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The salt-laced wind whipped Odysseus's sweat-soaked hair across his face as he stared down at the groaning god. "You idiot," Poseidon had wheezed, clutching at the ragged wound marring his usually pristine chest. A cruel grin stretched across the god's face, even in his pain. "Can't you see? You sealed your fate, just to beat me." He gathered his long, dark hair, the strands thick and heavy like seaweed, and tied it back with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "You released my storm when you opened that cursed bag. Blocked your one way home. Now you'll never get back to your precious Ithaca." He pushed himself up, a guttural grunt escaping his lips.

Odysseus turned slowly, his gaze fixed on the taunting deity. The familiar warmth of his hazel eyes seemed to leach away, replaced by a stark, unsettling crimson. "You're going to call off that storm," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to carry the weight of years of suffering.

Stunned amusement flickered across Poseidon's features. A mortal daring to order a god? He sneered, a contemptuous curl of his lip. "Or what, little man?" he spat, a trickle of ichor staining his chin. "You can't kill me. I am eternal."

A flicker of something cold and calculating ignited in Odysseus's red-tinged eyes. "Exactly." His hand, calloused and strong, closed around Poseidon's discarded trident, the prongs gleaming ominously in the dim light. He began to move, a slow, deliberate creep towards the wounded god, the divine weapon dragging along the rough stone, a grating sound that echoed in the sudden lull of the wind.

Understanding dawned in Poseidon's sea-green eyes, widening with dawning horror. "Wait!" he stammered, scrambling backward, his hands flailing weakly. "Wait!"

But Odysseus was beyond waiting. The memories of shattered ships, drowned cries, and the crushing weight of despair surged through him. The sea itself seemed to hold its breath as Odysseus raised the trident, the polished metal reflecting the storm-bruised sky. With a primal roar that tore from his throat, he plunged the weapon into Poseidon's left breast.

A strangled cry ripped from the god's lips, the sound swallowed momentarily by the renewed fury of the waves crashing against the rocks. "How does it feel to be helpless?!" Odysseus bellowed, his voice raw with anguish. "How does it feel to know pain?! To have your power stripped away, even for a moment?" He twisted the trident, the movement eliciting a fresh wave of agony from the god. "I watched my friends die in horror! Crying out your name as they were swallowed by the waves! Slain by your wrath, for a slight against your precious Cyclops!"

He yanked the trident free, the weapon leaving three identical, gaping punctures that oozed golden ichor. "I heard their final moments," Odysseus continued, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper, "calling their captain in vain! Each death a fresh wound in my soul! Look what you turned me into, god of the sea! Look what we've become!" A distant, chilling smile stretched across his lips as a ragged scream tore from Poseidon's throat. "Enough!!"

Without hesitation, Odysseus plunged the trident into Poseidon's back, the force of the blow driving the god forward. "All of the pain that I've been through!" he snarled, each word a fresh accusation. He grabbed Poseidon by his thick neck, his fingers digging into the god's surprisingly yielding skin. "Haven't I suffered enough? Haven't my people paid enough for your petty grudge?"

The sea seemed to gasp, the roaring waves momentarily receding as if the very ocean was in shock. "Stop!" Poseidon choked out, his voice weak and trembling. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic, coming from the great Earth-Shaker, the Lord of Quakes.

"You didn't stop when I begged you!" Odysseus spat, his grip tightening. He paused, noticing a flicker of something unfamiliar in Poseidon's eyes. Crystal clear tears, like droplets of pure seawater, were tracing paths down the god's bloodied face. What a sight indeed. A god weeping.

Without a word, Odysseus plunged the trident into Poseidon's back once more. A faint, almost childlike whimper escaped the god's lips. "Stop! Please..."

Please? The mighty Lord of the Seas was begging. The sound sent a cold satisfaction coursing through Odysseus. With grim determination, he pushed the divine weapon in further, relishing the fresh wave of agony that contorted Poseidon's face. He wanted to hear him scream again, to hear the raw sound of divine pain.

It didn't take long. As expected, the sea hollered in unison with Poseidon's renewed agony, a deafening roar that threatened to shatter the very air. "Please! Enough!"

Odysseus sneered, stepping deliberately onto one of the open wounds on Poseidon's chest, grinding his heel into the raw flesh. "Didn't you say that ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves?"

Poseidon blinked, his tear-filled eyes widening in what looked like genuine surprise, a flicker of understanding amidst the pain.
Odysseus stared down at the broken god, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. Poseidon, despite the gaping wounds and the ichor staining the rocks, managed a weak, pain-laced smirk. "So you can learn..." he gasped, his voice barely a whisper above the crashing waves.

Odysseus’s grip tightened on the trident. Learn what? Learn how it felt to be powerless? He leaned closer, his gaze intense. “I’ve learned enough from you, god,” he growled, his voice thick with bitterness. “I’ve learned the cost of your pride, the weight of your wrath.”

He shifted his stance, the sharp edges of his worn sandals digging into the stone. He raised the trident once more, the three prongs dripping with golden ichor. This time, he aimed lower, towards Poseidon’s leg. With a swift, brutal thrust, he plunged the weapon into the god’s thigh.

A strangled scream tore from Poseidon’s throat, raw and primal. The sea seemed to churn in response, the waves crashing against the rocks with renewed ferocity. Odysseus twisted the trident, feeling the resistance against the divine flesh. He wanted to see the invincible god writhe, to hear him beg.

“Did my men beg you as they drowned?” Odysseus snarled, his voice filled with a cold fury. “Did they plead for mercy as your monsters dragged them down to the depths?” He pulled the trident out, the wound weeping ichor, and immediately brought it down again, this time targeting Poseidon’s shoulder.

Another agonizing cry ripped through the air, echoing across the desolate shore. Poseidon’s body convulsed, his hands clawing at the rocks, his face contorted in unimaginable pain. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the ichor.

“Each of their deaths,” Odysseus continued, his voice relentless, “a fresh wound that festered in my heart. For years, I carried their screams with me. Did you ever consider their suffering, god? Did you ever think about the families they left behind?” He punctuated his words with another brutal stab, this time into Poseidon’s side.

The god’s breath hitched, a rattling gasp escaping his lips. “Please…” he choked out, his voice barely audible.

Odysseus leaned down, his face inches from Poseidon’s. “Please?” he mocked, his voice dripping with scorn. “That’s all you have to say? Where was your ‘please’ when my ships were shattered? Where was your ‘please’ when my men were lost?”

He grabbed Poseidon’s arm, twisting it with brutal force until he heard a sickening crack. The god screamed, a high-pitched, desperate sound. Odysseus then brought the trident down again, piercing the god’s forearm.

“Each broken bone, each tear you shed,” Odysseus hissed, “is a fraction of the pain you inflicted upon me and my people.” He felt a grim satisfaction with each cry that escaped Poseidon’s lips, each tremor that shook the god’s powerful frame. He wanted to break him, to reduce the mighty Lord of the Seas to nothing more than a whimpering, broken wretch. The cries continued, each one a testament to the depth of Poseidon's suffering, a twisted symphony of vengeance played out on the desolate shore.

Odysseus watched as the last ragged cry tore from Poseidon’s throat, the sound raw and broken. The god’s body lay limp, twitching occasionally, the once vibrant sea-green eyes now glazed with pain and disbelief. The golden ichor continued to seep from the numerous wounds, staining the rocks a grotesque ochre.

A strange weariness washed over Odysseus. The burning rage that had fueled his brutal assault began to subside, replaced by a hollow ache. He looked at the broken form of the once-mighty sea god, and a flicker of something akin to… pity? It was a foreign sensation, unwelcome after so much hatred.

He knelt beside Poseidon, the trident heavy in his hand. The god flinched at his approach, a weak whimper escaping his lips. Odysseus hesitated for a moment, then, surprisingly, he dropped the weapon onto the rocks.

Poseidon stared at him, confusion clouding his pain-filled eyes. Why wasn’t the mortal striking again? Was this another cruel trick?

Slowly, carefully, Odysseus reached out. Poseidon instinctively recoiled, but Odysseus’s touch, when it came, was surprisingly gentle. He pressed his calloused hand against the wound in Poseidon’s thigh, applying pressure.

The god’s brow furrowed in bewilderment. This was not the vengeance he had expected. This was… unexpected.

Odysseus moved to the other wounds, his movements surprisingly tender. He ripped strips from his own tunic, stained with sweat and grime, and began to bind the gashes, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Poseidon watched him, his breathing shallow and ragged. He couldn’t comprehend this sudden shift. This mortal had inflicted unimaginable pain upon him, and now… now he was tending to his wounds?

“Why…?” Poseidon rasped, his voice weak and hoarse. “Why are you doing this?”

Odysseus didn’t meet his gaze. “Enough,” he said, his voice low and tired. “Enough pain. Enough loss.” He continued to work, his movements efficient despite his exhaustion.

A long silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of the waves, which seemed to have softened their violent assault on the shore. Finally, Poseidon spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. “The storm…”

Odysseus stopped his ministrations, his gaze meeting the god’s. “The storm?”

A flicker of his former authority returned to Poseidon’s eyes, though it was still clouded with pain. “I… I will call it back.” He closed his eyes, a faint tremor running through his body. A moment later, the howling wind outside the small cove began to subside. The furious crashing of the waves softened to a gentle lapping against the rocks. The oppressive darkness began to lift, revealing a bruised but clearing sky.

Odysseus watched the change, a weary relief washing over him. The impossible had happened.

He finished bandaging Poseidon’s most grievous wounds, his movements still surprisingly gentle. He then stood, looking down at the god. “Rest now,” he said, his voice devoid of the earlier rage.

Poseidon stared up at him, still utterly bewildered. He had expected more taunts, more vengeance. Instead, he had received pain, yes, but also… unexpected mercy.

Without another word, Odysseus turned and walked towards the now calmer sea. A small, battered ship, miraculously intact, bobbed gently near the shore. His way home, finally clear. He didn't look back as he stepped onto the deck, the salty air filling his lungs with the promise of Ithaca. The cries of his men, the faces of his lost companions, still lingered in his mind, but the immediate storm of his grief had finally passed. He was going home. And in the quiet aftermath of violence, a strange, uneasy understanding had settled between a mortal and a god.

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The sun rose above the Ithacan horizon, bringing light to a new day. Odysseus' reunion with his son and wife had been the best part of his life, having finally being able to see the fine man his son has grown to be. They spoke about what adventures Odysseus had been on and what he'd gone through. Even if it had a bit of sobs at the end of most stories, he managed to tell them everything. The parts where he mentioned Calypso, they had to pause; sensing that having him speak about the horrors he was put through with Calypso, would be pouring salt onto an open wound. Though, when it came to how he escaped Poesidon to get home at last, he avoiding telling that part. Muttering something along the lines of, 'He saw reason after my persuasive pleads and decided to let me go.' Which, Penelope saw right away that it was merely a fib to get Telemachus off his back.

  Night approached with a gentle ombre, the moon light glowing into the room of the king and queen. Penelope sat in the wedding bed, watching closely as her dear husband carefully got in with her. Now having no other company, Penelope turned to face the man before her. "My dear husband, do tell why you chose to lie to me?" Odysseus froze, his skin pale from the moon lite sky. "Whatever could you mean dearest? I hadn't lied to you in the slightest." Penelope cupped her husband's face, staring into his eyes. "Dear, what you said earlier about Lord Poesidon seeing reason as to let you go, it was a mere whim. You used that to satisfy Telemachus. But I have known you longer than he, and I know that was not the truth." Oh, his sweet, knowing wife. Of course, he hadn't been foolish enough to think that she would accept that. His wife is a wise woman, he dare not think anything else. "I fear, that if I told you, you may not see me as your husband. My love, I have done many horrible, inhumane things. I have not yet forgiven myself." A small peck was placed on his forehead.

  "Ody, listen to me. No matter what horrid things you've done, that will not lessen my love for you. I have been your wife ever since we've said our vows. I've waited twenty years for you to return to my arms." She kissed him affectionately on his lips this time, caressing his chin. They parted, Penelope looking into Odysseus' eyes lovingly. "This wedding bed, is a reminder that our love is everlasting, no matter what. Now, please my love, if it's not too trouble some." Odysseus sighed softly, intertwining his fingers with his wife's. "Lord Poesidon, he commanded me to get into the sea, to have myself drowned. He threatened to drown all of Ithaca, leaving no survivors unless I choose to die. I tried, I really tried to persuade him. It had been ten years since I incurred his wrath, and he still held on to it. That was proven useless as he refused to listen."

  He refused to look at his wife's face, seeing the pity written all over her features. "He overtook me with his waves, and at that moment, I was prepared to accept my death." Only then did he glance at her. Penelope still had plenty of pity in her eyes, but it was slightly overshadowed by bittersweet love. "That's when I remembered my reason to live, to see you, my beloved, and my son, whom I haven't seen until now." He paused, his gaze faltering. "Then I did something, I did something that would make me to be a monster."  Penelope was about to make a comment on that before he explained. "I used whatever was in the wind bag Lord Hermes had given me to get myself out of the water. I made one final command to the ghosts of my crew, which was six hundred strikes. Upon doing this, Poesidon fell to his weakened form, a little humane. He pointed out how foolish I had been to release his storm, as it will block my path to home. I didn't need that. I had a plan, a sick, cruel, evil plan. I told him told call off the storm, and the sea would not listen. So, I picked up his trident and.."

   Penelope was beyond confusion. Why did he suddenly stop? The drop of the formality did not go unnoticed, nor did the way her husband fixated his gaze onto his palms that are now in his lap. "And? What did you do, Odysseus?" He winced at that, having being called his full name from her mouth hurt a bit. It showed how serious this was. "I..I do not know how to put it.." He looked up at her, his gaze timid. "Ody, my love.." She took his hands in hers, caressing them as she brought one to her mouth. She kissed the knuckle and the palm tenderly. "It will help to get it off your chest, dearest..I do not like to see you like this. It pains me to know that you're keeping a burden on yourself." Odysseus flushed at the gentle gesture, turning his head slightly. "I will try.." Penelope smiled sadly, placing his hand down. She looked at him expectantly. "I picked up his trident, which was never supposed to be easy for a mortal, but I did. I stepped closer to him and I..Oh Gods..Pen, I did such a bad thing.. I.." Heat began to well up behind his eyes, why was this happening.? "Ody, if it pains you to say it, you are not obligated to." There was the pity again. He didn't want his wife to pity him, he didn't deserve it. "No, no. I'm fine, Pen. I can say it." He felt her fingers ghost his cheek, wiping the tears. When did he start to cry? And why did he? "..I used his trident to impale him, I don't know why, in that moment it felt like that was the only thing to do..I stuck his trident in him six hundred times, before he called off the storm. I didn't feel right after that. So..I attempted to clean his wounds and he surprisingly let me." Odysseus could've felt the way Penelope stared at him. He was anticipating something, anything. He didn't even know what exactly he was waiting for. "Ody.." He wanted to curl into himself from all the pity he heard just now. Penelope hugged him from his side, occasionally wiping more tears from his face. "I'm a monster..I'm sorry, Penelope.." Odysseus mumbled, burying his head on her shoulder. "Dear, you are not a monster. The fact that you tried to fix your wrongs is just another way to show that you are human. Sure, what you did wasn't right, but you did it for a reason. You and Lord Poesidon both have reasons for anger. That doesn't change how I look at you, Ody. You're my husband, forever until my dying days."

