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“Asterius! No!!”
The anguished scream of his companion was the last thing Asterius heard before he dematerialized. He had fallen yet again in the arena, the combined might of the prince of the underworld and the blessings of Olympus proving too much to bear. This time prince Zagreus had fought with the support of Lord Posiedon and Lady Demeter, and the icy blasts of freezing water had chilled the bull-man to the bone. Asterius could feel it even after he reconstituted.
Shivering, he made his solitary way to his and Theseus’ living quarters. Asterius was accustomed to falling first in their battles against the short one, so this time to himself without Theseus’ colourful running commentary was a familiar routine. The worst of the cold and wet had dripped from his huge frame by the time he neared home, but Asterius was still far from comfortable. He quickly stripped off his soaked arena outfit, and roughly ran an enormous linen towel over himself. The godly chill still clung to Asterius, despite his attempts to dry off. He made his way out to the courtyard which joined his and Theseus’ rooms. The lush meadow shone in the false sunlight of Elysium as blue butterflies flitted about the banks of the misty River Lethe.
The gentle heat of the day (or night) was at last enough to bring a tinge of warmth to the bones of the Bull of Minos. Asterius stretched his arms out wide and closed his eyes, his broad chest exposed to the ethereal rays, his bovine ears tipped down in relaxation. He stood quietly, the soft breeze carrying the scent of incense and pomegranate, and began to dry his short coat. He ran his large hands firmly down his limbs, pressing the last of the divine wetness from his fur with the blade of his palm. Once sufficiently wrung out, Asterius hand-combed his pelt all over with his fingers spread wide, tousling his fur to allow the air access to the skin beneath.
It was in this act of quiet self care that Theseus came upon his beloved bull. He too had ultimately fallen to Zagreus in the arena, but he had sprinted his way home in such a hurry to be comforted by his companion that he was almost fully dry.
Unable to hold his tongue, Theseus interrupted Asterius’ contemplative moment with a loud “Pah!”. Asterius opened his eyes and slowly regarded the king, who took this as a sign to continue. “The fiend managed to best me following your tragic downfall, Asterius, no doubt thanks only to his tricks and underhanded tactics! A true champion wouldn’t stoop to such knavery. No matter! It is no loss of honour to be bested by a cheater.”
Theseus waved his arms in theatrical gesticulations as he continued to go on about this latest affront. It was with one of these sweeping gestures that his fingers brushed lightly against Asterius’ massive forearm. He stopped suddenly, his boisterous ranting cut off mid-sentence. He swirled his fingers in small, slow circles, not breaking contact with the downy-soft surface.
“Why, friend Asterius! Your fur...you’re so...so FLUFFY!” Theseus exclaimed, staring intently at where his fingertips dipped into the soft pile of Asterius’ dark fur, transfixed.
Asterius didn’t quite know what to make of this. He peered down at his chest. Sure enough, where normally his fur lay low against his skin it now stood up all over, giving him the appearance of being surrounded in a fuzzy coating. Perhaps the combination of the salt water, the warm light, and his self-grooming had…
Without warning, Theseus leapt at Asterius and buried his face in the soft divot of his plush chest, wrapping his muscled arms as far around the bull as they would reach, nuzzling into him vigorously. Theseus’ usually booming voice was slightly less loud, nestled as he was, when he began to pontificate. “Oh, my dear friend! My wonderful bull! I had no idea your magnificent fur could appear in such a fashion!” He pulled his face away briefly to crane his neck back to look into Asterius’ dark, kind eyes as next he spoke. “It is truly yet another joy of our eternal paradise to be continuously discovering new delights about one's beloved, wouldn’t you agree?” The tail end of Theseus’ proclamation became muffled as the king found himself unable to resist shoving his face back into Asterius’ pecs.
Asterius dipped his head to gently rest the end of his snout against the top of Theseus’ head, the cool metal of his nose ring tucking into golden locks. He couldn’t help but snort fondly at his partner’s adoring ramblings. Asterius closed his eyes and brought a huge, soft hand to Theseus' back, relishing in his king's dumbfounded affections.
What a marvel it was: the tireless tongue of the greatest king of Athens finally stayed, quiet at last in the tender embrace of an unexpectedly fluffy bovine.