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“I know it’s a strange time to visit but I imagine it’s packed earlier in the day.”
It’s almost sunset and the Acropolis is bathed in the beginnings of shadow. Henry has been a wealth of knowledge since they landed on Crete. Joey knew he had planned on going to university to study history if acting hadn't worked out but he had no idea he kept up on any interests regarding the subject.
They had toured the site of Knossos and Henry was almost giddy retelling the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur having played the ancient Greek hero in The Immortals. His excitement isn't quite contagious but Joey hoped this time away from London would be relaxing for Henry. They had then ventured to Santorini, curving from Akrotiri in the south to Oia in the north, gorging themselves on the food and the scenery.
In Mykonos, he serenaded Henry with Fleet Foxes as the sun gilded his firm skin.
“I’d love to learn Greek. That was common back in the day, you know.” Joey is pulled back to the present. Henry’s shoes crunch on the ground. “Can you bloody imagine reading The Iliad, The Odyssey in their original Greek, Rosy-Fingered Dawn and all that? I’m sure you could find the lyricism in it. You know, maybe I'll pick up a book on beginner’s Greek when I get a chance. Don’t really have the time now.”
The setting sun glosses Henry bronze and Joey can imagine him living in some time long past. Perhaps he is the offspring of some Olympian god who fell to Jersey.
“And these caryatids on the Erechtheion,” Joey snorts, earning himself a withering look, “are just gorgeous. We'll see the real ones tomorrow.”
“These are fakes?”
“Replicas, love.” Henry spins around and Joey can imagine him in a loincloth, sweaty from a day’s labor on his adoptive parents’ farm. His curls tumble over his sweat-slick forehead. “There is something so rewarding being here, in the cradle of western civilization.” He steps aside and smiles at a family making their way down. As soon as they're out of sight, he walks over to Joey with a hungry look in his shining eyes. Strong arms wrap around his waist and pull Joey toward him so fast he almost stumbles but for the wall of Henry's body catching him. “Has anyone ever told you you look like a mischievous little nymph?”
“Me? What-“
Henry sets his lips against a burning ear. “Can't you picture it? You're lounging beside a stream. The day is hot and you are dreadfully bored. Even the water is uncomfortable. Then, in the corner of your eye, you see him.”
Joey does.
The god shimmers as if emerging from the liminal space between dream and waking. His body is creation, rich with life, glorious and fruitful. The sun caresses his long, strong limbs like a lover. “And suddenly you only want to pursue him, a hunter after a white stag.”
He nearly loses him in the leaves around a curve in the forest he finds himself in.
“Light blinds you and there he is, in a clearing at the center of which is a lush bed of grass. You offer yourself up to him, this flagrant Dionysus.”
How easily Joey would spread his legs for this exquisite being. Henry’s smile broadens, flashing white in the dying light. Joey can smell his sweat mingling with his aftershave.
There is a burst of freshness, green leaves and citrusy wood, that makes him gasp. “Easy, love.” Joey wonders if places like this, so steeped in history, can have such a profound hold even now, reaching its long arm away from the past and into the future.
“You can feel it, can't you?” Henry tilts his head back and inhales, sculptural nostrils flaring. “It's like stepping into the past. I can almost see the Parthenon as it would've been when Athena was venerated there.”
It would be overwhelming to lie with a god. The idea has always been in the back of Joey’s mind, being an artist. The creative process can be an immolation of sorts.
Vines are woven into Henry's dark curls and his eyes are so blue and beautiful he would drop whatever instrument he's been holding - was it a lyre that Orpheus won his beloved Eurydice back with? - and do whatever he bid. Would Henry be a cruel god? Would Joey wake after their dalliance to find him gone? He has a laugh; at least Henry couldn't leave him pregnant with a half divine infant who would be his ultimate ruin. Oh, but as a god…
“What are you doing?” Henry asks, laughs, and only then does Joey realize he's running his palm all over his lower belly. “Come on, then.” Henry holds out of hand and Joey is made aware of the sun sending out at its last slivers of light.
The city blossoms around them as they return to their hotel. If he weren't here, Joey knows, Henry might find a bar and charm whatever Grecian beauty he finds within but Henry looks at him with so much love, so much intention as the door snicks shut that Joey knows he has him.
He is the god here.
The vines settle over his dark hair. His immortal fingers pluck the golden strings with such sweetness that the land and the sea rise up to meet his footfalls. Henry is the bronzed youth toiling in the olive groves, startled into wakefulness by a god with eyes like mirrors.
“Let me sing for you, beauty,” the god whispers into his mind, and he does so.