   Odysseus could have sobbed at how much love he heard pouring out of his wife's mouth. He loved her so much, she's always so understanding even when he doesn't understand it. "..I love you." He hugged her tight, making sure she felt it. "I love you." She echoed, smiling softly as she played with her husband's hair. The two fell asleep like that, embraced in each other's arms.

  Deep down in the waters of Atlanta, the sea king lie awake, staring out of the room he'd been in. The windows are large, large enough to see all of the sea creatures passing by. It was also tinted multiple hues. The room is dimly lit by the light of the moon. Though underwater. There's a blue candle next to the window, giving it a  peaceful glow. Poesidon sat on his window sill, in a navy blue toga covering his right shoulder and left thigh. His mind is corrupted by the thoughts of a mortal man, not just a mortal man. A man who took him apart and put him back together. Why did Odysseus choose to help him?  He is a God, he needn't any bandages. He stares at the scar on his left breast. He doesn't care for the mortal, so why does he plague his mind every night?  He needs Odysseus to undo what he has done to him. Never have he ever felt like this before. He decides to take a walk on the Ithacan beach.

  The moon was a very pretty thing up and out of the water, Poesidon noted. The way it reflects on the water was alluring. It was rather peaceful at night. Just him, the waves and the moon. Or so he thought. Weightless foot steps ruined his peace. Why could he never relax? He needed fresh air and here comes a problem. Probably an orphan who got lost. "Lord?" He froze. He doesn't need this right now, he doesn't need it anytime soon. The voice calls again, he ignores it. Out of sight, out of mind, right? "Poesidon. What are you doing here?" He sighs dramatically, why won't he be left alone. "Why do you plague me so? I merely came up on land to admire the moon and have peace. Am I not allowed that?" He hears more footsteps, before they're right beside him. "Didn't say that. I cannot deny you of anything." He scoffs, crossing his arms. "Then why are you denying me freedom in my own mind, Odysseus?" The latter chuckles dryly, refusing to sit down. "I do not control your mind, my Lord." Odysseus stares at the moon as well. Poesidon was correct, the moon is something to admire. "Aren't you meant to be in Hypnos' grasp?" Finally, Odysseus sat down. Keeping his distance. "After years of torment, I still cannot find myself bothered by Lord Hypnos' embrace. Will not, there'll be dangers to fight." Poesidon curled his feet up to his chest, sighing. "Must you always fight something, little king?" 

  Odysseus chuckled, this time with more humor. "If you've been to sea with endless of monsters to fight, you wouldn't find it strange." They say in silence for a while, listening to the rhythmic sound of the waves and the breeze. Feeling the cold bite at their skin. He spoke again. "Lord, what was your real purpose of coming here?" Poesidon turned to face him, his sea green eyes seemingly glowing. "I came to ask, why did you help me?" Odysseus shrugged. "Felt like the right thing to do. I did not like what I did, regretted it deeply." Poesidon nodded slowly. "Why do you consistently intrude your way into my mind?" Odysseus looked bewildered. Did he really think it was Odysseus' fault? "I have done nothing to your mind, Poesidon." The waves grew in size at that, crashing together harshly. "You liar! Why is it that you are my everyday thought? You caused it! You could have left me to bleed, but instead you---you helped me. You didn't have to but you did. Which confuses me!" Oh.

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 Oh. Oh. How could he know? How could he this insignificant, mortal creature have divined such a truth?

 "Lord," the mortal dares to utter, his voice a mocking whisper against the roar of the sea, "are you claiming that I, a mere speck of dust, ensnare your every thought? That I, I, hold dominion over your divine mind in a way you cannot articulate?" Poseidon lets out a guttural, furious sound, a sound that vibrates through the very air. Aphrodite's playful whispers about him now seem like venomous taunts. The man—the audacious, infuriating man—was right. He does occupy his mind. His thoughts. His very essence. He whirls back, his gaze fixed on the insolent mortal, the moonlight painting a cruel halo around the wretch's head. "Yes! I speak it! Before that despicable act, this… this torment was unknown to me. You are a constant, unwelcome presence in my mind, a relentless tide I cannot stem! These… these feelings… they are a maelstrom of confusion! Do I desire to utterly obliterate you or… or…?" He grunts, a raw sound of frustrated rage tearing from his chest. The mortal would never comprehend this vile affliction, a curse born from his own wrath.

  A sudden, desperate wish surges through him: to un-speak the words, to have vanished into the depths the moment he heard those cursed footsteps. "It is best you return to your wretched bed. I will not utter words I shall regret." Odysseus, an immovable rock in the face of the rising tempest, stands his ground. He wishes he could move, wishes he could flee the volatile presence of the Sea King. When did the Lord of the Depths succumb to such a humiliating desire for him? Was it his ruthlessness, or some twisted perversion of mercy? "Poseidon. Why do you inflict this upon me?" The waves, once playful lapping, now surge, towering like monstrous, hungry jaws—a dire omen, a final warning. "LEAVE ME BE, MORTAL!" Confusion warred with an infuriating indignation in Odysseus.

  How dare this god descend from his throne of power, unleash such a startling confession, only to command his retreat? "I will not! If you choose to descend into irrationality, then so be it. My actions are not the cause of your sudden, pathetic emotions after I… impaled you with your own trident." Poseidon’s body tenses, a tremor of pure, unadulterated fury coursing through his colossal form. "HOLD YOUR DAMN TONGUE! You, a mortal, do not speak to me in such a manner!" Odysseus scoffs, a sound laden with contempt. "Petty and angry, as always. What? Do I not speak the truth? Or do you desire for me to once again pierce you with your own symbol of power?"

  A suffocating silence descended, thick and heavy as the churning depths. Neither god nor man dared to move, the air crackling with an unspoken, dangerous truth. Odysseus' eyes, sharp as obsidian, widened, a chilling realization dawning upon him. "You wish to be pierced once more," he stated, not as a question, but as a damning confirmation. Poseidon's voice, though laced with its characteristic fury, held a tremor of something else. "Do not jump to conclusions, mortal." Yet, the words were hollow. He said nothing more, for there was nothing left to deny.   "You do," Odysseus pressed, his voice rising, accusation ringing clear. "That is the reason you came. The reason you sought these shores!"

  Had it been? Had that truly been his twisted, subconscious desire? He uttered no words, only the deafening silence after the unexpected, horrifying confession.

  "So, if that is indeed the truth, will it finally bring an end to this torment?" Poseidon's voice, though controlled, resonated with a dangerous undertone of suppressed fury. "Will your departure finally grant me respite?" He exhaled sharply, a sound that spoke of profound vexation.

  Odysseus found himself without immediate retort. The notion that the Olympian, his relentless adversary, harbored such a perverse desire was beyond his comprehension. A subtle sense of disquiet, oddly mingled with a nascent relief, washed over him as the first tendrils of dawn pierced the pre-morning sky. "It is prudent that I return to my domicile," he stated, the words feeling inadequate against the seismic shift in their strained dynamic. He rose to his feet, his gaze fixed upon Poseidon. The god appeared unnervingly placid, an unsettling calm that seemed incongruous with his earlier rage. Yet, this disquieting serenity was secondary to the revelations of the night as Odysseus began his journey back toward his palace.

  Poesidon loathed himself for this weakness, a venomous self-disgust curdling in his divine core. How had he allowed this mortal, this infuriating, perceptive king, so much leeway? So much opportunity to strip bare the hidden, shameful desires of a god? Now, the wretch knew. He understood the dark, unspoken longing that had drawn Poseidon to these cursed shores. A guttural sound, part growl, part moan, escaped his lips. "Ugh!"

 Why had he not stayed submerged in the comforting, suffocating anonymity of his vast, dark dominion? Why had he allowed himself to surface, to be seen, to be known by this… this stupid, foolish, attractive Odysseus? The name was a curse and a confession all at once. The mortal, with his defiant eyes and infuriating wit, was plucking at Poseidon's immortal heartstrings like a cruel, skilled musician, twisting them into a knot of desperate, unwanted yearning. The very thought of it sent a fresh wave of self-loathing crashing over him, a volatile blend of fury and a desire he could not, would not, name. This wasn't love, it couldn't be. It was a hateful obsession, a profound irritation that had somehow burrowed into his very being, demanding acknowledgment.

  Odysseus arrived home, sighing contently as he climbed into bed with his still sleeping wife. The confession from the God still rang in his mind, shocking him more and more each time. How could he have earned himself a God? The disturbing confession had left him speechless. Never had he thought that Poesidon, Earth-Shaker, would want to be brought down again by a mortal man. Was it the vulnerability he felt? Being put down and tortured as if he were just a man? Nothing made any sense. He'd be better to inform Penelope, she'll know what he should do.

   He hadn't been able to go back to sleep, never had been. But he felt it when his wife stirred in her slumber. She was a beauty, in sleep and awake. He dared to compare her to the beauty of the Goddess Aphrodite. "Husband., good morning." Her voice groggy. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Good morning, my love." He embraced her, peppering her face with kisses. Reluctantly, he let go so she can get up and start her queenly duties. Odysseus still had yet to get used to the type of kingdom his wife had controlled. Sure, it was different, but he'll get used to it eventually. "Did you sleep at all last night, my sweet?" Penelope asked. She turned to him, brushing her hair. "I..I was occupied last night. Lord Poesidon came onto the shores.". Odysseus got up as well, making his way towards his wife. "Whatever could you mean, husband?" She sounded as confused as he felt. He hadn't expected her to understand, he himself did not understand.

  "I took a nightly stroll around the palace," Odysseus began, his gaze distant. "My mind, as you know, is perpetually restless. I simply sought the solace of the night air. The beach, a place I often frequented for its calming embrace, proved to be where I encountered him." He paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "There he was, Poseidon, seated upon the sand, his gaze fixed upon the moon." Penelope's brow furrowed, a natural concern etching her features. Of course, her husband's mind would not find peace. It was a well-known, relentless tormentor. But Poseidon? What compulsion drove a god to sit upon mortal sand, ostensibly to gaze at the moon? Could it be so simple, or did a deeper, more divine purpose lurk beneath? She wisely refrained from presuming to understand the mind of an Olympian, lest she invite further wrath.

  "I inquired as to his purpose in seeking these shores," Odysseus continued, his voice dropping slightly. "To which he replied, he desired peace. I knew, instinctively, that this was but a partial truth, yet I dared not press the matter further." He took a breath, the weight of his next words heavy. "It was then that Lord Poseidon confessed: I, a mortal, occupied his every thought."

  A silent "Oh" escaped Penelope. The confusion that had clouded her expression vanished, replaced by a dawning comprehension. Poseidon, the mighty King of the Sea, had developed feelings.

  "He struggles to comprehend these newfound emotions," Odysseus finished, a note of bewilderment in his tone. "And he accuses me of having somehow seized control of his very mind." The poor thing, Penelope pitied him. Had he not known vulnerability before her dear husband? "What did he require by telling you this?" Odysseus hugged her from behind. "He had wanted to be brought down by his trident once more." She was confused. Poesidon, the sea and storm, wanted to be pierced with his trident.? Does he have something for pain? "Oh. Ody, how do you feel about this?" Odysseus sighed, dropping his head onto her shoulder. "I do not know. I am so, so confused. I believe that it's reason for his..newfound feelings..was that I had bandaged his wounds, after causing them. I am a bit curious as to how he would react though.."

  She waited, sensing that he had more to say. "But, I do not want to do it, if you will not say it is okay..My love, I adore you so much. I daren't do anything to hurt you." Her sweet, caring husband. "Ody, my love, if you are curious, then go find out. I know you will not hurt me, I'm not offended. It seems as though Lord Poesidon is also curious. It is okay, dearest."

  Odysseus smiled, kissing her affectionately to show his appreciation. "Thank you, Pen. I believe it is time that we join Telemachus for breakfast." She nodded, tying her hair up in a bun.

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  It wasn't coincidental that Poesidon happened to get attracted to Odysseus, it was merely confusing. He got tortured by the mortal and now his mind is full of him. How strange? Poesidon hated himself for that. Now the mortal king knows his desires, and the one chance he might've had is no more. It's not like he had a chance in the matter, anyway.

  A small prayer came forth in the back of his head. Usually, he ignores it; most of them are prayers for loved ones to return safely from sea. But this time, it was different. It was from the Queen of Ithaca, why was she reaching out to him?

"O' great King of the Sea, Earth-shaker, Father of Stallions, Lord of the Deep! I, Penelope, Queen of Ithaca, though humble, dare to call upon your divine presence.

 My husband, Odysseus, is home, yet matters of great weight still press upon our house and kingdom. I implore you, if it pleases your majestic will, grant me the profound honor of your counsel.

 I seek not merely blessings, but an audience, that I might lay before your immortal ears urgent truths that touch the fate of our land. Hear my plea, Great King, and consider my request for your direct wisdom."

  Oh. Poesidon sighed, slumping on his throne. Penelope knows, she must be inviting him to talk about it. But he doesn't want to talk. He needn't tell her anything. That conversation was between him and Odysseus, not her. If it is on behalf of her husband, then he'll see to it. But he can only find out if he went. What if Odysseus actually wanted to try? That was only wishful thinking, the man had a wife. And said wife invited him, on behalf of her husband. Mortals didn't make much sense to the divine being. Only Odysseus seemed to have some sensibility.

  He doesn't know why he did, but he left with his trident. Though, it was not very pleasant to get violent flash backs of the mortal he was fixated on, ruthlessly stabbing him. He swiftly moved throughout the dark trenches of the Sea, getting greetings from his subjects. Distantly, he wondered where his wife was off to now. She'd been all over the place, getting knocked up. It's not like he had a problem with it, just envious. The one person he wanted didn't want to give him what he needed, And Amphitrite could get who she wanted without trying.

  He arrived onto the beach, the very same one he and Odysseus had spoken on. Seeing as it was closest to Ithaca. As he trailed towards the palace, he couldn't help but get annoyed at the fact that his hair had been gathering every grain of sand there was. It's already dirty so why put it up? Of course, he had been able to shift into something more.. Humanoid. That didn't earn him less glares of confusion. He still had some Godly features, like his insanely long hair, spreading and dancing like tendrils in water. There was also his water arm, hopefully they thought of it as a prosthetic. 

