Spectating from afar

Aphrodite sighed, satisfied, as she ran a manicured hand over her lips, wiping away the last remnants of Liam’s pleasure. The taste of it lingered on her tongue, but she didn’t bother with water—she liked the reminder of their little rendezvous. Liam had been fun, a sweet little mortal plaything, but she had bigger things to indulge in now.

With a snap of her fingers, the bedroom dissolved around her, the air thickening with the scent of ambrosia and ozone as she stepped through the shimmering golden veil into Olympus.

The Pantheon Lounge—her chosen destination—was nestled high above the city of the gods, a sprawling open-air pavilion of gold and white marble, suspended in the clouds with no visible support. The air was warm and perfumed with exotic spices, the sky a never-ending canvas of deep purples and shifting oranges, stuck in an eternal golden hour.

It was the perfect place for divine indulgence—low velvet seating, flowing wines, golden chandeliers that held floating flames, and a bar staffed by lesser gods whose only purpose was to serve and worship. It wasn’t a place for business—unless you were Aphrodite, and business was always pleasure.

She strolled in, barefoot, silk trailing behind her, wearing a sheer, blush-colored gown that clung to every curve, deep-cut in the front to tease the fullness of her breasts, the delicate fabric gathered at her waist before spilling down in slits that revealed the golden glow of her thighs. Thin golden chains draped across her collarbones, weaving down her chest and looping around her hips, serving no purpose but to glorify her body.

She snapped her fingers, and the entire lounge shifted, responding to her will. The seating rearranged itself, forming an intimate half-circle around a floating golden screen—a divine stage for the entertainment she was about to provide.

A flick of her wrist, and the call was made.

“Mnemosyne,” she purred, tilting her head.

Nothing. No answer.

The silence stretched, unbothered, and Aphrodite smirked. Figures. Mnemosyne, the old hag, never answered when she didn’t feel like it.

Fine.

“Tyche.”

A beat. And then—

A sharp crack of golden energy and a flash of dice tumbling in midair, and Tyche materialized onto one of the plush seats, already mid-sip of a golden goblet of wine, as if she’d been drinking it elsewhere and the teleportation hadn’t disrupted a single drop.

“‘Dite,” she greeted, leaning back, long legs stretching out. Tyche was effortlessly beautiful, as always—a careless kind of gorgeousness that didn’t need effort. Her lavender long sleeve crop top was showed off her waist, exposing the shimmer of freckled skin. Gold bangles stacked high on her wrists, and her wavy golden hair was thrown into a half-messy knot, with a pair of dice tucked into it like accessories.

Aphrodite’s gaze narrowed.

“You’ve been keeping secrets, darling,” she murmured.

Tyche didn’t flinch, but there was a glint in her eye. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Aphrodite hummed, turning away.

“Hermes.”

A gust of wind kicked up the edges of her gown, and in an instant, Hermes lounged lazily atop the bar, already peeling an apple with a golden dagger.

“Hey, cutie,” he grinned, dark curls spilling over his forehead. “Missed me already?”

Hermes, unlike the others, didn’t dress to impress—he never needed to. He wore a loose hoodie over some dark sweatpants that were tucked into some sneakers. He looked like a rogue prince, all charm and ease.

Aphrodite waved him off. “Don’t flatter yourself, courier. You’re here to watch.”

Hermes winked, completely unbothered, and stole a sip from Tyche’s goblet.

Finally, she turned, and her lips curled as she spoke the last name.

“Ares.”

The air changed.

The warmth of the lounge was instantly charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. A deep, rumbling thunder echoed somewhere in the distance, and then—

A violent burst of red energy ripped through the space, heat rolling off in waves, as Ares manifested in the center of the room.

He was as devastating as ever—broad-shouldered, chiseled, and radiating raw power. He wore a red bomber jacket over a t-shirt, and a pair of dark metal cuffs gleamed at his wrists. And his eyes—those deep, burning embers—fixed directly onto Aphrodite.

A slow curl of her lips. “My, my. Still so dramatic.”

Ares rolled his shoulders, jaw tight, clearly displeased. “I assume this isn’t a social call.”

“Oh, but it is,” she purred, reclining into her seat. “It’s a showing. And you, my dear Ares, are the guest of honor.”

Ares’ brow furrowed, and for the first time, uncertainty flickered in his expression.

Aphrodite turned to the floating golden screen, and with a snap of her fingers, it lit up, glowing to life.

And there, on full display. Damian Kane. In his bedroom.

And waiting for a woman. Waiting for Luna.

Aphrodite grinned, leaning forward. Ares’ gaze darkened, his stance shifting slightly, an instinctive reaction to something he hadn’t prepared for.

Hermes let out a low whistle, and Tyche arched a brow, finally understanding why she’d been summoned.

“Oh, fuck,” Tyche muttered. Aphrodite purred, tilting her head.

“Now, now,” she said, eyes dancing with mischief, “let’s all watch together, shall we?”

