Hephaestus & Aphrodite

This is a long one. Please enjoy!

***

When Hephaestus first lifted his wife's veil, he thought he must be the luckiest man - gods and mortals alike - to have ever lived.

She was the most beautiful, perfect thing he'd seen. She was Aphrodite, the goddess of love, and he was taken with her. His sea-foam wife, two sparkling eyes like the ocean with flecks of green and gold, framed by long lashes, and soft golden hair that cascaded down to her waist. The mere suggestion of her body beneath her wedding dress made his breath catch, the shape of her waist and her breasts, her hips and her legs, the way she swayed like water lapping.

He was not a man for poetry, but he thought that perhaps he would try for her.

It took no more than a second for the lustful heat of her stare to fade and her perfect pink lips to form a line. The way she looked at him made him feel as if he had no skin at all, as if she could see every bit of him. And she did not find it pleasant. Her brows furrowed into a scowl.

Hephaestus felt as if his world had ended, but his calloused hands continued their work, lifting the veil, taking her hand, and placing the ring upon it.

The ring was carved from a chip of the Omphalos stone, the heart of the earth in Delphi. He'd worked tirelessly to carve and fashion it into a band and it was a beautiful ring, one that would fit perfectly on her dainty finger.

But as he slid it on her finger, she didn't so much as glance at it, and he realized his mistake. Even the most beautiful things could not compare to his wife's beauty. The rough stone against her porcelain finger was an unfair contrast.

He was suddenly taken by the urge to pry the ring off and hide it in his workshop, but that wasn't an option. It had been made and given, and even though she didn't want it, it was hers.

After a moment, he let go of her hand.

"Let us all raise a glass in honor of the sacred couple," said Hera, his mother. She raised a goblet of nectar, and on the stone steps of Mount Olympus, the entire pantheon did the same.

Hephaestus stood beside his new wife and stared at her, waiting for a reaction. She didn't give one. Her expression was stony, cold, and the only motion was her chest rising and falling in a breath.

"She'll come around," Poseidon whispered, to the right of Hephaestus. "Aphrodite is stubborn, but she can see the heart of people."

The rest of the wedding passed by in a blur. Aphrodite remained still, silent, and her chilly, indifferent beauty was the only thing she seemed capable of expressing. Her face didn't change, even when Hera gave a long-winded speech about the union and their future, and even when Dionysus and Hermes got into a drunken brawl on the lawn.

Around midnight, one of the fiery horses escaped from Ares' chariot and ran wildly about, its master too intoxicated to catch it. As it flew past in a blaze of heat, Aphrodite yelped and leapt away from it, tumbling into Hephaestus.

He caught her, wrapping a strong arm around her to hold her steady. She was warm and soft. It made his heart race in his chest and his cock stir in his pants. It was an automatic reaction to her closeness, to the way her hair smelled like sea-salt and her body fit against his.

He wanted to pull her closer, run his fingers through her long curls and touch her, taste her, fill her up, make her moan his name and tremble beneath him. The thought of plunging his length inside her had him so hard that he had to fight to keep himself from lifting her and pressing her against the closest pillar. As if she knew what he was thinking, her whole body went rigid.

"Sorry," he murmured, and she jerked away as if he'd struck her.

Of course, he was the last person she would ever want to touch her, he realized, and a dark shadow crept into his mind. She was lust itself and he was barely a god; a twisted, misshapen thing. She deserved someone beautiful, like herself.

After the ceremony, Hephaestus retreated back to his workshop, certain Aphrodite would not want his company for the night.

There, he threw himself into his work. There was no shortage of things to be done: a dozen new shields to forge for Athena, a lyre to carve for Hermes, and the ever-growing list of weapons for Ares. But the thought of his new wife wouldn't leave his mind. His eyes were clouded with the vision of her, the sound of her voice, the shape of her. He'd never craved anything more.

His hands twisted raw glowing metal, and his mind turned over and over, thinking of how he could have her.

After several hours of this, he couldn't stand it any more. He limped out of his forge and across the courtyard, up the stairs and towards his bedroom. There was a small hope in his heart that maybe, just maybe, she did want him. Or that even if she didn't, maybe she could tolerate one night with him, enough for him to feel the pleasure of her body. The door swung open with a rush of cold air.

