Chapter Text
He gave Persephone a suite of rooms to be her own, her sitting-room and bedroom, bath and office. Up on the top floor of his mansion, and on the opposite side from his own rooms. It seemed more...polite. A place for her to retreat when she needed to. A door she could lock. Once he specified that she could decorate that space, and introduced her to the contractors he worked with, she drove into the project with determined concentration, letting it take up the free time that otherwise would have been filled with her thoughts (which were still so very tangled).
He told her not to worry about cost. To consider it a test of her organizational skill, her ability to plan and to direct other professionals. She gave him skeptical eyes at the time, but eventually the charm of so much *space* overwhelmed her inner objections. For several weeks he would come down to the kitchen for breakfast only to find her already dressed, poring over pictures of furniture or upholstery on her laptop, or on the phone discussing measurements and the comparative value of modern vs. Regency styles.
He let himself give very little direction.
"Go with your heart," he told her on a night when she seemed frustrated, overwhelmed with options.
The look he got in return was inscrutable, but she calmed down and returned to the project with renewed determination.
He strove to be accessible without being intrusive.
He strove not to ask about the boy.
Neither task was easy.
But as the weeks passed, he saw her gradually relaxing into herself. Her brittleness eased. She smiled more, and more genuinely, and that was worth...anything. That she would be happy, and more - that she would come to know her own ability, her strength and worth. That Apollo's crime had not stained her virtuous heart; that Artemis' violent revenge had broken it, but...hearts could heal, with time.
He heard her crying, sometimes, on his silent night patrol through the halls when sleep would not come. Slow sobs that ate away at his heart. But grieving was part of healing. And Cerberus was there for her; the beast would glance at his master before shrinking and ghosting through the door.
An animal's love was pure and undemanding. Certainly better for her than his poorly hidden feelings.
He did not pry into her project. Workers and delivery people came and went, objects carried upstairs or brought down to be hauled away. Rolls of carpet, pieces of furniture wrapped thickly in cushioning material. Packages large and small.
She invited Eros over - he appearing to have forgiven her any slight from her absence - and they closed themselves up in her rooms for hours.
He came down to the kitchen one night, a sketchbook under one arm, and leaned against the counter, looking at Hades who had been finishing his...fifth?...cup of coffee at the table, unread work reports from Underworld HQ spread out messily before him.
"She fell asleep upstairs," he told his host. "I just need a quick glass of water and I'll be out of your hair."
"Take your time," Hades said. "Persephone's guests are welcome here."
The younger God filled a glass and drank deeply.
"You - this is good water - you're doing well," he said, and sat at the table. "Don't think I don't see how hard this is on you."
Hades eyes Eros, and cleared his throat. "I'm fine," he lied. "I haven't been through any of the hardships Persephone has. All I've done is given her a safe place, which she should have had from the beginning."
Eros made a rude noise.
"You have a heart, Hades," he chided. "You've been wearing yourself out hiding it from her, but I know all and see all."
Hades picked up his coffee cup, ready to prepare a withering response, and...stared into the depths of black liquid. And said nothing.
"Like I said," Eros continued, "you're doing well. She needed distance, and she needed responsibility. Something to prove she wasn't all broken like she thought. How've you been dealing with it?"
"Work." He said without looking up. "Swimming. Taking the dogs out to run. More work."
"Good things," Eros said. "You're both healing. Honestly it's killing me how slow you two are moving, but I am not a great role model." Standing, he took his glass to the sink, then returned to place a hand on Hades' shoulder.
"You're getting there," he said, encouraging. "I think - when her rooms are done…"
"Have a safe flight home," Hades said forbiddingly.
Eros chuckled, and left.
Hades, annoyed but also comforted, ran both hands through his hair, sighed, and went to bed.
***
He came home, some days later, to a note on the fridge door, in her sweet round hand.
Project complete. Come upstairs.
He looked down at Big John, who tilted her head quizzically and whined at him.
"It’s go time," he told her.
He climbed the stairs, two bottles of flavored water cold from the fridge in his hands. There was a fragrance in the hallway to her rooms, growing as he approached the door, but not overpowering; a warm, soft woodsy scent shot through with tiny floral kisses.
It was nice.
He rapped the back of one full hand against the door, and heard a muffled "Come in!" from beyond.
Inside was...not what he had expected.
The lush carpet underfoot was a deep heather grey, with a graceful pattern of twining black lines. The walls were smooth, glowing cream. Inviting couches in muted jewel tones bookended the room. Small tables, a bookcase, a little chandelier with thin glass panes tinted antique gold and mild, subtle rose. Candles in little jars. A lattice hung on one wall supported some light, climbing vine.