Aphrodite lounged luxuriously on her chaise, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as the golden screen flickered to life. The image was clear, the divine equivalent of a live broadcast, showing Damian Kane in his bedroom. Waiting.

Ares crossed his arms over his broad chest, his expression unreadable as he glanced at the screen. “What the fuck is this?”

Aphrodite smiled slowly, like a lioness stretching after a kill. “That, darling, is your boy.”

Ares’ jaw tensed, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Explain.”

Tyche and Hermes exchanged looks, the latter tossing a lazy smirk in Aphrodite’s direction. Tyche, however, sipped her wine, knowing what was coming.

Aphrodite exhaled dramatically, swirling a goblet of ambrosia in one hand before finally indulging him.

“Well, if you must know, I’ve been having a little… fun.” She gestured vaguely at the screen. “Our lovely Damian Kane, your prized mortal, the golden boy you oh-so-adore? He’s in the middle of being thoroughly undone. And I am delighted to say that it is my doing.”

Ares’ gaze snapped back to her, burning now, the rage bubbling just beneath the surface. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Hermes chuckled, biting into his apple, entirely unbothered. “She cursed a mortal.”

Ares’ eyes narrowed. Tyche sighed, setting her goblet down. “Not just any mortal. The one on their way to Damian’s room right now.”

Ares’ gaze jerked back to the screen just as the camera view shifted, following the movement of a woman walking down the hall.

A woman in deep red lace. A woman with long, silken hair, flawless skin, and curves that had men praying to gods they didn’t believe in.

The woman who was about to ruin Damian Kane.

Ares’ glare sharpened. “Who is that?”

Aphrodite grinned.

“That,” she purred, “is our little cursed mortal. The one who called me a bitch in a bar.” She flicked a manicured nail, as if the memory still annoyed her. “I wasn’t in the mood to let that go, so I decided to be… creative.”

Ares’ fists clenched at his sides. “You cursed them?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Aphrodite said breezily. “I merely gave them a few trials in the form of a curse. A chance to redeem themselves.”

Tyche snorted. “A six-month, gender-bending, sexuality-warping curse.”

Aphrodite waved a hand. “Details.”

Ares’ patience was razor-thin now. “Explain. Now.”

Aphrodite sighed as if she were exhausted by his lack of divine omniscience.

“Fine. The mortal—who was a man—insulted me, and I decided to play a game. They’re now undergoing some trials to prove their devotion to love, femininity, and all that I embody. Each trial pushes them further, changing them permanently if they fail. Oh, and they’ve already completed two.”

Ares’ lip curled. “And this trial? What does Damian have to do with this?”

Aphrodite smirked, reclining back.

“Oh, this one is my favorite,” she purred. “This trial is all about breaking your little warlord. I want Damian Kane on his knees—figuratively, of course. Though, with any luck, literally won’t be far behind.”

Ares’ rage flickered white-hot, but he didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe.

He simply watched as the screen shifted, as the woman in red pushed open Damian’s door, as Damian turned, his eyes dark, his jaw tight, his entire body going taut at the sight of her.

Tyche let out a low whistle. “Oh, he wants that.”

Hermes smirked. “I’d say she has his full attention.”

Ares’ teeth clenched, but he said nothing. His entire body was rigid, coiled with barely-contained fury. On the screen, the woman—no, Aphrodite’s little plaything—stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Damian exhaled, slow and controlled, but his eyes—those sharp, ruthless eyes—never left her.

The woman smirked, stepping closer, the sway of her hips intoxicating. Aphrodite practically purred, watching it unfold.

“Oh, he’s already gone,” she murmured in delight.

Damian reached out, grabbing the woman’s waist, pulling her against him. She gasped softly, but her hands pressed against his chest, teasing, testing—

And then his mouth was on hers.

Tyche leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “And there it is.”

Ares’ breathing was sharp, and Hermes just grinned, amused.

The kiss was slow at first—a battle of dominance. But then Damian’s grip tightened, one hand tangling into her hair, tilting her head back as his lips devoured hers, the hunger in his movements unmistakable.

Aphrodite’s grin widened. “Oh, I knew he’d be a good kisser.”

The screen flickered again, and soon the woman sank to her knees. Aphrodite sighed in bliss. “And that’s my cue to refill my wine.”

Hermes outright laughed, tossing a grape in his mouth. “Oh, this is so much better than the usual Olympian drama.”

Tyche lifted her goblet. “To ruining Ares’ golden boy.”

Ares didn’t respond. Because on the screen, Damian Kane’s head tilted back, his mouth parting in a sharp inhale, as the woman on her knees took him into her mouth.

Ares’ fists cracked like thunder. Aphrodite only smirked. And kept watching.

Aphrodite swirled her wine, eyes gleaming as she lounged back into the plush velvet of Olympus’ divine lounge. The screen before them flickered with golden light, casting an ethereal glow across the chamber. The scene unfolding on it was one she’d been anticipating with the satisfaction of a goddess who always got what she wanted.

Tyche leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she examined the screen with open amusement. “Well, well, well. This is escalating quickly.”

