrote about Poseidon, though as much I loathe him. But there's this fancy I took in him. Probably because he's the only one who has the power and guts to ride the great Leviathan which even Thor struggled with."
He paused,
"But wife, let not my intents be misplaced. That I write about him doesn't mean that I worship him."
She chuckled and brought her face closer to him. She kissed him softly, tasting his thick lips, their tongues gently brushing.
"That's the fact which is being misplaced. The relationship between a poet and a king. But both of them are creators and rulers. King, a ruler of the people. Poet, a ruler of words. They both do what they deem fit to their subjects. But one live longer than the other."
"Poetry indeed."
He muttered. She caressed his cheek gently and tasted his lips again.
"But their is a juxtaposition. A long sought explanation. You write about Poseidon not because you want to worship him, but belatedly and unknowingly, you worship him. What does that makes you, an unjust worshiper or one who doesn't know what he wants?"
She paused again,
"Same is your daughter, Prium."
"What do you mean?"
His eyes widened, trying to concentrate on what she had said, a motive of making a meaning of it.
"Time will test it and prove it to you. Aside the gods, time is the best teacher."
She stood up and faced him. She pushed him into the bed as he dragged himself up. She climbed on him and leaned forward,
"As you worship Poseidon with your reed pen on scrolls but love me with thy heart. And I void of jealousy, so will I share you with both Prium and Ayla if you wish, my Lord."
Vulcan shook his head as she brought his face closer to his. As soon as her face was hovering over his, her warm breath tracing light dances across his face, he uttered,
"Not I, Athena. Not after all you've done for me. I promise that as soon as my long lost muse return to me, you and you only shall be my praise. And I will share you with no one. Neither would you share me. For what mortal shall ridicule the love of a goddess who had stooped so low to love him unconditionally, against her father's will?"
She let her face off the restrain. She kissed him very passionately and with great demands.
"Just once, my Lord. One-time satisfaction of Ayla if not your daughter."
He rolled her over and climbed on him. He locked their lips again to stop her from talking. She moaned into his mouth.
"Just once my Lord."
She said again as he slid his hand down her body to her pussy. He pulled up her gown and plunged his fingers into the mini moo. Not letting go of her lips.
"Aren't you jealous?"
He breathed the words into her face and she chuckled softly, moaning in sequence,
"That's a mortal weakness the gods rule."
He kissed her again and again, taunting her pussy as she quaked under him, moving to the rhythm of his touch.
"Just once."
He admitted and kissed her again. Then he kissed his way down to her cleavages and roughened her boobs with his unruly face. He didn't even wait for her to remove her clothes. He couldn't.
With the other hand, he brought out his boner and slid it into her mini moo. He began to bang her as his hungry hands moved rhythmically and roughly over her boobs...