There was a fat wingback chair near the window, and Persephone was there, in a t-shirt and leggings, one foot tucked up under her, the other swinging free. She sat there and smiled at him, nervous and proud, as he took in the room.
"I like this," he said eventually. "It's… soft. Welcoming."
"And not as pink as you feared," she said.
He focused his eyes on her, quirking an eyebrow, and clasped his hands to his chest as if covering a wound. "A hit!" He cried.
"You," she said with a twinkling eye, "are melodramatic."
He gasped and pressed the back of one hand to his forehead, feigning a swoon; and she giggled, and it was everything.
After a few seconds of just...basking in her happiness, Hades remembered why his hands were full, and held out a bottle for her. "A cold drink for the hard-working designer," he said. "It's just fruit water. I should have brought you champagne."
"No, this is perfect! Refreshing. I don't really enjoy alcohol that much...sweet drinks are too sticky and non-sticky drinks aren't sweet enough." She popped the bottle cap off and drank deeply, making a soft pleased sound.
He shivered. Watched her throat move with each long swallow. Turned his gaze away just in time.
"You've done really well with the space. Making it your own," he said. "Bravo."
"I liked working with the contractors," she said thoughtfully. "They knew so much, and didn't mind answering my questions, or brainstorming with me, but still following my - my vision? Oof, that sounds pretentious. But...that's what it was, in the end."
"I think it sounds exactly right," he told her.
She set her water aside, and stood. "Do you want to see the rest?" She asked him, with feigned diffidence. "There's no real change in theme…"
A blush rode her cheekbones as she glanced at him. She meant her bedroom, he realized, and cleared his throat.
"Persephone, that's your personal space," he said to her, quietly. "I certainly trust your vision with it. If you'd like to show me, I would like that. If you'd rather keep it private, that's fine, too."
She sighed out a breath.
"Maybe in a few days?" Her smile grew a little crooked, but didn't fade.
"Of course." Half-turning away, he gestured toward the open door. "If not champagne, shall we celebrate your project with pizza?"
Her face brightened; and with it, his heart.
They went downstairs together, talking lightly, their hands almost touching.
***
He came home prepared to talk with her about returning to work, but changed his mind as soon as he stepped inside. Persephone was on the living room couch, lying on her back with her legs hooked over the arm, socked feet dangling. She was in sweats, and looked...exhausted. One arm over her eyes, the other trailing to the floor where her phone lay facedown on the rug. Her hair had grown.
"Hades," she mumbled.
"Sweetness, are you all right? What happened?" He dropped his briefcase and rushed to her, knelt next to her, gently palmed her forehead to check her temperature. "Are you sick?"
She lowered her arm to look up at him, and he saw tear tracks on her face, misery in her eyes.
"Mother called," she sighed.
He winced. Demeter had not, as far as he was aware, come to see her daughter since Persephone had returned from the mortal realms; but he knew there had been long emails, and phone calls that left Persephone sad, or angry, or bitter. Or sometimes all three.
"She still wants you back home?" He asked gently. He pulled his hand away from her forehead, but she made a soft sound of protest, one he could not resist. He stroked her hair gently, letting just his fingertips comb through it, and she sighed with what sounded like relief.
"She just...won't listen to me. It's infuriating and it makes me sad," Persephone said. He could feel the tension of her frown under his hand. "And I'm realizing that...I can't change her, or wait around for her to change. I have to keep going forward. And...that means leaving her behind."
Her voice wavered. "How can I do that? Be strong enough for that? Why does it have to be a choice between betraying her, and betraying myself? It's not fair."
"It's not a betrayal just because she thinks it is," he said. "That's the unfairness. It's not right for her to ask for your whole life. And...you're strong enough to be your own person. You're stronger than I am."
"Flattery." She laughed, and pressed her head more firmly against his hand. "I approve."
They sat there for a while, quiet, connected by that gentle touch, and it was...good.
"I told her I wasn't coming back," she said eventually. "I don't belong there."
You belong here, his heart whispered; but it was only his heart, and she did not hear.
Eventually they got up and had dinner.
Things felt strange, that night, after they'd finished the dishes. Persephone wandered mothlike through the whole house, vanishing into her rooms for a while, then drifting through the kitchen, examining the titles of the books in his study. Alighting in the living room to pet one of the dogs, perching near where Hades sat pretending to read, then roving away again.
He was strongly aware of the white shift dress she had changed into, of her bare feet moving hushed across the carpet, of her subtle perfume. The way her moving disrupted air currents in the room. How real she was.