  The 'Well trained' guards stood up high upon his arrival, observing from head to toe. There was a woman and a man, both staring at him. Poesidon thought that they might have been mesmerized by his form and twisted a bit, showing off his right thigh and left breast. As expected, the two guards flushed, the man coughing and the woman outright boldly staring. "The Queen had requested to see me?" He asked, as if he didn't know. As if almost on cue, Penelope walked in, beaming to see him. She bowed, her voice filled with mirth.

  "My Lord! Oh how wonderous it is that you've accepted. Come, join me for tea?" She held out her hand in an expressive gesture. He nodded, glancing at the two guards who were overcome with embarrassment. He followed her throughout the  hallway, watching how swift and smooth she moved. He understood why Odysseus chose her. Hardly even knew her and he was captivated. Did all in relation to Odysseus have this effect?

  They soon made it to a bedroom(quite suspicious but no thought towards it.). The bed, was made/carved out of an olive tree. There were two stools next to a small table. Penelope sat down on one of the stools, gesturing to the one next to her. "Please, divine one, sit with me." He doesn't know what compels him, but Poesidon obeys. He sat down non-gracefully, almost knocking the table down. Due to his still abnormal height, his sitting position was a bit odd and uncomfortable.

Penelope procured two teacups, positioning them with deliberate care upon the table's surface. Following this, she produced a tea kettle and initiated the act of pouring. "Lord Poseidon, would you prefer one measure of saccharine or two?" He signaled for two, a choice consistent with the documented divine partiality for sweetness, a characteristic notably strong in Poseidon, notwithstanding his outward demeanor. She introduced the requisite quantity of sugar, perhaps with a slight augmentation, prior to dispensing a portion of the tea. Was the singular objective of Penelope's convocation merely to partake in a ritual of tea consumption? He observed her as she filled her own vessel, her visage tranquil. He partook of his tea, imbibing two further sips. "While I express my gratitude for this refreshment, I must confess to a certain apprehension. What, precisely, was the subject you desired to deliberate?"

  The Queen gently placed her cup down, her smile reserved. "My husband has spoken about you, my Lord. He has told me about your confession." Poesidon took a large drink from his cup, it is as he expected, anticipated. "Of course, I wouldn't think he'd not tell you. And what of it?" He spoke through gritted teeth. He knew Odysseus would tell her, but why was she talking to him about it? Odysseus, speaking about him..Why wasn't he here? "Before you speak, Queen of Ithaca, I wonder, where is the mortal king?" She chuckled, crossing her legs. She sat up closer, looking up at the God. "My husband is outside, sparring with Telemachus. Why, do you wish to see him?" Bold of her to assume, Poesidon would've said, if she hadn't been right. He desperately needed to see him, but that'd make him look pathetic and weak Infront of the couple.

  "No, there is no need. It was merely a matter of curiosity. You may speak now." Penelope nodded, briefly observing his disheveled hair. She would address that later. "Yes, as I mentioned, my husband informed me of your...peculiar desires. He has expressed his willingness to explore them, should I concur, which I do." Poseidon blinked, then blinked again, before speaking. "He wishes to indulge me?" She nodded, slowly rising. She circled Poseidon's chair, cautiously tracing her fingers through his hair. "Yes, my Lord. As soon as Odysseus returns from the sparring courts, you and he may converse privately." He subconsciously leaned into her touch, humming softly. "May I have the honor of cleansing your hair, divine one?" A nod. Penelope then retrieved a comb from behind him, watching as it glided through his hair effortlessly. She continued to comb until most of the sand was removed, though his hair remained soiled. "Come, my Lord, allow me to wash your hair."

   "You wish to attend to my hair? For what purpose?" Poseidon inquired, leaning further into the comforting touch of her hands. "It is the least I can offer, given your prolonged stay here." He hummed in acquiescence, permitting Penelope's surprisingly strong hands to guide him upward. She led them toward the bathroom, a rather spacious chamber for two occupants. It possessed distinct features: four rounded windows punctuated the walls, and smooth stone pebbles adorned the area around the tub. The sink, like the walls, was fashioned from marble, accented with wood. Penelope settled on the edge of the tub, while Poseidon positioned himself on the polished pebbles, facilitating easier access to his head.

   With a gentle motion, Penelope reached for a pitcher of warm water, its steam delicately misting the air. She poured it slowly over his head, wetting his hair thoroughly, the water cascading down his broad shoulders and back. Next, she took a bar of soap infused with sea salt and lavender, working it between her palms until a rich lather formed. Her fingers then began to massage his scalp, a rhythmic, soothing motion that seemed to melt away the last vestiges of his earlier unease. She carefully worked the soap through the length of his long, sandy hair, paying close attention to the tangles and the fine grains of sand still clinging to the strands.

  Poseidon, initially stiff, began to relax visibly under her ministrations. A soft sigh escaped his lips as her thumbs worked their way behind his ears and down his neck. The scent of lavender and sea salt filled the room, mingling with the natural aroma of the ocean that always seemed to cling to him. Once she felt satisfied that every part of his hair had been cleansed, Penelope reached for the pitcher again, rinsing his hair until the water ran clear, free of soap and sand. She then gently squeezed out the excess water, leaving his hair damp and surprisingly soft.

  Penelope then took up a soft, clean linen towel, carefully wrapping it around his head. She gently blotted and pressed, absorbing the excess moisture, before rubbing his hair with tender motions until it was no longer dripping, but merely damp. The air in the room, warm from the bath, helped to hasten the drying process. Poseidon sat still, a profound sense of peace settling over him. He felt remarkably lighter, a feeling he hadn't realized he was missing until this moment.

 "I thank you, Penelope," Poseidon murmured, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. "This... this was truly kind. I confess, it has been a considerable time since such care was bestowed upon me." A faint smile touched his lips, a rare sight. Penelope offered a small, understanding smile in return. "It was my pleasure, my Lord." She then rose, offering him her hand. "Would you allow me one more small task? Perhaps to braid it?" Poseidon nodded, rising from the pebbles. Penelope led them from the expansive bathroom back into the main chamber. A small wooden stool sat beside the bed, and Poseidon settled onto it. Penelope, meanwhile, sat comfortably on the edge of the bed, positioning herself behind him. Her fingers, now accustomed to the feel of his unique hair, began to work through the damp, blue strands. She started at the nape of his neck, expertly gathering sections and weaving them into a single, thick braid that would fall down his back. As her fingers moved, a moment of quiet filled the room, broken only by the soft rustle of his hair.

  "My Lord," Penelope began, her voice gentle, "if I may be so bold... I confess, I am curious as to why you have taken such a strong liking to my husband, Odysseus." Poseidon's hands, which had been resting loosely on his knees, clenched into tight fists. The relaxation that had softened his features vanished, replaced by a subtle tension around his jaw. He turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see the hardening of his gaze. "That," he stated, his voice now colder, "is not your concern, woman."

 Penelope immediately recognized the shift. She made no further comment, simply resuming her methodical braiding. Once the braid was complete, she reached for a decorative clip, one she often used to keep stray strands out of her own face, and secured the shorter pieces of hair around his temples. Then, remembering, she retrieved the mother-of-pearl clip that had fallen from his toga earlier. With careful precision, she wove it into the base of the newly formed braid, adding a subtle touch of elegance to his divine appearance.

  She rose from the bed, her aged bones cracking synchronized. She circled around to face Poesidon, his gaze low and dark. "Lord.." Penelope sighed kneeling down. She cautiously held up her hands to his face, allowing him to lean into the touch. He did so, subtly. "I apologize, it wasn't my intention to meddle with you and Odysseus' unfinished business. He shall be here soon, you can stay if you choose to."  She trotted towards the door, moving with a speed she hadn't been using before. Poesidon stayed seated at the edge of the bed, out of sight. "I..I shall be on the beach, if he should sought to me. I appreciate your actions towards my hair.,Queen Penelope." She stopped, smiling a bit. She turned to where Poesidon resided before speaking. "I ought to thank you, Divine one. I will make note to inform Odysseus of your whereabouts." 

Poesidon sighed, feeling content. He stood up, stretching to his length. He gazed at the sea, watching it's movement before he's disappeared in a bluish kind of light. He and the ocean aroma is gone. Penelope makes her way to the sparring grounds. She smiles as she sees Odysseus and Telemachus laughing together. She walks up to Odysseus, hugging Telemachus. "Dearest, I've spoken with him. He resides at the beach. He shall be there until you're ready for him." Odysseus eyes widen, before he shook his head. He stood up, making preparation to leave. "Penelope, my love.." He turned to her, embracing her before a kiss. Telemachus made a disgusted sound. "Do you have to do that Infront of me?" Both Penelope and Odysseus laugh, giving Telemachus a kiss too. "Handle him with care, love. He's Shakey." Odysseus nodded before leaving for the beach.

Chapter Text

  The sun had very well hidden behind the clouds by now, the breeze cool. Poesidon sat halfway in the water, idly swirling it around. He heard the oh so familiar heavy but soundless tracking of feet, coming nearer and nearer to him. He didn't look the person in the face, he already knew who this was. "Lord." He hummed in acknowledgment, tilting his head back to look at the setting sun. The person sat down, this time a bit closer than he initially expected but he had no complaint. "I need you to answer questions for me. Think you can do that?" Odysseus quipped, his usual snark. "You dare think I'm too irrational to not properly converse?" He shook his head, feeling prickles of anger rush through him. He's getting angry at nothing. "No!—no. I'm not saying that. I want you to answer my questions honestly and truthfully." Odysseus backed up, holding up his hands in defense. Poesidon rolled his eyes in annoyance at the gesture, turning to face the latter.

  "I'll answer them as best I can, are you content?" He moved up onto the sand, somewhat awkwardly. Odysseus smiled, glad they were finally getting somewhere. "Quite. Now, for the first question: What do you mean by me occupying your thoughts?" Poseidon let out a sigh, as if exasperated. "I've already told you this. Weren't you paying attention? You're all I can think about. You're my first thought when the sun rises, and again when the moon glows. I think of all you've done to me—how you've taken me apart and then rebuilt me. The way your fingers feel, both rough and gentle at once. I don't know why, or how it happened, or when, but it's always you." Odysseus made an 'O' shape(basically that's how his face was) with his mouth. He scootched closer to the God, preparing to ask his next question.

  "What do you want me to do with this knowledge?" Poesidon himself didn't know the answer to that. What did he want Odysseus to do? "I have yet to find that answer for myself, mortal king." He grunted, turning back around to face the sea. Odysseus was left confused once more. If the God didn't know what he wanted, how could he know? "So, you do not know what your own mind desires of me?" He shook his head. "It's quite amusing, how I drag you out here, just to not know what I want." Odysseus sighed. 

  He came closer, possibly bumping shoulders with the God. He stared at him in pity. How could someone not know their own thoughts? Had the God never gone through similar feelings before he? All of these questions are valid but it was made clear that the God was not going to be able to fathom an answer—one that made absolute sense. There was a silence between both beings, unsure but certainly not unwelcomed. Odysseus had thought about leaving endlessly, he wasn't used to so much quiet. Nor had he familiarized the presence of the God to be one of pleasantry. The silence that had fallen amongst them—no longer comfortable. Moreso awkwardly anticipating a movement, a word, a sound. But none dared to move, either frozen by the deafening thoughts in their mind or just pure awkwardness. "I believe..If you have no more to say, it's best I leave." Odysseus forced a small smile, one that was meek, one that didn't reach his eyes.

  He made a move to stand up, on one knee before a large hand wrapped around his wrist. Confused, he turned to face the being holding him and restricting him of movement. "Stay," The word had barely made it's way to his ears before he was being pulled down. "Please." Poesidon bowed his head, his hair curtaining his face. He looked so small, to the mortal. He sat back down, staring at the God once more. Truly, he had gotten much time to notice his beauty, but only now was when he really took the opportunity and observed. The moon was doing wonders, the light reflecting a faint halo upon his crown. Though he had no way of seeing his eyes, he saw the way it glowed. Had he be foolish enough, he would actually compare him to Penelope—but his wife had beauty incomparable. 

  Cautiously, and very hesitant, he lifted his hand. With it he lifted Poesidon's chin, as close to face to face he'll ever be with the divine being. He stroked some of his hair out of his face, finally being able to see those beautiful, enchanting eyes. Surprised that the God had actually allowed himself to be touched, also stroked some of his pride. Until it hit him. He has a God, literally, God of tides, Earth-Shaker, wishing for him. And wishes for his presence. He almost laughed at how pathetic that sounded—Almost, key word, but he had the face of said Earth-Shaker in his hand, and he wasn't too keen on drowning for insulting a vulnerable God. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his tongue. What was he supposed to say to him? The God clearly liked being close, but mentioning it would make him shy away. 

  Poesidon leaned into the touch of the man, humming contently. "Will you stay?" The words whispered. He looked up at Odysseus, sea green eyes staring into hazel. A small part of him wished Odysseus would accept, would stay by his side. Odysseus caressed his cheek, quite a loving gesture that made Poesidon swoon. "I shall. Until the morning, my Penelope would worry if not." Right, he has a wife. A wife he loves very much. Poesidon adverted his eyes, setting them to focus on the ground, distantly. He slowly moved away from Odysseus' grasp, lying onto the soft sand instead. He looked back at the latter, motioning for him to join. And he did so. He laid next to the God, his chin on his head. He never pegged Poesidon to be one of embrace, nor to be so vulnerable by his will. They laid there for some time, Poesidon's head on Odysseus' chest. He listened to the rhythmic beat of his heart, wishing he was the reason. But not everything goes his way, he'd learnt. Subconsciously, Odysseus played with the free strands of hair under his chin. His hairstyle, reminded him of Penelope. Perhaps she had something to do with it.

    Poseidon's sigh was deep, a resonant exhalation as he felt Odysseus's hand relax against him. He leaned further into the touch, his eyes drifting shut. Upon reopening them, he found himself captivated by the sight of beautiful hazel eyes, their gaze fixed upon his face. Whatever emotion was mirrored in Poseidon's own expression must have been profoundly captivating, if Odysseus's tender—indeed, loving—look was any indication.

