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"When you've spent centuries being told that your desires are inherently bad, or that you're not who you know you are, eventually you either give in...or you lose your filter completely."
"Why are you doing this?" Hades croaked as he peered up at Seph through hooded eyelids. Seph's brows were drawn in concern. He shook his head. "You're in pain. If there's a way to alleviate it for even a little while, then that's worth it to me."
"I'm her child—and so she expects me to be as easy to sculpt as a field. She never does anything wrong. She only wants what's best for me. If I suffocate from how tightly she hugs me, then it's my fault for not relaxing into her grasp."
Hades had never seen himself as gorgeous in any sense of the word. He didn't have Zeus's light nor Poseidon's sleek, fluid movements. Hephaestus had a gripping stare, like searing coals, and Hermes was as mercurial as a breeze tickling over bare skin. But somehow when Seph whispered that one word, Hades found himself believing it. He succumbed to being seen, arching his back with a shuddering gasp.
"Stop. Torturing. Yourself. For me," Seph whispered between kisses. Then he held him tightly, a warm barrier against spine-covered terror. "Stop. Stop, stop, stop." "I want to be better than this..." "You are exactly who I want you to be." Seph sucked in a gasp of wet air, speaking through quiet tears. "Upon my word, whatever fears you have, whatever pain you feel, I don't care for you despite them. They're a part of you. Do you understand? And whatever makes up who you are? That's what I'm falling deeper and deeper for every time I see you."
He'd shaped himself to be precisely what he saw in his head, and Hades wanted to weep with joy.