But the bedroom was dark. There were no candles lit and the fire had gone out, and his bed was empty.

***

Aphrodite sighed and let her hair flow free into the milky bath.

Lotuses floated all around her. They were her favorite flowers, with their white petals and yellow hearts, beautiful and mysterious. They were rare, and that made them even more special, as they only grew on the banks of the river Styx at the entrance to Hades. When Aphrodite was newly formed from the sea, she used to sneak down to the underworld to pick the lotuses, and Zeus would scold her when she came back to Olympus, dirty and reeking of death.

Now, though, she could have her fill. The lotuses were a gift from Hephaestus, along with the other dozen or so offerings he'd presented her with. She examined her hand, which was dripping wet. On her finger was the ring he'd given her, and she twisted it around.

"More nectar, my lady?"

"Thank you, Aglaia," Aphrodite replied to her handmaiden, nodding towards her goblet.

The Three Graces; Aglaia, Thalia and Euphrosyne, were attending her at her bath. In their own right, they were goddesses of charm, youth, and beauty, but beside her, they paled. Even for a goddess, she was stunning, with her ivory skin and golden locks. Euphrosyne began washing her hair, while Thalia rubbed her delicate hands, and Aglaia poured nectar into Aphrodite's goblet.

The goddess of love let her gaze drift to the horizon. A few clouds were beginning to roll in and the wind was picking up, bringing the smell of salt and sand to her nose.

Her bath was set upon a cliff, high above the sea. It was a sheer drop down to the water, and beyond that, a rocky coastline, with waves crashing against the jagged rocks. But in the bath it was warm and smelled of lotuses. She liked that. To be comfortable while the world whipped around her. From here, she could often hear sirens singing, though they always fled when she came near.

"Your husband is quite enamored with you," Euphrosyne said, massaging Aphrodite's scalp, "A year together and still, a new gift every day."

Aphrodite nodded, though she didn't care to hear it. Her husband's gifts were all very nice, but she had no use for them. He had already built her a new house and filled it with fine furniture and clothes. Her gardens were brimming with all kinds of plants and animals, and her bedchambers were draped in silk and satin.

"Look what he has brought today," said Aglaia, holding up a box.

She opened the lid to show her lady, and Aphrodite saw that inside was a small silver swan. It was beautiful, with tiny diamonds set into it, and a beak inlaid with gold. As she watched, it spread its wings and flew, fluttering about the bath and leaving a trail of silvery light.

"That's lovely," said Aphrodite, though the sight of it made her feel cold.

"There's a necklace as well," said Euphrosyne, taking another box from Aglaia. "And a pair of earrings."

Aphrodite waved a hand before Euphrosyne could open it. "Keep them."

"Oh, we couldn't-"

"Yes, keep them. You can share them."

The Graces looked at each other and smiled. "It would be an honor, my lady," said Thalia, setting down the brush.

Aphrodite sank further into her bath and closed her eyes. The swan was fluttering all about the bath, and its silver light shone irritatingly bright behind her eyelids.

"Leave me be," she said to her handmaidens, "I'd like to finish my bath in peace."

"As you wish, my lady."

She waited until all she heard was the ocean crashing below and the cry of seagulls overhead. Then she opened her eyes. The swan landed on the edge of the bath and folded its wings, looking at her as if to ask 'what next?'

She picked up a bottle and poured oil onto her palms. Then, she rubbed her hands together, and smoothed her wet hair, letting it fall down her shoulders and back. The wind caught it and blew it across her face, and she brushed it aside. Aphrodite leaned forward, looking at her faint reflection in the white liquid. She could see the sky above her, and her golden curls spread out all around her, framing her face. Beautiful, as always.

Then she stood. The milk ran in rivulets down her body, dripping off her breasts and pooling at her feet. She stretched as she stepped out of the bath and onto the cool rock of the cliff. The swan followed her, and as it flitted about, she could still see its path in the air.

She walked naked to the edge of the cliff and looked out over the ocean. It was vast, dark blue, and roiling beneath her. Waves crashed against the jagged rocks, spraying salty mist and sending up gouts of foam. She thought to herself that Poseidon must have been particularly irritated today, for it to be churning so viciously.