 "What?" Poseidon rumbled, a golden blush creeping up his cheeks. Odysseus's smile broadened, this time reaching the depths of his eyes. "You're beautiful," he murmured, his fingers once more caressing the god's face. "Truly, profoundly beautiful. It's in the way the light catches your skin, in the depth of your eyes, in the very essence of your being. Every curve, every line, every shade of your divine form is a testament to perfection. You are a living masterpiece, Poseidon. And I find myself utterly captivated by it." Poseidon felt himself sway, both physically and mentally. His golden blush deepened, extending down to his neck, a heat blossoming within him. He could only stare, momentarily bereft of speech or action. "Your silver tongue ought to be silenced!" he jested, though the words were muffled as he buried his head in Odysseus's chest. An outside observer, unaware of their shared history, might have easily mistaken them for lovers, given the profound intimacy of their embrace. Odysseus's low chuckle vibrated through his body, a warmth that seeped into Poseidon's own. "What, am I not permitted to speak the truth?"  Poseidon shook his head, then tilted his face skyward, observing the gentle hues of dawn painting the horizon. Leveraging his position, he raised his head, meeting Odysseus's gaze. The air between them crackled with an unspoken charge, a magnetic pull that tightened with each passing second. And then, without warning, he kissed him.

   It was not a hesitant kiss, but one that began with profound tenderness, a tentative exploration that quickly deepened. Poseidon's lips, surprisingly soft, parted against Odysseus's, a slow, intoxicating pressure. It was a silent confession that had finally broken free. Odysseus's hands, as if guided by an ancient instinct, found purchase on Poseidon's waist, pulling the god closer until there was no space left between them. The kiss grew more urgent, a heated dance of desire, tongues tangling, breaths mingling. It was a kiss of raw, undeniable longing, each movement a desperate plea for more. The taste of salt and divinity filled Odysseus's senses, a heady cocktail that made his head spin. It lasted for several breathless moments, a world consumed by the press of their bodies and the fervent rhythm of their lips, before Poseidon, with a sharp intake of breath, finally tore himself away.

    He had kissed Odysseus. His Odysseus. The mortal stood momentarily stunned, his lips still tingling, a flush rising to his own face. Poseidon had kissed him, and he'd liked it. With his hands still on Poesidon's waist, Odysseus leaned up to taste his lips again. The deity offered no resistance, a low groan rumbling in his chest as the mortal king deepened the kiss. His divine arms remained at his sides, momentarily suspended in uncertainty, unsure of where to seek purchase. The kiss swiftly escalated, mirroring the previous encounter in its fervent intensity. The king, with audacious confidence, delved his tongue past Poseidon's yielding lips, eliciting another muffled "Ah!" of assent from the god.

  Finally, Poseidon's arms ascended, coiling around Odysseus's neck, his fingers tangling themselves in the mortal's dark, damp curls. With a sharp, sudden curse, he broke free from the embrace, his chest heaving with lightly labored breaths. "Odysseus..." he managed to utter, his voice a low rasp, thick with unspent desire. The king merely grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes, before pressing a fervent kiss to the tender skin beneath Poseidon's jaw. He then bit down, with enough force to draw a bead of shimmering, golden ichor. "Gah! H-hmmph!" Poseidon gasped, a strangled sound torn from his throat, "You... You cannot consume ichor!" His voice was laced with both shock and a strange, undeniable thrill, as his grip on Odysseus tightened almost painfully, pulling him even closer, a desperate paradox of protest and yearning. "And why not?" Odysseus purred, his voice a low growl against Poseidon's heated skin. "If I cannot taste your blood, then I shall taste other parts of you, my lord." He renewed his assault, his teeth gently scraping, then biting, at Poseidon's neck, each soft nip followed by a hungry kiss. Poseidon's head fell back, exposing more of his vulnerable throat, as a series of deep, guttural moans escaped him. He writhed against Odysseus, a divine being undone by mortal desire, caught in a swirling eddy of pleasure and surrender.

   Odysseus's hands, no longer content with merely gripping, began to roam. One slipped lower, tracing the taut line of Poseidon's back, feeling the powerful muscles clench beneath his touch. The other found its way beneath the hem of Poseidon's chiton, his fingers brushing against the warm, smooth skin of the god's hip. A shiver, distinctly mortal, ran through Poseidon, punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. The god's hips arched instinctively into Odysseus's touch, a silent invitation that fueled the king's hunger. Odysseus pressed closer, his body flush against the deity's, the friction between them a slow, building torment. The kisses intensified, moving from the curve of Poseidon's neck to the pulse throbbing at his collarbone, each mark a silent claim.

   Odysseus’s fingers delved further under the fancy chiton, spanning the curve of Poseidon’s lower back, urging him into a more intimate contact. The fabric, now bunched and displaced, allowed the brush of coarse mortal cloth against divine skin, a provocative contrast. Poseidon’s moans became more ragged, his head thrashing gently from side to side. His body, usually so rigidly controlled, now moved with a liquid grace against Odysseus, a response driven by instinct rather than will. The air grew thick with their combined heat and the scent of salt and something powerfully primal. Odysseus could feel the tremor that ran through the god’s powerful form, a thrilling testament to his own growing influence. His lips trailed lower, past the prominent line of Poseidon’s collarbone, towards the tantalizing expanse of his chest, intent on discovering every hidden pleasure the god possessed. "Oh, gods, Odysseus..." Poseidon gasped, his voice thick with raw pleasure, a ragged sound that tore from his throat. His fingers tightened, clutching at Odysseus's hair, pulling him closer, an almost desperate plea. A deep, resonant "Mmmph!" vibrated through his chest as Odysseus's mouth found a particularly sensitive spot. His hips began a slow, involuntary grind against the mortal, a powerful deity reduced to trembling need. "More..." the word was whispered, barely audible, a testament to how utterly lost he was in the moment.

   "A rather needy inclination you possess, my Lord," Odysseus murmured, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest. "I have barely offered a touch, and yet you tremble with the anticipation of a maiden on her wedding night." His grip on Poseidon's jaw was firm, tilting the god's head back to meet his gaze, a silent assertion of control, making sure the god was fully aware of the desire etched on Odysseus's own face. He descended to Poseidon's chest, taking a prominent nipple into his mouth and suckling with deliberate force, drawing a gasp from the god. "Mm, fuck!" Poseidon swore, a visible tremor coursing through his powerful frame. He bit his lip, his free hand gripping Odysseus's hair and pressing the king's head deeper onto his chest, a clear command in the action. Despite the god's vice-like grip, Odysseus merely grunted, a challenge in the sound, before wrenching himself free with a subtle twist of his body, his hips pressing insistently against Poseidon's, a wild grin adorning his face. Poseidon whined, a low sound of deprivation, his gaze sharp and fixed on the departing king, a desperate plea in his eyes.

  "Do not fret, my Lord; your desires shall be satiated," Odysseus promised, his voice laced with a knowing confidence that bordered on arrogance, a promise that sent shivers down Poseidon's spine. He then gently but firmly pressed Poseidon onto his back, settling himself between the god's spread legs, his weight a sensual pressure against Poseidon's inner thighs. With a swift motion, he pushed aside Poseidon's garments, exposing his formidable length to the cool air. Poseidon shivered, his eyes, dark with profound need, locked onto Odysseus, his body aching for the contact. "How would you prefer I prepare you, dearest?" Odysseus whispered, his voice a silken command that seemed to vibrate directly into Poseidon's core, his lips brushing against the inside of Poseidon's thigh, daring the god to contradict him.

 "Just proceed with it, Odysseus!" Poseidon exclaimed, a shout born of mounting frustration, his voice echoing with a deep, resonant authority that hinted at his divine power, though tinged now with palpable impatience. Odysseus merely smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that spoke volumes of his absolute control, a promise of exquisite torment yet to come, lifting the god's thighs higher, spreading them wider with a firm hand. "Indeed, I would, my Lord, were it not my intention for this to be as pleasurable for you as it is for me. Be patient." He lowered his head further, his breath ghosting over Poseidon's erection, a warm, moist caress. The god tensed, instinctively throwing an arm over his face, though the slight, involuntary shift of his hips forward betrayed a desperate desire to meet the challenge, seeking the promised touch.

   Though from his position between the deity's legs, Odysseus craned his head, looking at Poesidon's face. That wasn't possible, as Poesidon continued to block his expression. Well, they couldn't have that can they?  He gripped Poesidon's forearm, wretching it from his face. "Do not hide your lovely expressions from me, my God." Poesidon flushed but he didn't turn away, staring at Odysseus with anticipation.Odysseus's grin widened as he shifted, moving lower between Poseidon's parted legs. He positioned himself, his face hovering just above the juncture of the god's powerful thighs. His breath, warm and moist, ghosted over the sensitive skin, before his tongue made first contact, a teasing swipe against the tight, delicate muscle. Poseidon gasped, a sharp, choked sound, his hips immediately bucking upwards, a primal response to the unexpected intimacy. Odysseus hummed, a low, satisfied sound, as he continued his exploration, his lips and tongue a fervent assault on the god's hidden depths, eliciting a guttural groan that vibrated through the sand.

  He deepened his ministrations, not a hint of hesitation in his movements. His fingers, ever audacious, probed gently at the entrance, testing the yielding flesh. Poseidon's body arched sharply, a desperate, shuddering tremor running through him. "Ah... Odysseus!" the name was torn from his lips, a plea and a command intertwined. The sensations were overwhelming, foreign, yet utterly captivating. Odysseus pressed on, slowly, inexorably, until he felt Poseidon's muscles clench around his searching digit, a silent, powerful invitation. He moved with a practiced rhythm, each deliberate touch designed to stretch and prepare, building the tension to a fever pitch. A low, continuous moan began to rumble in Poseidon's chest, a sound that spoke of pleasure bordering on pain, of divine self-control fracturing under the mortal's insistent touch. Odysseus added a second finger, easing it past the initial resistance with a firm, steady pressure. Poseidon cried out, a sharp, almost pained sound that quickly transformed into a drawn-out moan of acceptance as his body began to accommodate the intrusion. The mortal king worked his fingers deeper, circling and stretching the sensitive flesh, feeling the god's internal muscles clenching and relaxing around him. Poseidon's hips lifted, pushing against Odysseus's hand, an unconscious plea for more. His breath came in ragged gasps, his divine composure utterly shattered, replaced by raw, visceral sensation. Odysseus reveled in the god's complete abandon, a powerful deity reduced to trembling, pliant clay in his hands. He continued his measured rhythm, ensuring that Poseidon was thoroughly prepared, every part of him alight with anticipation.

  Then, with a knowing shift of his finger, Odysseus located the precise, exquisitely sensitive spot deep within, the "sweet bundle of nerves" he sought. Poseidon's entire body convulsed, a violent shudder that racked his frame. A guttural cry, raw and unrestrained, tore from his throat as he bucked wildly beneath Odysseus, his hips thrusting against the invading hand, begging for more pressure, more friction, utterly consumed by the shocking intensity of the pleasure. Odysseus pulled his fingers back, just enough to break contact with that sensitive point. Poseidon froze, his body locked in a desperate, suspended state of craving. His moans died in his throat, replaced by sharp, shallow breaths. He opened his eyes, now wide and unfocused, gazing at Odysseus with a potent mix of confusion and burgeoning desperation.

  "Beg for it, Lord," Odysseus commanded, his voice low and firm, echoing the roar of the sea itself. "Tell me what you desire." Poseidon's brow furrowed, a flicker of his ancient pride resurfacing. He remained silent, his jaw clinching, warring with the burgeoning need that threatened to overwhelm him. The absence of Odysseus's touch was a sudden, agonizing void. "No?" Odysseus's smile was thin, a predatory curve. He withdrew his fingers completely, pulling his hand away from Poseidon's body. A raw, strangled cry tore from Poseidon's throat, a sound utterly devoid of his usual divine majesty. His hips bucked wildly, desperate for the return of the pressure. "Odysseus! Please! I... I need it! More! Give me more, I beg you! Please, King, I beg you!" The words, unbidden and urgent, spilled from him, a desperate plea to the mortal who held him so completely in thrall.

  Odysseus's smile returned, broad and triumphant. As a reward, he twisted his wrist, slowly rotating the substantial erection in his hand, eliciting a sharp, choked gasp from Poseidon. The god arched, a silent testament to the exquisite sensation. Then, a new idea sparked in Odysseus's eyes, a wicked glint. "Summon your trident, my Lord," he commanded, his voice a low purr. Poseidon, eyes still glazed with pleasure and burgeoning anticipation, blinked. Despite his disorientation, he instinctively complied. With a shimmering ripple in the air above them, his magnificent trident materialized, its golden prongs gleaming, its long, smooth shaft resting obediently beside them on the sand.

  Odysseus's gaze moved from the glistening, open passage he had meticulously prepared to the long, tapered end of the trident's shaft. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. Without a word, he took the blunt end of the divine weapon in hand, aligning it with Poseidon's receptive opening. The god's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and bewildered surrender in their depths. Odysseus paused, meeting Poseidon's gaze, a silent question passing between them, before he began to press forward, slowly, deliberately. Poseidon's body instinctively recoiled, a deep, guttural "N-ngh!" escaping his lips as he squirmed beneath Odysseus, his breathing ragged and harsh. The cold, unyielding pressure of the trident's tip at his entrance was a stark contrast to the warmth that had been building within him. "Deep breaths, my Lord," Odysseus instructed, his voice calm and steady, a soothing counterpoint to Poseidon's escalating panic, even as he maintained the deliberate pressure. "In... and out. For me."

   Though his entire being screamed for release, Poseidon, surprisingly, obeyed. His harsh gasps slowly, incrementally, smoothed into deeper, more controlled inhalations and exhalations. As his breathing calmed, a wave of involuntary relaxation spread through his tense muscles. With a final, decisive push, Odysseus breached the inner threshold. A violent shudder tore through Poseidon as the tip of the trident struck precisely, powerfully, upon that "sweet bundle of nerves." A raw, involuntary cry, laced with both agony and unimaginable pleasure, tore from his throat. His back arched sharply, a powerful bow of divine flesh, as his hips slammed upwards, seeking to impale himself further on the blunt, stimulating force. His entire body hummed with the intense, focused pleasure, a divine being brought to the precipice of oblivion by his own sacred weapon wielded by mortal hands.

  Odysseus, seeing the god's reaction, wasted no time. He began to move the trident, pushing and withdrawing the smooth shaft with increasing speed, a rhythm that quickly became almost inhumane in its pace. Poseidon's breath hitched, then quickened into desperate, ragged gasps. The world around him blurred, reduced to the relentless pressure and the shattering sensations. He swore he could see stars exploding behind his eyelids, brilliant bursts of light mirroring the explosions within his body. His head thrashed from side to side on the sand, a continuous, guttural moan rumbling in his chest. "Please... oh gods... please!" he panted, the words devoid of conscious meaning, a mindless, desperate plea for something he couldn't name, for an end or an amplification he no longer understood. Odysseus leaned in close, his lips brushing Poseidon's ear amidst the frenzied rhythm. "Do you think you can take both, my Lord?" he challenged, his voice a low, taunting whisper, referring to himself and the potent instrument he wielded. A primal growl erupted from Poseidon, his eyes flashing open, though still unfocused with pleasure. "I am capable of experiencing it." he roared, his hips thrusting upward with renewed force against the trident, a defiant surge of divine power that welcomed the overwhelming challenge. 