She was sitting on the stairs when he abandoned his book and headed for bed; he stopped on the bottom stair, and she met his eyes with a small, thoughtful smile.
"Kore…what's going on?"
She stood, and their differing elevation along the stairs put her at exactly his height.
"Leap of faith," she said. And leaned forward, back straight, giving in to gravity.
He caught her, pulling her tiny body in against him; she was hot as a flame, almost searing his palms where they touched the bare flesh of her arms.
She kissed him.
Her mouth was soft and hot against his and he gave in immediately, opening to her, letting her taste and explore. She kissed hungrily, completely, and his mind emptied of thought; there was nothing but Persephone, her plush body clinging to him, her little moans humming into his mouth.
He set her down onto the stairs and knelt, his body over hers, so his broad hand could roam her curves. The full swell of a hip, the sweet curve of her lower back, a velvety length of thigh. Her arms twined around his neck, pulling him down, and they sank into each other.
She broke the kiss first, breathing hard. “Hades,” she whispered against his mouth. “Feel what you’ve done to me.”
She took his hand in her own, and placed it flat against her stomach, right below the ribcage; he felt the heave of her breathing, the heat of her through the soft cotton of her dress. Slowly he moved his hand up to lie between her breasts and felt the flutter of her heart against his palm.
He lowered his head, resting against her shoulder, dazed. "Sweetness," he murmured against her throat, and she shifted beneath him. Both of them trembling. "Are you sure?"
"I'm done hiding," she said. "I'm done being afraid. Let's see what happens."
Another kiss, scorching, and he slid his hand across her softness to cup one heavy breast, the hard nub of her nipple pressing into his palm. She arched under him and moaned into the kiss; he took the tight, crinkled peak between thumb and forefinger, lightly squeezing and tugging, and her head fell back onto the stair, dark-eyed with shocked pleasure.
"Good?" He asked, indulgent, thick-voiced with lust, and she responded by grabbing his other hand and bringing it up to mirror its twin. No question what she needed; he gave it to her willingly, deliberate fingers finding her pleasure and manipulating it, gently rolling and pulling as she cried out beneath him. She laid her hands over his, keeping him in place, and he swallowed her delicious cries in another soul-shaking kiss.
He could stay like this forever. But she deserved more than a stairwell.
Her disappointment, when his hands moved from her breasts, was cut off by a squeak of surprise when he slid an arm around her back and lifted her up, easily, as if she were weightless. He cradled her in his arms like a bride and within a moment's passing, they were upstairs.
"Hades - my rooms," she said, and he detoured without question. Down the hall, through the sitting room with its rose and gold glow, into a bedroom that stopped him in his tracks.
It was filled with light.
The huge four-poster bed was hung with layers of gauzy curtain, and strings of fairy lights woven among them, creating a starry bower. More lights decked the window, twined along the tops of the walls, dripped down either side of the closet door. Their soft glow gilded the room.
"Sweetness...it's beautiful," he said. Surprised and pleased. He looked down and saw the smug happiness in her face. "It's perfect."
"I'm so pleased that you like it, Your Majesty," she said with a playfully exaggerated politesse that made his blood boil. He set her down, and firmly, slowly, shut the door. Reigniting the sweet tension between them. He watched as she drew in a deep, steadying breath.
"Take off your shirt," she told him.
He complied, wordlessly, unbuttoning and sliding out of the dress shirt, letting it fall to the floor. He was blind for a moment, pulling the undershirt up over his head, and when he could see again she was right there, looking at him.
She touched him, a single fingertip trailing a line of fire across his stomach, and said, "You're beautiful."
Her eyes, flicking up to meet his, were dark and wide, hungry.
He knew his were the same.
She rose up on tiptoe, and he bent down to meet her. They kissed deep and sweet, rocking gently with the rhythm of it, the moving give-and-take; her pursuit and then his. His hands spanning her back, caressing; finally discovering the little hidden zipper, and pulling it down just an inch, experimental.
She pulled closer into him and made a wordless sound of approval.
Delicately, deliberately, he drew the bit of metal down, and down, past the curve of her ass, until the light fabric separated completely, and she let go of him just long enough to wriggle out of it.
She had been nude underneath the dress.
A groan wrenched out of Hades and he pulled her up into his arms again; her legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck, and the whole of her body pressed against his chest, nothing at all between. She was light, soft as silk, furnace hot against his belly; he could, he realized, feel her scorching wetness on his bare skin.
Turning them, he collapsed backward onto her bed, sucking in breath, cradling her.
"You're impossible," he sighed. "I may not survive this."
"You left your pants on," she said. "No fair making me work for it."