She twisted her ring off of her finger and watched the light play across its surface for a moment. She knew it was made from the artifact Omphalos, and therefore symbolic, but still she couldn't fathom why he would fashion a band of stone for a woman like her; Aphrodite deserved nothing less than diamonds.

She let it drop from her fingers. The ring hit once, twice, dashed against the rocks until it disappeared from her sight. She stared after it for a moment.

And then, under the watchful eye of sun and sea, she took all of her husband's gifts to the edge of the cliff. And one by one, she threw them into the craggy depths.

***

"I need a new spear."

Hephaestus looked up from his work where his brother, Ares, was standing in the doorway. The god of war was fully outfitted in bronze and red, and as he took his helmet off the spatter of red on his cheeks made it clear he'd come from battle. He leaned heavily against the doorframe.

"Is that right?" Hephaestus asked, looking back down at his workbench, "What about the spear I just made?"

"I broke it."

"Broke it."

"Yes," Ares answered, crossing his arms, "It didn't break easily. I commend you on your skill."

Hephaestus replied, "Perhaps you ought to consider treating your things better. After all, you do not have an inexhaustible supply..."

"Don't be difficult," said Ares, stepping into the room now, "I'm asking nicely."

"I don't have time. Maybe Athena has a spear lying around that she would let you borrow."

Hephaestus knew this would needle him, and he was right. Ares' lip curled up to reveal a grimace, "Athena has many things, but she would never share them with me. I wouldn't want her weapons, regardless. Come, Hephaestus, what is one spear? What could you be working on that's really more important than the war?"

"There is always something more important than war," Hephaestus replied, looking at him, "My work, my wife-"

"Your wife," Ares chuckled, shaking his head, "How is the lovely Aphrodite? Perhaps I should visit her. She bores easily, I could keep her occupied."

Ares was trying to rile him, and Hephaestus had the mind not to respond. Still, the thought of his brother's hands on his wife's flesh was enough to make his blood boil, and he gripped the tabletop tightly. He had always suspected there was something there, and Ares loved to imply it.

"She's doing very well," Hephaestus answered, "Thank you for asking."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

Hephaestus didn't rise to the challenge, instead he ignored the question.

"It must be difficult to be with a woman who loves so freely. We all appreciate your-"

"Careful, brother."

They stared at each other for a moment, leveling their gazes, and Ares relented first. He had to, if he wanted an ounce of assistance from his brother. "What's one more spear if it's the difference between victory and defeat?"

"You're losing, then?" Hephaestus had little interest in war.

"No."

"Then what does it matter?"

"It's not that we are losing. It's that we aren't winning. There is no glory in long, drawn-out battle," Ares' words came out like a growl, and his fists clenched at his sides.

"This might be the one thing you and I can actually agree on."

For a moment, Ares looked shocked by that. Then he added, "Perhaps we can also agree on a spear..."

Hephaestus sighed. "Fine, brother. One more spear, and only to shut you up. And," he cut off Ares' reply before it left his lips, "I'll make it only after I've finished my current project."

Ares looked like he wanted to argue, but he realized that it was pointless. Instead, he gave a tight smile and a nod. He seemed emasculated by having to ask for help in the first place. "Very well," he said finally.

Hephaestus went back to his work, hoping it would signal a quick end to the conversation. He hated having visitors in his workspace any longer than necessary.

But Ares lingered a minute longer in the doorway, as though he wanted to say something else. He seemed torn. Eventually, with no acknowledgement from Hephaestus or desire to stay and make small talk, he put his helmet back on and faded into the darkness, disappearing from the forge and making his way upstairs.

Hephaestus glanced up once to be sure he was gone, then he looked back down at the project he had been working on and bit the inside of his cheek. Considering. Devising.

In his hands, he twisted a length of gold rope, testing its give and its flexibility, considering whether it would suffice for the job it had to do. To rival the power of two gods, it would have to be strong indeed.

***

On the eve of the Nemean Festival, Aphrodite watched the sun set over Corinth. She lingered upon the rooftop of her temple to watch its final descent, until the last hint of scarlet had faded into purple, and the sky was growing dark. A final, riotous blend of colors stretched in an arc across the horizon and went west with Apollo's chariot.

This was the time that she felt most alive. In the liminal phase of day and night, when men carried their wives to bed and cries of passion echoed within the city, she was delighted to listen.