  Odysseus's grin widened, a predatory curve on his lips as he drove the trident deeper, a sharp, forceful plunge that sent a wave of raw sensation through Poseidon, digging his divine form further into the yielding sand. The god’s hips bucked, a desperate, uncontrolled motion, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps. He was close, impossibly close to the precipice of culmination. "Give it to me! Now, you cursed mortal!" Poseidon snarled, his voice a raw, demanding rasp, still clinging to a sliver of furious authority even as his body trembled. Just as the tremors of climax began to ripple through Poseidon's body, Odysseus's free hand descended, wrapping firmly around the base of the god’s rigid shaft. He held it there, exerting a deliberate pressure that expertly delayed the cresting wave of pleasure. Simultaneously, he resumed the relentless rhythm of the trident, each thrust and withdrawal a maddening piston, pushing Poseidon further and further, giving him that agonizing, tantalizing feeling of being on the precipice—so close, yet always just out of reach. The god's body convulsed beneath him, a silent scream of exquisite torture.

  "No! Oh, gods, please! Give it to me! I demand it! Let me have it, you infuriating worm! Begging! I'm begging you! Just... fuck me!" Poseidon choked out, his voice utterly broken, his divine dignity shattered as he pleaded for the release he craved, his hips bucking desperately against the hindering hand. Odysseus's eyes gleamed as he watched the god's raw surrender. He gave in, the trident's frantic movements abruptly ceasing. The sudden stillness, after such intense friction, left Poseidon suspended in a throbbing, aching limbo. He blinked, confusion clouding his pleasure-dazed gaze, a desperate whimper caught in his throat. Odysseus, however, was far from finished. With his free hand, he lifted the hem of his own chiton, exposing his hardened length. He then slowly, deliberately, brought his hand down, palm cupping his erection, smearing some of the glistening, slick fluid that had gathered there along his shaft. Poseidon watched, mesmerized, a hungry, desperate yearning in his eyes, as the moonlight caught the mortal's engorged flesh, making it appear almost impossibly divine.

   Odysseus then lined himself up, positioning his own burning tip at the entrance of Poseidon's prepared opening, directly beside the still-inserted trident, a silent promise of duality. He pushed forward, a slow, insistent press.The fit was undeniably tight. Poseidon whimpered, a low, helpless sound, as he felt the new intrusion, his gaze dropping to witness the unbelievable sight below. "You are exquisite, my Lord," Odysseus praised, his voice a low, rough murmur against Poseidon's strained breaths. "So incredibly tight. It feels as if your very depths refuse to let me go." Poseidon gasped, a sharp, ragged sound, as Odysseus shifted his weight, a subtle movement that caused the trident to plunge even deeper, pushing relentlessly against his prostate. The god's body spasmed, a violent, involuntary tremor that shook him from head to toe. Then, with a grunt of exertion, Odysseus bottomed out, burying himself fully within the divine confines of Poseidon, taking a deep, shuddering breath as he settled into the impossibly tight embrace.

   "I am no mortal, you fool!" Poseidon snarled, his voice a raw, low growl, laced with a flash of returning pride. "I require no time to accustom myself to such size. My very form is forged to accommodate the inhumane!" Odysseus chuckled, a low, satisfied sound that vibrated through Poseidon's trapped body. "Indeed, my Lord. It appears you were quite literally made for this." With that, he began to pull back, slowly, until only the very tip of his shaft remained within Poseidon's clutching depths. And without warning, Odysseus slammed back in, a primal grunt tearing from his own throat as he buried himself fully once more. Poseidon screamed, a raw, unearthly sound that echoed across the quiet beach, his head thrown back, eyes rolling to the back of his head in an ecstasy of sensation. The trident, still deeply embedded, struck even deeper, reaching depths that Poseidon himself had believed unattainable, constantly pushing against his sensitive prostate. Odysseus offered no quarter, no moment for the god to recover, instantly setting a brutal, relentless pace. He gripped Poseidon's thighs, lifting them slightly, and began to thrust with abandon, a human whirlwind of power and desire, driving the god further into the yielding sand with each forceful plunge.

  Odysseus's movements became a relentless, blurring assault. His hips pistoned with savage force, each withdrawal deep enough to pull almost free, only to be slammed back in with crushing momentum. The sand beneath Poseidon's back churned and shifted with every violent thrust, a testament to the sheer power being exerted. Poseidon's body was a taut bow, arching high off the ground, unable to find purchase against the brutal rhythm. Deep, guttural moans vibrated in his throat, raw and involuntary, but his lips remained tightly sealed, his teeth clenching against the sound, a last desperate vestige of his pride. Yet, despite his efforts to stifle them, faint, strangled whimpers escaped, betrayed by the uncontrollable shudders racking his frame. The unyielding pressure of the trident, combined with the fierce invasion of Odysseus, painted the world in flashes of white and black, each thrust driving him closer to a glorious, shattering oblivion.

  Odysseus relished the symphony of Poseidon's broken control. He tilted his head back, letting out a wild laugh, a sound both triumphant and utterly consumed. He quickened his pace further, the sounds of their coupling a thunderous rhythm against the breaking waves. Each thrust was a hammer blow, driving Poseidon deeper into the sand, deeper into submission. The god's moans finally broke free, raw cries of "Yes! More! Odysseus, you damn fiend, more!" His divine strength was failing, replaced by pure, unadulterated sensation. He bucked against Odysseus, matching the rhythm as best he could, clinging to the mortal's shoulders, his fingers digging into flesh. The world narrowed to the glorious friction, the dual invasion, and the imminent, shattering climax that hovered just beyond reach. Poseidon's body trembled, on the very edge of divine release. Odysseus leaned in, his voice a low, gravelly promise. "If you come, my Lord, I will not stop. I will use your body until I am finished, and only then." A primal roar erupted from Poseidon, a sound of pure, ecstatic acceptance. His eyes, already rolled back, seemed to glow with an inner fire. The warning was not a deterrent, but a delicious invitation. With a final, monumental thrust, Poseidon convulsed, his entire being shattering into a myriad of intense, glittering sensations. His eyes watered, tears falling freely from his eyes, and his body shined gold, a testament to the sheer magnitude of his climax.

   Odysseus, true to his word, did not relent. His face was a mask of raw, primal desire, sweat plastering his dark hair to his brow, his muscles corded and straining with each powerful drive. He was a force of nature, a relentless storm of flesh and will, his eyes fixed on the god beneath him, utterly possessed by the act. He plunged into Poseidon with an almost feral intensity, his hips grinding, the double penetration a relentless, overwhelming assault. Poseidon's body, still quivering from the aftershocks of his profound orgasm, was now a pliant vessel for Odysseus's will. His moans were no longer cries of desperate craving, but soft, broken sounds, barely audible whimpers of exquisite exhaustion and lingering pleasure. His head lolled to the side, eyes half-lidded, his powerful limbs trembling uncontrollably. He could only writhe weakly against the brutal, unwavering rhythm, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps, utterly spent and utterly at the mercy of the mortal who rode him with such savage abandon. With a final, decisive surge, Odysseus shifted his weight. He slid back, withdrawing his own body from the depths of Poseidon, but then, with surprising strength, he sat back on his heels. In one fluid motion, he pulled Poseidon's weakened, trembling form onto his lap, repositioning the god so he straddled Odysseus's thighs. The trident remained firmly in Odysseus's hand, its blunt end still embedded within Poseidon, constantly pushing against his prostate. Poseidon's eyes, wide and hazy with spent pleasure, slowly focused, a sudden, dawning realization spreading across his face as he understood exactly what Odysseus now intended for him to do. The god's body, though exhausted, tensed with a mixture of apprehension and a lingering, profound need.

  "Ride me, my Lord," Odysseus commanded, his voice a low, guttural rumble that vibrated against Poseidon's exhausted frame. "Show me the true power of the seas. Take what is yours, or fall.". Poseidon, his muscles aching, yet spurred by the challenge in Odysseus's eyes and the undeniable throb still deep within him, managed a shaky nod. With a soft, pained groan, he began to move, tentatively at first, lowering himself onto Odysseus's shaft, the immense length of it filling him to an almost unbearable degree. The trident's constant pressure was a burning core, intensifying every sensation. He gasped, his breath hitching, as his divine body slowly found a rhythm, an unsteady rocking that gradually gained confidence. The exhaustion was still present, but the deep, primal urge for release began to stir within him once more, ignited by Odysseus's daring command.

  "Don't be lazy now, you pathetic excuse for a deity," Odysseus's voice sliced through the air, sharp and laced with cruel delight, "Are you truly so weak, sea-whore? Groveling for release from a mere mortal? Is this all the power the great Poseidon can muster, little more than a trembling fish on a hook?" Poseidon's eyes snapped open fully, a flicker of outrage warring with the profound ache of pleasure and degradation. A deep, guttural growl escaped him, raw and thick with mixed emotions. The insults, the vulgarity, the utter stripping of his divine authority, were shockingly, shamefully arousing. He pushed down harder, a furious, desperate drive, his hips slamming against Odysseus's, trying to prove himself, even as a soft, helpless whimper escaped him. The very core of his being resonated with the forbidden thrill of being so thoroughly conquered and debased. He began to ride with a frantic desperation, each movement a silent scream of defiance and surrender, spurred on by the lash of Odysseus's words.

   Odysseus’s hands found Poseidon’s waist, not to help, but to guide, to force the rhythm. "Faster, my Lord! Show me that divine strength you boast of! Or are you truly just a common fisher-boy, gasping for air while I plumb your depths?" Each word was a barb, piercing through Poseidon's remaining dignity, striking a chord that surprisingly thrilled him.  Poseidon's riding became a blur, a desperate, almost violent act of surrender. His whimpers grew louder, no longer entirely muffled, laced with a new, frantic edge. He was a god, yes, but in this moment, he was reduced to pure, visceral response, completely at the mercy of Odysseus's cruel, stimulating commands. He gripped Odysseus's shoulders, his nails digging in, as his hips churned, driven by the desire to prove himself, even if it meant abandoning all pretense of control. The trident within him was a constant, blinding point of pressure, pushing him further into the exquisite agony that Odysseus so deftly commanded.

   The combined force of the thrusts and the brutal degradation pushed Poseidon further still. He felt the familiar, inexorable pressure building again, a sweet, agonizing throb at his core. His head fell back against Odysseus's shoulder, a strangled, animalistic groan tearing from him. The tears that had fallen mixed with a fresh sheen of sweat. He was close, impossibly close again, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. His body spasmed around Odysseus's shaft and the trident, clenching, begging for the release that Odysseus had promised, and yet, also threatened. Odysseus noticed the precise moment of Poseidon's imminent climax, a sharp, knowing glint in his eyes. He leaned in, his voice a low, commanding growl that bypassed Poseidon's already overloaded senses and went straight to the raw, needy core of him. "Beg for it, my Lord," Odysseus instructed, his grip on the trident tightening, "Beg for your release, like the desperate little creature you are." Poseidon's entire body seized, every muscle rigid with the overwhelming urge. His eyes, already glassy,and filled with tears, fluttered open to lock with Odysseus's, a desperate, pleading agony in their depths. A ragged, guttural sound tore from his throat, completely devoid of pride or defiance. "Please! Odysseus! Please! I beg you! Let me… let me come! I need it! Give it to me, please!" He sobbed, his tears clear and crystal like. Odysseus smiled, kissing his tear drops. "You are most pretty when you cry, Lord." He bucks up, earning more sobs from the latter above him.

  And Odysseus, the king who always kept his word, granted it. He bucked his hips upward with immense force, driving the trident and himself to their absolute fullest depths within Poseidon. The god cried out, a profound, shattering roar that ripped through the quiet night, his body convulsing violently as he emptied himself completely in a torrent of divine pleasure, a second, even more potent wave of golden ichor coating his and Odysseus's bodies. Odysseus's own body thrummed with a building inferno. The tightness of Poseidon's depths, the incessant friction of the trident's shaft, and the raw, unbridled power he had exerted over the god had driven him to the brink. With a guttural groan that rivaled Poseidon's earlier cries, Odysseus buried his face in the god's neck, his own hips driving upward in a final, explosive rhythm. He roared, a primal, triumphant sound that mingled with the crashing waves, as his body shuddered violently, releasing his own searing heat into the depths of the Sea God. A hot, thick wave of mortal essence pulsed into Poseidon, marking the culmination of his conquest.

Chapter Text

  It's not that he wasn't satisfied with what happened, in fact; he was joyous. The mortal king gave him his seed, and the sensation it was. Though, the thing is.. He'd forgotten that his body has the body of a fish almost. Meaning that there's a possibility that the King's seed has developed in him. It wasn't the first time Poseidon was conceiving an offspring, not at all. But with Odysseus? He'll bring forth demigods, not that that was a big problem, Odysseus had a wife and a son. He'll basically be a home wrecker. Wouldn't want that just as he was getting to know Penelope.

   He slide against his throne, feeling lazier than usual. Odysseus' seed shouldn't form, as he was in his humane form. The eggs hadn't formed in his sphincter as yet.. they shouldn't hatch. It also disappointed Poseidon a little, not to be able to take care of his and Odysseus' children. Though, it was probably for the better. His body was a hermaphroditic, meaning he had both genitalia, which made it a possibility. But, they didn't have intercourse within Poesidon's slit. And he was feeling tired, more today than ever. Probably the aftermath.

 He left his throne room, striding past the sea folk who resides in his palace. Some greeted him with bows and praises, some greeted him with looks. Not that any of that mattered anyway. Finally, he reached his chambers, he ordered the two shark like servants to open the huge doors. Placed next to the giant window lie an epoxy wave bed, its surface sculpted to mimic the gentle undulations of the ocean, but with the waves a deep, mysterious blue, almost black in their intensity, capturing the depth of the sea. Surrounding this unique bed are soft, flowing blue hanging curtains, creating a sense of privacy and tranquility, like being in a secluded cove. The bed itself is adorned with crisp, white sheets, their purity a stark contrast to the dark waves, and these sheets are subtly accented with delicate gold embroidery or trim, adding a touch of elegance and luxury, like glints of sunlight on the water's surface. Just as he  sat down on his bed, sighing at the soft texture, His wife called through the door.

  "Husband, why are you not in your throne room?" She whistled, apparently she's still in her ancient language. She sounded as though she had just been speaking with the dolphins, as outgoing as she is. "I tire. Am I not allowed a little bit of peace, away from my divine throne?" He whistled back, changing into a loose fitting chiton that hung on his hips. "May I?" He knew what she was referring to and nodded before he realized she couldn't see him. He grunted, giving her indication that she could.