She was a glowing vision above him, her hair a backlit halo of curls. Lust flushed her skin a darker rose. He reached out and cradled the side of her face in one big hand, brushing his thumb against her bottom lip; and breathed out an oath when she opened her mouth, sliding down around the thick digit, her tongue darting around it soft and wet. Muscles in his groin twitched and tightened.
She held his eyes as she sucked at him, moving in a deliberate, obvious reference, and he answered by moving his free hand to her hip and pushing down as he arced up beneath her; letting her feel the length of his erection pressed hard against her, grinding her over it.
Thoroughly distracted, she let his hand fall away and closed her eyes, forehead creasing slightly in concentration. "A - again," she demanded, breathy.
He obliged. Both hands on her hips, now, lifting and positioning her, slowly rolling up and then down beneath her. She leaned forward, resting her hands on his chest, and took up the rocking motion by herself; he watched as she rode him, seeking her own pleasure, and felt delirious and blissful.
Panting. Grinding. Lost in her need. He took his hands away, letting her move on her own, and watched her mouth fall open when he found her breasts again, tweaking and thumbing her nipples.
"Oh...oh!" She said, and then cried out, her trembling voice filling the room. "Oh, Hades!"
He felt her slip over the edge. Waves shaking through her body. He let go and slipped his arms around her, pulling her down, supporting her as she shook through her climax.
"Good, good," he was murmuring to her. "You came so good, Sweetness. So beautiful. Goddess. Just relax. Feel how it rolls through you."
"Hhnmmmm," she said.
***
They lay tangled there for a while. He rubbed her back, and slowly her breathing steadied. He ached...but it was a good ache; it was worth anything to lie here, holding her.
"Did you come?" She asked eventually, and he chuckled.
"No, but that's all right. We don't have to go further if you aren't ready. That was…" he smiled down at her. "Amazing."
"It was amazing," she agreed, and slid herself sideways off of his chest. Reaching down, she pulled free the button of his trousers, and he inhaled sharply.
"Unless you don't want me to?" Persephone looked back up at him; she was disheveled and mischievous and still glowing. The zipper tab held lightly between her fingertips.
"Please," he said, "I definitely do want."
She smirked; then she pulled, and he lifted up, and then he was naked in her bed and she was...staring. At his face.
"Everything all right?" He asked, amused.
She huffed at him. "Just give me a minute! It's a big step." She trailed one slow hand down from his chest, over his stomach, feeling her way. "I mean. I felt you...but looking is a little different."
"You set the pace," he told her. "You're adorable, though."
Further teasing was cut off when he felt her questing hand wrap around him. Banked fires rekindled in a blaze; he groaned and let his head fall back.
She traced his length, first hesitantly, then growing more sure. Hades gripped the blanket beneath him and tried not to writhe, or buck up into her touch; anything that might startle her. His sounds, though, were inevitable.
Both her hands were around him, now, tight and hot. He felt the rest of the world slipping away. Nothing mattered but his goddess and her touch, and the blazing, tightening ache in his belly.
And she let go.
His head jerked up from the pillow at this sudden abandonment. But she wasn't gone. She slung a leg over him and suddenly, deliciously, he felt the heat and wet of her again.
She looked down at him, and for a moment the radiant light behind her was a halo...a crown.
Then she was sliding down, stretching and filling herself with his straining cock, and he felt the velvet fire inside her, and couldn't stand it.
"Kore!" He gasped, and gripped her thighs, arching beneath her so sharply that her knees left the mattress for a second; then again, and again, his control shredded by her sweetness. She clung to his arms and he heard her cries of pleasure; she rocked and thrust with him, her head lolling back on her shoulders.
"More!" She begged, or commanded, and he growled his agreement. He rolled them over in the bed, pinning her beneath him, spreading his knees to push her legs higher and further apart; and pulling her head back, he kissed her again, all their cries and gasps subsumed into that connection.
The whole room around them was engulfed in their fire; the whole world was.
She began shuddering beneath him, her little toes curling, legs around his hips pulling him in, and lightning pleasure shot up his spine and exploded in his head. He felt the long, tight convulsions of her orgasm around him, and let go. Coming apart. Vaporizing.
***
Persephone blinked up at the golden haze above her. Eventually she remembered that it was the ceiling.
Hades was lying on her. He was an agreeable, soft weight, warm and solid, anchoring.
She had not been destroyed.
Rather, it seemed, she was melted and reformed; strengthened, annealed in flame and rebuilt with an inner core of shining steel.
She felt whole. She felt invincible.
Hades murmured something unintelligible into her ear, and she stroked his hair, and smiled.
She'd found home, after going so far.
And it was good.