inkhorn
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Somewhere in between Zagreus’ cocky smirk and the splash of red across the arena, temptation has weaseled into the king’s unsuspecting veins. What a true villain Zagreus was! For even when Theseus seized his triumph, it was Zagreus who has left that rancid curse in his wake. It is the only explanation for why Theseus’ victories begin to slip, for why his words falter and his cheeks flare hot when Zagreus needles him.
And why, gods above, can he not stop thinking of him?
(Hades kinkmeme fill)
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The first time Asterius saw him, he was sitting in the chair of a trireme. For the stories Asterius had heard of him, the Athenian prince Theseus was rather… unremarkable. His physique was broad but that was all that distinguished him from the ship’s soldiers; that, and the nicely beaded chlamys that lay over his armor. Tales of Theseus’ endeavors had unfortunately reached even the ears of Crete: Asterius had love for very few men, and none were the arrogant sort born of divine prophet.
31 days of Theseus and Asterius oneshots written primarily following the Whumptober 2020 prompts. Chapters are not independent but don't follow chronological order. Smut chapters denoted by *s in the titles. Character list subject to be updated.
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There is no point in sleeping, not when neither dream nor darkness can compare to Asterius’ restful face. It is hard enough to keep his eyes from Asterius’ powerful body while they do battle together; afterwards, with his breath so calm in his chest and his limbs so soft and tired across the grasses, Theseus can scarcely restrain himself. Asterius looks the portrait of a hero, and gods, it sets his heart racing more frantically than even in the midst of combat. He longs to touch his chest and feel the sheer strength of it, to know it as intimately as he knows his own skin.
So he does.
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Something felt not right. The beast’s breathing had only grown more heavy with Theseus standing before him; every inch of those muscles had drawn tense, and his ears were pricked with what Theseus could only assume to be animalistic interest. There was an electricity between them and it only mounted in the silence. This was how heroes felt before their trials, Theseus was certain. The anticipation, so palpable, and the line that drew him to his opponent, like there was nothing else in the universe but them. Excitement leapt in his chest as the minotaur’s hesitation must have caved to some other desire, for the beast shifted, his powerful limbs pulling him into a stand. But as he did so, his legs parted, revealing what he had been so fervently hunched over.
Theseus nearly dropped his sword.
(Theseus embarks on his noble quest to slay the monster of the labyrinth, but instead finds that the minotaur is in rut.)