  Amphitrite moved with the unhurried grace of the deepest currents, a living tapestry of the ocean's majesty. Her skin, the color of moonlight on a calm sea, shimmered with an inner luminescence, and her eyes held the profound, ancient wisdom of the abyssal plains. Her hair, a cascade of emerald and sapphire, flowed around her like kelp swaying in an unseen tide, adorned with delicate, iridescent shells and pearls that gleamed faintly. A gown woven from the finest, most pliable seaweed, shot through with threads of spun silver from sunken treasures, clung to her form, its hem swirling around her feet like foam on a receding wave.

  As she entered Poseidon's bedchambers, her stride was a silent, fluid glide. Each step was less a movement and more a continuation of the ocean's rhythmic pulse. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in her bearing, only the quiet confidence of one who commands the very essence of the sea. The faint, echoing whisper of distant tides seemed to accompany her, and the subtle scent of salt and the blooming flora of coral gardens wafted in her wake. She approached the grand bed, adorned with silken sheets the color of deep sea coral and pillows like banks of seafoam. With an easy movement, she settled beside Poseidon, the bed sighing softly under her weight. He shifted, turning onto his side to face her, a comfortable smile gracing his lips. His arm draped loosely over her, a familiar weight that spoke of countless shared nights.

  Amphitrite's fingers, cool and slender, found their way into the dark, flowing strands of his hair. She began to idly comb through it, untangling phantom knots, the movement soothing and intimate. Poseidon let out a soft sigh, leaning into her touch like a great whale finding a calm current. He murmured something low, indistinct, a sound of contentment. She chuckled softly, a sound like the gentle lapping of waves against a sandy shore, and continued her ministrations, her gaze tenderly fixed on his relaxed face. The easy silence that settled between them was thick with the quiet.Then, her voice, soft as a murmur of the tide but with an undeniable undercurrent, broke the quiet. "I sensed your absence yesterday," Now speaking normally, She took a clam out of her hair and gently placed it into his.

  "when you went to see those mortals." Amphitrite finished, currently fixated on a strand of hair she now braided. "How much do you know, Amphitrite?" Poseidon tensed, but quickly relaxed under his wife's ministrations. "Here and there. But I know what you and that little king did, it's been a while since you've had that kind of action." She sneered, shying away from her husband's glare. "I'd hate for you to lose your tongue, dear." The threat was clear;and ignored as Amphitrite bursted into a fit of laughter. She quieted down a bit, returning her attention towards braiding pieces of Poseidon's hair. "Is there a possibility..that I might cynn his kin?" He mumbled, locking eyes with his wife. "There is, but it is highly unlikely. Though, if you do bear his offspring, you'll need to reside at his palace until you give birth." He cringed at the thought. Amphitrite chuckled at his expression and pecked at his temple. She nicked off a piece of his skin, drinking in the ichor.

  "You have got to stop doing that." He sighed, intertwining hands with his wife's. She pulled away, licking the golden blood from her lips. "Yes, but it's so addicting." She showed off her shark like teeth, now stained with ichor, in a sharp smile. Poseidon healed his small wound and relaxed more into his wife's embrace, closing his eyes in contentment. Acain to the actions of sharks, Poseidon twisted his head, resting it between his wife's shoulder and neck bone. He gently nipped at the skin there, biting and kissing the wound affectionately. "And you tell me I have to stop."  He chuckled against her skin, lifting his head. "It's so addicting." He mocked, earning himself a roll of eyes and a kiss on the temple, above the previous wound.

   Sitting on his chair, he glanced out the window. It's been awhile since the mortal king had seen the sea-God. Since their last 'encounter'. Odysseus sighed as he looked back at the scroll on his desk, the words mingle into swirls. He'd hoped, well hope was too strong of a word, assumed that the God would stay. Would stay with him, but that seemed impossible. Sure, they spent a night on the beach, and he brought his God to the sweet precipe over and over again, but they still were open wounds. They needed to actually talk. If Poseidon would let him.

   The days in Ithaca were a relentless cycle of kingly duties. Dawn broke with calls from petitioners seeking justice, disputes over land ownership, and the endless logistics of rebuilding a kingdom ravaged by war and prolonged absence. Odysseus spent hours in council, his mind sharp, his judgment tempered by years of hardship and cunning. He oversaw the repairs to the palace, consulted with farmers on crop rotation, and strategized with his loyal few on matters of defense against lingering threats. Each decision, each decree, bore the heavy responsibility of his crown. Yet, amidst the arduous demands of kingship, there were moments of respite, precious and rare. He often sought the company of his son, Telemachus. Many afternoons found them on the very beach where the fateful encounter with Poseidon had occurred. Odysseus, ever the mentor, would teach Telemachus the intricacies of knot-tying, the art of reading the currents, or simply the quiet dignity of watching the waves break upon the shore. These were moments of quiet connection, of rebuilding a bond severed by long years of war.

  It was during one such afternoon, the sun a warm embrace upon their backs, that the sea began to churn. Not with the fury of a storm, but with a deep, resonant power that spoke of something ancient awakening. The waves grew larger, the air crackled, and from the shimmering expanse of the water, a towering figure began to coalesced. Poseidon emerged from the depths, his form as imposing and majestic as Odysseus remembered, yet there was a subtle weariness in his eyes, a somberness that belied his divine stature. He walked onto the sand, his gaze immediately finding Odysseus. The mortal king stood, his arm instinctively placed on Telemachus's shoulder, a protective gesture that tightened almost imperceptibly as the Sea-God approached. "Telemachus," Odysseus commanded, his voice low but firm, a stark contrast to the gentle tones he usually used with his son. "Go to the groves, son. Wait for me there." Telemachus, confused by the sudden shift in his father's demeanor and the appearance of the imposing stranger, began to protest, "Father, what—"

 "Go!" Odysseus repeated, his voice sharper now, a stern edge that cut through the boy's hesitant words. He fixed Telemachus with a look that brooked no argument, a command born of years of leading men into battle and ensuring their survival. "I will join you shortly." Understanding the unspoken urgency in his father's tone, Telemachus swallowed hard, cast one last bewildered glance at the god, and then turned, heading inland towards the shaded olive groves, his steps quick.

  Poseidon watched the boy go, his gaze unreadable. He then returned his attention to Odysseus, his eyes holding the king's. "Odysseus," Poseidon's voice rumbled, a sound like distant thunder, quieter than usual, yet still echoing with immense power. He paused, his gaze sweeping over the human king. A slow, almost unreadable expression crossed the god's features. "It seems," Poseidon continued, his words heavy with an unexpected gravitas, "that our... encounter... may have left a more lasting mark than either of us anticipated." He took a step closer, his eyes holding Odysseus's, and then delivered the shocking pronouncement. "I believe I may bear your child." Odysseus stared, utterly bewildered. His brow furrowed, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing his face before he could master it. "Bear... my child?" he echoed, the words foreign, absurd even, coming from the mighty Sea-God. "How can you bear a child, Lord Poseidon? You are a god, a male deity of the seas!"

  Poseidon's expression remained grave. "My form, Odysseus, is not limited by the rigid distinctions of your mortal kind. We gods are often hermaphroditic, capable of taking on aspects and functions that transcend your understanding of gender. You… you gave me your seed, mortal. And in the depths of my divine being, touched by the very essence of the sea, it has taken root." He gestured vaguely to his own body, a gesture that for any other being would indicate a burgeoning belly, but on the sculpted form of Poseidon, it was merely a subtle shift in the divine aura. "There is a chance," Poseidon continued, his gaze unwavering, "that I will bring forth an offspring from our union. And there is also a chance I will not. The ways of divine conception are... unpredictable, even for us." A beat of stunned silence hung in the air, broken only by the gentle lapping of the waves. Odysseus could only process a fraction of what he was hearing: a god, a male god, potentially pregnant with his child. It was beyond all mortal comprehension, a disruption of the very fabric of his reality.

  Poseidon then added, his voice regaining a hint of his usual imperiousness, though still tinged with an unusual weariness, "My consort, Amphitrite, has... expressed her opinion on the matter. She believes it is... best... for me to reside at the palace, with the person who made me pregnant, until the matter is resolved. She is of the mind that this... situation... requires close observation." Odysseus could only gape. The Sea-God, taking up residence in his palace? With Penelope? The thought alone was enough to make his seasoned warrior's heart pound in a way no battle ever could. "Does your wife, Penelope, know about this?" Poseidon asked, his gaze sharp, cutting through Odysseus's stunned silence.

  Odysseus's jaw tightened. "She knows of what we did on the beach, Lord Poseidon. The raw, elemental force that was unleashed between us. She felt the echoes of it, as I am sure you did, from your realm to ours." He paused, a troubled flicker in his eyes. "But no, she does not know of the child. Not yet." Then, Odysseus, seizing a fragment of his usual cunning amidst the chaos, turned the question back, his tone laced with a knowing challenge. "And your own wife, Amphitrite? Does she know of what we did here, Lord of the Seas?" Poseidon met his gaze, unflinching, though a flicker of something unreadable crossed his features. "A bit," he conceded, the admission coming with surprising ease, given the weight of it. "She... knows what we did on the beach." He left unspoken the true depth of Amphitrite's understanding.

  "So, I am expected to care for you?" Odysseus asked, still confused by the news. Poseidon nodded, walking closer to Odysseus but kept a decent distance. "Until this child is conceived, yes." Odysseus sighed, what was he going to tell Telemachus? "Okay, okay. Fuck, this is hard to get used to..I hope your cravings aren't weird." Poseidon chuckled at that, ruffling the mortal king's hair. "I am sea folk, little king." Yeah, that made sense. "I shall get myself accustomed with the queen." Odysseus froze, opening his mouth to speak but he only just noticed that Poseidon started walking the path. That could wait, He had to see his son.

   Telemachus sat perched precariously atop an olive tree branch, his legs swinging idly beneath him. A persistent question echoed in his mind: why had his father dispatched him so abruptly? What critical matter required such private discourse between Odysseus and the formidable sea god, a conversation so momentous that Telemachus's presence was deemed an impediment, necessitating his solitary vigil amongst these ancient olive groves? He surveyed the sun-dappled foliage, the gentle rustling of leaves a stark contrast to the turbulent thoughts churning within him.

     A sense of exclusion, mingled with an unyielding curiosity, settled over him. He strained his ears, hoping to catch some faint murmur, some clue to the weighty discussion unfolding beyond his sight. The air, usually so familiar and comforting, now felt thick with unspoken secrets.Odysseus emerged from the dense screen of olive leaves, his usual composed demeanor seeming a shade more serious than Telemachus remembered. Before his father could even properly step into the sun-dappled clearing, Telemachus, unable to contain his burgeoning curiosity, launched into a volley of questions."Father! What was so urgent? Why did you send me away? What did you speak of with Lord Poseidon that I could not hear?"

  Telemachus's words tumbled out, a mix of genuine concern and a touch of youthful indignation.Odysseus raised a hand, a small, weary smile playing on his lips. "Peace, my son, peace. One question at a time, lest you overwhelm even an old campaigner like myself." He walked closer, placing a reassuring hand on Telemachus's shoulder.

   "There are matters, young Telemachus, that even between a father and son, must remain for a time with the father alone. Matters that involve the gods, especially, are often veiled in their own mysteries."Telemachus, though slightly mollified by the touch, persisted. "But Father, I am no longer a child! I have faced dangers, and I have stood by your side. Surely, you can trust me with what passed between you and the Sea God?"

   He searched his father's eyes, hoping for a flicker of concession.A sigh escaped Odysseus. "Indeed, you have grown, my son, and proven your mettle time and again. And because of that, I share what I can. What passed between Lord Poseidon and me was... unexpected. A matter of great personal significance to the god, and one that, for the moment, requires a delicate handling. It concerns a new journey, of sorts, for him."Telemachus's brow furrowed.

   "A journey? What kind of journey could be so secret? Is it a quest? Is it dangerous?"Odysseus chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Dangerous? Perhaps, in its own way, for him. But not in the manner you might imagine, with monsters and storms. More a journey of... creation, I suppose one could say. For now, my son, let it be enough that the immediate peril has passed, and new paths are opening." He looked towards the setting sun, a thoughtful expression on his face.

   "The gods, Telemachus, are full of surprises, even for those of us who have long known their whims."Telemachus, though his youthful mind still buzzed with unasked questions, sensed the finality in his father's tone. He bit back the fresh wave of inquiries, his gaze lingering on Odysseus's face, trying to decipher the unspoken. "Very well, Father," he conceded, a touch of resignation in his voice."Come, my son," Odysseus said, a more familiar warmth returning to his eyes. "Let us return to the palace." As they walked, the path winding through the familiar olive groves and then onto the more open, manicured grounds, Odysseus began to speak of days gone by.

   "You've proven yourself a true warrior, Telemachus, in ways I could only have hoped for when I left. Tell me, how fared Ithaca in my absence? How did your mother, Penelope, manage the suitors who plagued our halls?"Telemachus found himself easily drawn into the conversation, the cryptic encounter with Poseidon momentarily fading as he recounted the long, arduous years. He spoke of the insolence of the suitors, the strain on Penelope, and his own struggles to maintain order. Odysseus listened intently, occasionally interjecting with a nod or a low murmur of approval, sometimes with a grimace when Telemachus described the worst excesses of their unwelcome guests.

   It was a familiar comfort, this shared history, a reaffirmation of their bond as father and son, warriors both. Telemachus felt a sense of pride as he spoke of his efforts, and a renewed appreciation for his father's legendary resilience.They reached the palace and headed towards the main sitting room, the sounds of conversation drifting from within. Odysseus pushed open the heavy wooden door, and Telemachus stepped in, ready to greet his mother and perhaps find some solace in the normalcy of their home.

  But the scene that unfolded before him shattered any expectation of normalcy.

  Penelope sat elegantly on a cushioned bench, a delicate smile gracing her lips, engaged in what appeared to be a remarkably relaxed conversation. Opposite her, on a divan far too small for his usual imposing stature, sat Lord Poseidon. The mighty God of the Sea, known for his tempestuous moods and earth-shattering power, was not thundering or demanding tribute.

  Instead, he was leaning slightly forward, listening with what seemed to be genuine interest, a faint, almost... fond expression on his divine face.Telemachus stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw slack. Confusion, thick and disorienting, washed over him. His father had just had a deeply private, seemingly serious discussion with this god, one that involved "new journeys" and "creation." Now, here he was, in their very own sitting room, chatting amiably with his mother as if they were old friends discussing the weather.