Hermes grinned, tossing a handful of grapes into his mouth. “I love it when mortals get this messy.” He gestured vaguely to the screen. “And look at our little trial-runner. _Fully _committed.”

Aphrodite turned her sharp gaze to Tyche, voice smooth but laced with warning. "I know what you did with Marcus, darling. Stacking the odds in their favor? Cute. But you stopped, so I suppose I can be merciful." She smiled, all saccharine sweetness, but Tyche’s knuckles whitened around her goblet.

Then, her attention slid to Hermes, and her expression soured. "And you—" she exhaled, waving a dismissive hand. "You're always meddling, and it's so fucking exhausting. But at least you’ve started slacking off, which is the only reason I haven't made you my personal footrest by now."

Hermes just grinned lazily, reclining further into the couch. "Aw, ‘Dite, you say that like it's a bad thing."

Ares, on the other hand, looked like he was about two seconds from launching a war. His jaw was clenched, shoulders tight, fists pressed into his thighs as he glared at the screen with the kind of barely-contained fury that only Ares could manage. His entire aura was burning hot, simmering on the edge of ****.

“You cursed them,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous thing. “And now you’re making them do this?”

Aphrodite sighed, sipping from her goblet. “Oh, Ares, don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like I **** them to suck Damian’s cock.”

Ares’ fists tightened, knuckles white. Tyche smirked. “No, but you did make sure they’d want to.”

Aphrodite’s lips curled, pleased. “Exactly.”

On the screen, the cursed mortal—her beautiful little project—was on their knees now, looking so pretty in that lace. Damian’s hands gripped their hair, head tilting back, body rigid with pleasure.

Tyche exhaled a low whistle. “Wow. He’s already gone, huh?”

Hermes chuckled. “Oh, he’s so gone.”

Ares growled under his breath. “You planned this.”

Aphrodite beamed at him. “Of course I did. I'm not the average ex-girlfriend, but I thought you knew that already.”

The screen flickered—showing Damian’s hands tightening, fingers tangling into that silken hair. The mortal on their knees was enthusiastic, fully absorbed in their task, head bobbing in rhythm as Damian’s abs clenched with every movement.

Ares exhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring.

Tyche took another sip of her wine, watching Damian’s face, his parted lips, the way his control was fraying. “You have to admit, this is deliciously ironic. Your little mortal here? They’re undoing him.”

Aphrodite sighed in pleasure. “It’s poetic.”

Ares’ glare could have burned holes through the screen.

The room was thick with tension, the only sounds the soft clink of goblets and the wet, obscene noises coming from the screen.

Hermes popped another grape into his mouth. “I’m just saying, if I had money on this, I would’ve bet against Damian breaking this fast.” He smirked. “Guess 'Dite really does know her game.”

Aphrodite preened, flicking her golden hair over her shoulder. “Obviously.”

Ares clenched his jaw, his eyes locked onto the screen, watching.

Damian’s body tightened, his muscles straining, his fingers digging into soft hair. Soon they could see Damian grabbing the mortal, lifting them with effortless strength, throwing them onto the bed.

Tyche raised an eyebrow. “Well, someone’s had enough of playing around.”

Ares inhaled sharply, his hands flexing. “You’re enjoying this.”

Aphrodite grinned. “Oh, immensely.”

On the screen, Damian was on top now, pressing their body into the mattress, pinning them beneath his weight.

Hermes let out a low chuckle. “Damn. He’s taking what he wants now.”

Tyche smirked. “You have to admit, Aphrodite, you’ve done a great job picking your target. He’s as intense as Ares himself.”

Aphrodite sighed dreamily. “It’s a gift.”

Ares’ body was rigid, his entire form a study in fury. His golden gaze was locked onto the screen, watching as Damian’s hands roamed, as clothes were torn away, as bodies moved together with raw, primal need.

Tyche hummed. “You’re mad.”

Ares’ teeth gritted. “I don’t give a fuck about this.”

Aphrodite laughed. “Oh, Ares, please. You’re seething. This is your golden boy. Your little unstoppable ****, and look at him now.”

Damian was inside them now, hips pressing forward, muscles taut as he claimed them, owned them, took them in slow, deep strokes.

The cursed mortal arched beneath him, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. Aphrodite moaned in delight, leaning back with pure satisfaction. “Oh, this is better than I imagined.”

Hermes laughed. “Ares looks like he’s about to fucking explode.”

Tyche chuckled, sipping her wine. “I think he’s just realizing what this really means.”

Ares snapped his glare to her. “And what the fuck does that mean?”

Tyche smirked, nodding toward the screen. “Look at him. Look at your Damian.”

Ares’ gaze jerked back to Damian’s face, his expression raw, his control fraying, his body lost in pure pleasure.

Aphrodite sighed in bliss. “He’s falling, Ares.”

Ares’ breathing sharpened. Tyche’s smile widened. “And once a man like him falls?”

Aphrodite grinned. “He’s mine.”