She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn't realize that she wasn't alone on the roof. The god of war was sitting quietly in the shadows. When she turned away from the western sky and saw him, she smiled brightly.

"Ares," she greeted him.

He was sitting on a ledge, his back against a flattering mural of Aphrodite. His muscular, olive-skinned arms were folded across his broad chest, his dark hair tousled, his handsome face a mask of impassivity. She wanted to climb into his lap and run her hands over the curves of his shoulders, trace his collarbone, and feel the hardness of his chest, but the look on his face stopped her.

He was staring down at the ground far below the temple, where the marketplace had been closed and the stalls were being cleared out for the night. Somewhere a woman was screaming, and a man was cursing loudly. On any other night, perhaps it would have been a peaceful scene, but his mere presence appealed to the baser instincts of the mortals below. The company of both rage and lust tended to bring out the worst in people.

"You're quiet tonight," Aphrodite added, interrupting his stirrings.

"I've been thinking."

"Really?" she said in such a dry tone of voice that he had to look up, "It's unlike you."

He grinned at her, teeth flashing, but his smile was brief and his thoughts soon darkened his expression again. "I've been considering your proposal."

"And?"

"Perhaps it's time," he said, "The war has been going on for nearly ten years. I tire of this." For a moment, he looked like he couldn't quite believe that he had said that. "It's time for victory, for bloodshed, on one side or the other."

Aphrodite stood, her silk gown swirling around her ankles, and hopped up to sit beside him. "And which side do you favor?"

"The Achaeans are the better choice," he admitted, "They have the city surrounded. If the Trojans lose their walls, they will have nowhere left to go."

"You sound like Athena," she said, and Ares' lip curled in disgust at the mention of his sister, "She has always favored the Achaeans, but she's realizing now that the walls are strong, and her pride will not allow her to admit she is wrong. I know that you're better than that."

"You flatter me, Aphrodite," Ares said. His voice sent a pleasant shiver through her. She leaned against him, letting her breasts brush his arm.

"So then, will you help? My stance hasn't changed; Troy will be victorious."

He seemed to be humoring her. "What of Achilles? What of the prophecy?"

"Achilles is of no concern. A single man can't breach the walls of Troy," Aphrodite waved a dismissive hand, "And you know that I don't believe in prophecies."

"You don't have a mind for war, darling."

"Then I'm fortunate to have you for a lover," she took his hand in hers, and her lips caressed his fingertips. He growled low in his throat. She continued, "You know what you have to do. Secure this victory for us. For the glory of Troy, the Achaeans will burn in Hades, and we'll celebrate for a thousand years. None will survive your wrath."

He breathed a sigh of capitulation, "What would I do without you, my goddess? For you, and only you, I will do it." The proclamation was followed by a deep, hungry kiss that made her lightheaded.

Aphrodite grinned wickedly when she pulled away from him, "Agamemnon will be the first to go."

Ares nodded and kissed her again, "For you, my love, I will crush his skull beneath my heel. I will see his army decimated. My spear will tear through the flesh of every man. They will beg me for mercy, but none will come."

Aphrodite shivered at his words and the promise of bloodshed. She kissed first his lips, and then his jaw, and then his throat. "I can't wait to celebrate your victory," she whispered suggestively against his neck.

"Why must you provoke me so?"

"You know it's terribly easy to do."

He reached out and seized her waist. The silk of her gown was so fine that he could feel every curve of her. His fingers pressed firmly into her hips, and she arched into his touch.

When he kissed her, she melted into his touch. The sensation of him pressed against her, the heat of his body, was something that she craved. But abruptly, she pulled away.

"What is it?" Ares asked, his eyes bleary with lust. He looked like he had to restrain himself from pushing her to the floor in a rush of need.

"My husband," she said slowly, "He is in Lemnos tonight."

Ares nodded in understanding, a smile already creeping onto his lips.

Aphrodite had long since stopped feeling guilty for her affairs. They were part of her nature, as essential as breathing. Love, and its subsequent infidelities, were her domain. Besides, so long as she kept her lovers secret, Hephaestus didn't seem to care much what she did.

The only times he was out of his workshop were on one of his trips to the volcanic islands in search of minerals or to frequent Lemnos late at night, to lay his blessings upon the most driven workers who were still awake at such a late hour.