  Telemachus looked from his mother's calm demeanor to Poseidon's uncharacteristically benign presence, and then to his father, who seemed to take this surreal tableau completely in stride. The world, it seemed, had decided to spin off its axis.Odysseus, however, seemed utterly unfazed. He moved with a quiet grace, taking a seat beside Penelope, his arm finding its familiar place around her shoulders. He leaned in, a soft smile gracing his lips, and seamlessly joined the seemingly innocuous conversation as if the sight of a major Olympian god casually visiting their sitting room was an everyday occurrence.This was too much.

  The carefully maintained composure Telemachus had held during the walk back shattered. His voice, when it emerged, was a strangled whisper, quickly escalating to an incredulous tone. "Father?" he began, his eyes darting between his parents and the colossal figure of the Sea God. "Lord Poseidon?"He stepped further into the room, his questions tumbling out, unchecked by any lingering sense of propriety or decorum. "Why... why are you in our home, Lord Poseidon? And why," he gestured wildly between the three of them, "are you all speaking as if... as if you were the closest of friends, discussing the weather, or... or the market prices?" His voice rose, tinged with disbelief.

   "And Father!" He turned to Odysseus, betrayal etched on his face. "What was that conversation you had with him, in the groves? You told me it was a 'new journey,' a matter of 'creation'! What does any of this mean?"The air in the room, previously filled with light chatter, now crackled with Telemachus's bewildered intensity. Penelope looked at her son with a mixture of sympathy and amusement, while Poseidon, for his part, merely raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, seemingly enjoying Telemachus's profound confusion.

   Odysseus, however, met his son's gaze directly, a calm yet unreadable expression on his face, as if he had been expecting this very outburst.Poseidon, his gaze fixed on the bewildered Telemachus, seemed poised to unleash a torrent of divine explanation. His lips parted, a deep breath filling his chest, but before a single word could escape, Odysseus's hand shot out, gently but firmly gripping the god's forearm.

   The subtle pressure was enough; Poseidon's eyes met Odysseus's, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. The god, surprisingly, relented, his impending revelation held back.Odysseus then turned to his son, his expression a careful blend of calm and an almost playful inscrutability. "Telemachus," he began, his voice even and steady, "there is much that has transpired, and much that will. For now, understand that Lord Poseidon has chosen to spend a period of time here with us in the palace."He paused, letting the words hang in the air, allowing his son to process this extraordinary statement.

  "His presence is... a matter of great importance, not just to him, but to our house and to Ithaca. It marks a new chapter, one that requires a certain... discretion for the time being." Odysseus offered a small, reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You'll come to understand it all in due course, my son. For now, simply know that the lord of the seas is our guest, and we extend to him the hospitality befitting his stature."Telemachus stared, his questions still burning, but a new layer of confusion settling over him. Discretion? A new chapter? His father's words were a carefully constructed wall, deflecting answers while simultaneously deepening the mystery.

  He looked from his father to the now-silent Poseidon, then to his mother, who merely offered him a gentle, knowing look. The air in the sitting room, thick with unspoken secrets, pressed down on him, leaving him with more questions than answers.Telemachus felt a surge of frustration, a burning impatience he hadn't known since before his own journey to find news of his father. He had faced the suitors, stood against them, and taken on the responsibilities of a man in his father's absence. Now, his father, who had returned and should, by all rights, treat him as an equal in matters of their household, was holding him at arm's length.

  "Father," Telemachus pressed, his voice taut with a controlled frustration, "I am no longer the boy you left behind. I faced the dangers of the open sea in search of you. I stood against the insolence of the suitors who ravaged our home. I have learned to speak with kings and to carry the weight of this kingdom on my shoulders, however small. Do you deem me so childish still that I cannot be privy to the counsel you share with a god in our very own halls?"His gaze sharpened, challenging Odysseus directly.

  "Is my discretion so untrustworthy? Is my courage so untested that you must shield me from what transpires beneath our roof? What secret could be so profound that even your own son, who has fought alongside you, cannot be trusted with it?" He swept his hand in an exasperated gesture towards Poseidon, who watched the exchange with an unblinking, almost amused, intensity. "And to have Lord Poseidon here, as a guest, when he has been your greatest adversary for so long... it defies all understanding!"Penelope, sensing the escalating tension, began to stir, a faint frown creasing her brow.

  But Odysseus held her gaze with a subtle shake of his head, indicating he would handle this. He looked at Telemachus, a flicker of something unreadable – perhaps pride, perhaps a trace of regret – in his deep-set eyes."Telemachus," Odysseus said, his voice dropping slightly, losing some of its earlier lightness, "your maturity, your courage, and your loyalty are beyond question. Indeed, you have proven yourself a man worthy of this house and your lineage.

  And it is precisely because of that, because of the man you have become, that some matters must be handled with the utmost care, even with those we trust most deeply."He paused, choosing his words with the cunning of a seasoned diplomat. "The secrets of the gods, my son, are not always ours to reveal at will. There are oaths, there are promises made in the presence of powers far beyond our ken. This 'new chapter' I spoke of... it is indeed a matter of profound significance to Lord Poseidon, and by extension, now to us.

  Its nature is delicate, and its unfolding requires patience and a particular understanding that is not yet ready to be fully shared. It is not a matter of trust, my son, but of timing and the intricate will of the Olympians."Odysseus placed a hand on Telemachus's shoulder once more, his grip firm. "Rest assured, when the moment is right, when the threads of fate have woven themselves more completely, all will be revealed to you. For now, accept that Lord Poseidon is here as our guest, and treat him with the respect and honor due to a god, and to a new, if unexpected, alliance."

  Telemachus opened his mouth to retort, to demand more, but the look in his father's eyes, that steely glint of unyielding resolve, told him further protest would be futile. He was still frustrated, still utterly baffled, but he recognized the unmovable will of Odysseus. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the questions still swirling, but temporarily silenced by his father's unwavering stance.Odysseus rose from his seat, a comfortable, almost domestic gesture that seemed utterly at odds with the strange power dynamics at play.

   He leaned over, bestowing a tender kiss upon Penelope's brow, a brief moment of normalcy in the swirling chaos of Telemachus's mind."Come, Lord Poseidon," Odysseus said, his voice calm and inviting, as if he were addressing any honored guest, "allow me to show you to your chambers. I trust they will be to your liking."Telemachus braced himself. Surely, the mighty God of the Sea, known for his pride and often volatile nature, would refuse such a simple command, or at least question it, perhaps even demand a more fitting arrangement.

  But to Telemachus's utter astonishment, Poseidon simply pushed himself up from the divan, his colossal form filling the sitting room, and with a surprisingly docile nod, followed Odysseus without a word or a moment of hesitation.The two figures, one a king of men, the other a lord of the cosmos, walked side by side towards the hall, their footsteps echoing softly as they disappeared from view. Telemachus watched them go, his mouth slightly agape. The image of the unpredictable, formidable Poseidon meekly obeying his father's instruction was perhaps the most perplexing detail of all.

   His mind raced, struggling to reconcile this submissive Poseidon with the tempestuous deity he knew from tales and personal experience. What hold did his father have over the god? And what exactly was happening in his home?Poseidon, his gaze unwavering, stalked closer to Odysseus. The divine presence in the king's private chambers felt suddenly immense, the air charged with an unspoken desire. "Odysseus," the god rumbled, his voice a low, suggestive purr that seemed to resonate deep within the very stone of the palace, "let us resume what we began on the beach. You cannot deny the power of it, the raw, exhilarating freedom we found. You felt it too, did you not? That surge of something new, something potent."

  Odysseus met the god's intense stare, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. A flicker of something akin to longing, a phantom echo of that tumultuous connection, crossed his features. He remembered the wildness, the release, the sheer, unbridled force that had coursed through him in Poseidon's presence. But then, his thoughts snapped back to the present, to the realities of his regained life.

  "Lord Poseidon," Odysseus replied, his voice strained but firm, "the memory of that... experience... remains with me. It was indeed powerful. But this palace holds my wife, Penelope, whose unwavering loyalty brought me home. And my son, Telemachus, who has just begun to understand the complexities of our return. Moreover," he added, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "you, Lord, are going to bear a new life soon. My focus, my duty, my very being, must now be turned towards them and the profound changes your... condition... brings to our lives and our alliance."A deep, rumbling sigh escaped Poseidon, a sound like distant thunder.

  He paced for a moment, his divine impatience palpable, before turning back to Odysseus, his eyes gleaming with renewed intent. "Such earthly concerns are easily managed, king," he asserted, his voice taking on a persuasive edge. "This palace, this very room, can be made impervious to sound, to prying ears or curious sons. And as for my... condition," a sly, knowing look crossed his face, "I assure you, I can control the essence of my being. I need not bear more than this singular, significant life from you, if that is your concern. My desires are precise, Odysseus, and my power absolute. There would be no further... surprises. Only pleasure, and the continuation of that unique bond we forged."

  Odysseus stood silent for a long moment, the air thick with unspoken desires and the potent aura of the god. Poseidon's words, smooth as polished marble, resonated with a dangerous allure. The promise of controlled passion, of a brief escape from the crushing weight of his new reality, was a siren's song to the weary king.

  He had felt it on the beach – that raw, unburdened power, a wildness that contrasted sharply with the calculated cunning and stoic endurance that defined his mortal life.He looked into Poseidon's ancient, deep-set eyes, seeing not just lust, but a strange, possessive affection. The god truly desired his company, desired that unique connection they had forged. It was a tempting proposition, indeed, to lose himself for a moment in that divine embrace, to shed the burdens of kingship, fatherhood, and the astonishing, unprecedented reality of Poseidon's pregnancy.

  The idea of soundproofed rooms, of no further "surprises," was a masterful stroke, addressing his immediate concerns and the profound implications of their initial encounter.But then, the faces of Penelope and Telemachus flashed in his mind's eye. Penelope, whose fidelity had spanned two decades of absence, whose very being was a testament to enduring love and trust. Telemachus, who had just pleaded for his father's trust, who was grappling with the bewildering reality of a god in their sitting room and a secret that still hung heavy. And then, the profound, almost overwhelming sensation emanating from Poseidon himself – the burgeoning life that was a tangible, miraculous testament to their connection, yes, but also a responsibility, a bond that transcended fleeting pleasure.

  This was not merely about himself anymore, nor was it merely about the god's fleeting desire. It was about the consequences of their actions, and the profound shift in the cosmic order.Odysseus took a slow, measured breath, the scent of the sea, subtly emanating from Poseidon, filling his lungs. He met the god's gaze, his own eyes showing the struggle, the true cost of his decision."Lord Poseidon," Odysseus finally said, his voice quiet but resolute, "your power is immense, and your offers are... compelling. I do not deny the truth in your words about the beach, nor the temptation you present." He paused, choosing each word with the precision of a master craftsman.

  "But my path is clear. My return to Ithaca, my reunion with my wife and son, the very presence of this new life you carry within you – these are the threads of my destiny, interwoven by the Fates themselves. To stray from this path, even for a moment of such profound sensation, would be to betray not only them, but the intricate balance that now exists, and the trust that must be forged anew."He gestured vaguely between them, acknowledging the incredible weight of their shared secret.

  "This new existence, Lord, is a sacred trust, not merely for you, but for all involved. It requires all of me, my absolute focus, and an unwavering commitment to my family and my people. And to you, in this unprecedented state. I cannot, and will not, jeopardize that for any pleasure, however divine, when such profound life unfolds within you, and such a delicate understanding must be nurtured between us."

  Odysseus offered a slight, almost regretful bow of his head. "My gratitude for your offer is genuine, as is my respect. But my answer, with all due deference, must be no. Not now. Not while such precious and profound life unfolds within you, and a new, intricate future awaits us all." Poseidon watched him, the amusement fading, replaced by a complex mix of frustration, disappointment, and perhaps, a grudging respect for Odysseus's unwavering resolve in the face of such a unique temptation. The air in the room seemed to crackle, then slowly, began to settle.

  Poseidon's intense gaze remained fixed on Odysseus, the vibrant light in his eyes dimming slightly. A profound disappointment settled over his features, a shadow across his divine visage that was rarely seen. He exhaled slowly, a sound like the distant whisper of waves retreating from the shore. The raw power that had crackled in the air moments before softened, replaced by a deep-seated melancholy. "So be it, King of Ithaca," Poseidon finally said, his voice lower now, stripped of its earlier persuasive edge. "Your resolve, it seems, is as unyielding as the bedrock of the earth itself." He paused, his gaze dropping momentarily. Odysseus, following the god's line of sight, noticed it then: the faint, yet undeniable, slight swell on Poseidon's previously flat stomach. It was a subtle transformation, barely perceptible to the unobservant eye, but now, knowing what he did, it was profoundly evident. This was not the arrogant, unburdened god he had known, but a being in a state of unprecedented change and vulnerability.

  Poseidon's eyes met Odysseus's once more, a new request forming within their depths, different in nature but no less weighty. "However," he began, his voice tinged with a surprising wistfulness, "this new state... it brings with it sensations I am unaccustomed to. A different kind of solitude, perhaps, than the vastness of my ocean depths. Therefore, I ask this of you, Odysseus: stay with me in the night. Not for pleasure, if that is your unwavering resolve, but simply for the comfort of your presence. To share the silence of the hours until dawn. A simple act of companionship, given the extraordinary bond that now exists between us." Odysseus looked at the mighty god, seeing past the divine façade to the unexpected vulnerability beneath. The visible proof of the burgeoning life, and the quiet desperation in Poseidon's tone, resonated deeply within him. It was an unprecedented plea from an Olympian, and one that spoke to a need far beyond simple desire. This was not about personal gratification for Odysseus, but about acknowledging the profound, bewildering shift in their relationship and the unique circumstances of the god.

  After a brief, weighty silence, Odysseus nodded. "Very well, Lord Poseidon," he stated, his voice calm and steady. "I will stay. For the night, I shall be your companion." The tension in Poseidon's posture eased almost imperceptibly. He did not smile, but the deep-seated melancholy in his eyes seemed to lessen, replaced by a quiet acceptance. The vast, turbulent power of the sea god seemed to recede, leaving only the unexpected figure of a deity in a profoundly human state of need. Odysseus led Poseidon into the designated chambers. The room was, as many palace guest rooms were, functional but austere. The walls were a pale, unassuming stone, and the only decor consisted of a few small, potted plants on a simple stone ledge and plain, white linen sheets covering a modest wooden bed. It was a stark contrast to the opulence Poseidon was accustomed to, and a far cry from the vibrant, shifting grandeur of his underwater palaces.

  Poseidon surveyed the space with a subtle frown. It was undeniably bland, devoid of the rich colors, flowing water, and intricate marine life that defined his domain. However, a flicker of something calculating crossed his features. Nothing that a little divine influence couldn't remedy, given time. He allowed Odysseus to guide him further into the room. The human king, with a surprising gentleness, helped him settle onto the small bed. It was firm, unyielding, and far from the expansive, soft beds of mortal royalty, let alone the infinitely yielding embrace of the ocean. Poseidon's immense height was immediately apparent; his feet extended well past the footboard, forcing his powerful frame into an unaccustomed slight bend. Yet, he complied, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping him as he lay back, the plain white sheets a stark frame for his divine form.

  A low chuckle escaped Odysseus, a sound of genuine amusement that cut through the strange tension of the moment. He looked at Poseidon, the mighty god of the seas, clearly uncomfortable with his feet dangling off the end of the bed. "If this bed is so small for you, Lord Poseidon," Odysseus remarked, a playful glint in his eye as he climbed onto the bed beside him, settling into the limited space, "I can only imagine what you'll make of the bathing tub. Our mortal provisions are perhaps not quite suited to divine proportions." Poseidon groaned, a sound that was surprisingly human in its exasperation. He pushed himself up from the bed, his irritation at the ill-fitting arrangements clearly outweighing his earlier desire for stillness. With a heavy sigh, he turned and stalked towards the adjoining room.

  As expected, the bathing tub was just as small. A porcelain basin meant for a man of mortal height, it seemed utterly dwarfed by Poseidon's immense frame. He leaned over it, a look of profound disbelief on his face, before turning back to Odysseus with a glare that was more weary than wrathful. The implications of his mortal accommodations, and his current condition, were becoming abundantly clear. Odysseus watched Poseidon's frustrated grimace in the doorway of the small bathing room. "Come, Lord," he said, moving past him to the tub and turning the tap, "let's get some hot water running. And if these mortal accommodations prove too… confining for your usual ablutions, I'll assist you." The offer, while practical, carried an unexpected sting. Poseidon felt an immediate, fierce urge to assert his independence, to thunder that he, the mighty Earth-Shaker, the Lord of the Oceans, was perfectly capable of washing himself. Such an intimate act, performed by a mortal, was an affront to his divine dignity.

  But as the words formed on his tongue, a profound weariness settled over him. It wasn't merely the indignity of the small tub or the bland room; it was the persistent, deep-seated exhaustion that had become his constant companion since the child had begun to truly take root within him. The endless drain on his divine energy, the unfamiliar aches, the subtle shifts in his own immense being—all weighed heavily. The monumental effort it would take to simply force his body into the cramped space, let alone perform the act of bathing with grace, seemed insurmountable. So, he said nothing. The protest died unspoken, replaced by a heavy silence. He simply watched the steaming water begin to fill the small tub, his powerful shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly with the unaccustomed burden.

  Poseidon began to undress, his gaze fixed on Odysseus. The king's face, whether from the steam of the running water or a deeper flush, seemed indeed a shade redder than usual. "You act as if this is the first time you've seen me without garments, Odysseus," Poseidon rumbled, a hint of amusement, perhaps even challenge, in his tone. The words hung in the air, acknowledging their shared, unprecedented history. With a visible effort, the god began to slide into the small tub. His powerful frame, usually so fluid and graceful, moved with an uncharacteristic stiffness. A sharp cramp clearly seized him halfway, and he groaned, a sound of genuine discomfort, and simply gave up, his large body awkwardly wedged, unable to fully settle himself.

  Odysseus sighed, a quiet exhalation of resignation and perhaps a touch of weary acceptance. Without a word, he moved forward, placing a steadying hand on Poseidon's broad back. With a gentle but firm push, he helped the mighty god finally ease the rest of the way into the cramped, steaming water, adjusting him as best he could within the confines of the mortal tub. Odysseus, now accustomed to the task, began to gently wash Poseidon's back, navigating the limited space in the tub. The god, still wedged somewhat awkwardly, let out a soft sigh as the warmth of the water seeped into his powerful muscles.

  "Lord Poseidon," Odysseus inquired, his voice low, "why did you not assume one of your smaller forms? Surely, it would have spared you this discomfort." Poseidon opened his eyes, a faint, weary irritation flitting across his features before settling back into profound fatigue. "It is too much effort, mortal," he murmured, his voice deeper than usual. "To shift form, to contain such power within a lesser vessel, requires a concentration and an expenditure of energy I simply do not possess at present. This... burden," he indicated the slight swell of his belly with a subtle movement, "demands too much." He closed his eyes again, a deep breath expanding his chest as the hot water now fully enveloped his lower body. The weariness of bearing new life seemed to utterly consume him, and for a moment, he completely forgot the mortal king diligently bathing him.

 Odysseus continued to work the lavender mixture through Poseidon's hair, his fingers gently massaging the god's scalp. The rhythmic motion, combined with the warm water and the soothing scent, seemed to lull Poseidon into an even deeper state of relaxation. He was completely still, his breathing even and deep, the subtle tension that usually rippled through his powerful form entirely absent. He was simply... at peace. A fleeting urge to lean closer, to press a kiss to the god's brow, surfaced within Odysseus. However, the sheer exhaustion emanating from Poseidon was palpable; it was a deep, pervasive weariness that seemed to settle around him like a shroud. Odysseus doubted such a gesture, however well-intentioned, would be appreciated in this moment of profound fatigue. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. He carefully poured water over Poseidon's head, working the water through his thick, salty hair. With practiced hands, he massaged the god's scalp, the rhythmic motion intended to soothe. He then reached for small amphorae, mixing a lavender-scented solution into the water, allowing its calming fragrance to mingle with the tang of the sea.

  As Odysseus finished rinsing Poseidon's hair, he carefully helped the god sit up in the cramped tub. "There, Lord," he murmured, "that should suffice." He reached for the thickest, softest linen towel the palace afforded and began to wrap it around Poseidon's broad shoulders, dabbing gently at the water on his skin and hair. Poseidon, still heavy with fatigue, allowed himself to be tended to, a silent acknowledgment of his unusual state of vulnerability. Odysseus then retrieved a fresh, clean tunic and cloak from a chest near the bed. They were simple, practical garments meant for mortal men, and again, Poseidon's immense frame made them seem woefully inadequate. "These are the largest we have," Odysseus explained, holding out the tunic. "They may not fit you as befits a god, but they are clean."

  Poseidon took the garments, a faint grimace touching his lips. He slipped into the tunic with a weary sigh, the fabric straining across his chest and barely reaching his knees. The cloak offered slightly more coverage, but it was clear he was not comfortable. He made no comment, however, his eyes still heavy-lidded with exhaustion. Once dressed, or rather, minimally covered, Poseidon turned towards the small bed. Its inadequacy for his size was even more apparent now that he was out of the water. He simply stood beside it, a silent invitation in his gaze, too tired even to gesture. Odysseus understood. The mighty Earth-Shaker, the Lord of the Oceans, was ready for rest, and he had asked for Odysseus's presence through the night. The unusualness of the situation was profound, yet Odysseus felt a quiet resolve. He had promised to stay, and he would.

  He moved to the bed, pulling back the plain white sheets. The small space seemed to shrink even further with the thought of both of them occupying it, especially with Poseidon's immense form. Yet, the god's need, and the incredible circumstances of their bond, transcended mere physical discomfort. Odysseus, a man used to making do with far less, made a subtle adjustment, pushing the pillows to one side to maximize the length available. Poseidon moved first, easing his large frame onto the small bed. He curled into himself, a subtle, almost imperceptible movement, his arms subtly positioned to avoid direct contact with his stomach. The gesture spoke volumes about his protective instincts and the unfamiliarity of his condition. Odysseus followed, carefully navigating the limited space. He settled in beside the god, his head finding a soft resting place on Poseidon's belly. His hand instinctively moved, gently rubbing the slight swell. His left leg found a comfortable position draped over Poseidon's waist, a natural, unthinking gesture of proximity. Poseidon, in turn, ducked his head into Odysseus' shoulder, seeking the warmth and contact as Odysseus pulled the covers up over both of them.

  The room settled into a profound stillness. The only sounds were the soft, rhythmic breathing of two beings who, by all accounts, should have been adversaries, but now lay intertwined by fate. The air was heavy with the weight of unspoken history, present realities, and the bewildering promise of a divine, nascent life. No words were exchanged. The vast, turbulent power of Poseidon seemed to recede into a quiet hum, replaced by the vulnerable warmth of his body against Odysseus's. For Odysseus, it was a night unlike any other he had known. The touch of the god's pregnant form beneath his head, the subtle warmth emanating from it, was a constant, astonishing reminder of the unprecedented situation. It was a truce forged not through diplomacy or battle, but through a shared, astonishing secret and an unexpected act of comfort. The palace slept around them, oblivious to the divine presence within, and the king's intimate, bewildering vigil.

Chapter Text

   As the first slivers of dawn painted the sky outside the window a soft, pearly grey, Odysseus stirred. He felt the slow, steady rise and fall of Poseidon’s belly beneath his head, a warmth that was both strange and deeply comforting. The god, uncharacteristically, was still lost in sleep, his breathing deep and even. Even in slumber, the subtle prominence of his stomach was more pronounced in the morning light, a testament to the changes within. Odysseus’s hand, still resting instinctively on Poseidon’s waist, felt a faint, almost imperceptible flutter—a sensation that momentarily stole his breath. He held still, listening, but the feeling passed as quickly as it came. He watched the god for a long moment, noting the exhaustion etched subtly around Poseidon's eyes, even in repose. The vulnerability of the previous night, the desperate plea for companionship, had been no illusion. This was not the arrogant, storm-wielding deity, but a being experiencing something profoundly new, and profoundly draining. A soft sigh escaped Poseidon, and his eyes, the color of the deep sea, slowly opened. He blinked, the dawn light filtering into the room, and for a fleeting instant, a look of utter disorientation crossed his face before he registered Odysseus.

  Odysseus's hand, still resting on Poseidon's stomach, began to gently rub, a quiet hope for that fleeting flutter to return. The soft gesture, however, seemed to act as an unexpected jolt. Poseidon quickly sat up, a sudden urgency in his movement, and swung his long legs off the side of the bed. He stumbled slightly as his feet hit the floor, still unaccustomed to the height of the mortal bed and perhaps the lingering effects of his deep weariness. He quickly recovered, however, his powerful frame steadying itself, and then practically lunged for the small adjoining bathroom. He dropped to his knees before the ceramic toilet basin, his shoulders hunched. A low groan escaped him, and he muttering a terse command over his shoulder, "Odysseus, hold my hair." The urgency in his voice brooked no argument.

   Odysseus moved swiftly, gathering Poseidon's long, unruly hair. He held it with a surprising gentleness, pulling it back from the god's face just as Poseidon lunged forward, heaving into the bowl. The sounds were guttural, painful, a stark contrast to the god's usual powerful demeanor. Odysseus remained steady, a silent, comforting presence in the small, cramped space, his grip on Poseidon's hair firm but careful. The action happened a few more times before Poseidon sat back, leaning on Odysseus. "Are you alright, Poseidon?" He scoffed, of course he was not alright. "I just regurgitated repeatedly and you want to ask me if I'm okay? Do I look fine to you!" He moved to stand, swaying and sitting back down from the dizziness. 

   "Poseidon, let me help you." Odysseus stood up with ease, holding out his hand. "Just because I bear your child doesn't mean I am weak!" He slapped the mortal King's hand away, huffing. "Poseidon, please. It is too early, please cooperate with me." As stubborn as ever, Poseidon stayed put on the floor, crossing his arms. "Fine, be that way. I'm going to get breakfast. You stay." And with that, Odysseus left. Poseidon sat with disbelief, he actually left. Not that he didn't want him to, of course he did. He groaned as he gripped onto the bowl, pulling himself up with strain. Today was going to be a tiring day, he could feel it. He stumbled back to the bed, hardly even making it onto the mattress before his body hit the floor. His head laid on the bed and he curled up next to the wood. 

  Tired, so so tired, he slowly closed his eyes, resting his hand above his stomach. That little moment of peace was soon cut short, too short, as someone entered the room. He didn't open his eyes to look, way too tired. Soft, slender hands held his arms, lifting him with effort. This wasn't Odysseus, the fingers are far too nimble. He peered open one eye, finding Penelope to be the one helping him up. "Come on, up you go." She whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist. "What..What are you doing?" He asked, incredulously. She chuckled, leading him towards the closet. "Helping you, Lord. I know how to help, as I have had a child of my own." Poseidon rolled his eyes. Does the queen think of him as stupid? "I don't need your help," he started, wretching himself from her arms. "I have had children of my own as well. I know how to handle this." She stood there, calmly. She opened the closet to pick out a new chiton, a slightly longer one. "Yes, it may be true, but this one is half mortal." She turned to him, holding the light chiton up. "Here, Lord. Do as you please with the size, if you wish."

  He took the clothing out her hands, observing it. It had a variety of designs, even pins. "Thank you.." he mumbled. Penelope nodded, turning on her heel. She walked towards the door, opening it before turning back to him. "When you are finished Lord, we invoke your presence at breakfast." And she left. Poseidon stayed focused on the chiton, summoning all his remaining power to lengthen it. It now reached to his calves. He slowly put it on, a few struggles along the way. He made his way down the hall, stumbling a bit before he met eyes with Odysseus. "So much for not needing my help." Odysseus chuckled, wrapping an arm around his waist. Poseidon rolled his eyes and scoffed, "Because I didn't. Your wife was generous to help even when she needn't do anything."

   He guided Poseidon to a seat next to Telemachus. Odysseus then took his rightful place next to Penelope, who arrived bearing platters laden with food. "Here, Lord," Penelope said, her voice warm and welcoming as she placed a dish before Poseidon. "I assumed you'd want some sea food, so I prepared some anchovies in gravy. You might find that to your liking." Poseidon eyed the glistening dish carefully, a faint wrinkle appearing between his brows. He slowly shook his head, then crossed his mighty arms over his chest. "I do not wish to eat this," he stated, his voice firm. Odysseus sputtered, genuinely taken aback. "What do you mean, you don't want it? You haven't even tried it!"

   "And I know I don't want it!" Poseidon retorted, shaking his head with a definitive motion and making preparations to rise from the table. "Husband, Lord, please," Penelope interjected smoothly, "I apologize for my assumption. You don't have to eat it." Poseidon gasped, a flicker of genuine shock in his eyes. The idea that a mere mortal would suggest he needed permission to refuse food seemed to momentarily stun him. "I never intended to eat that!" he declared, clearly offended by the implication. From beside him, Telemachus let out a low groan, burying his face in his hands. "Mother, may I be excused?" Odysseus turned his gaze sharply to his son. "You haven't even finished your breakfast as yet."

  "I have lost my appetite," Telemachus mumbled into his hands, his voice muffled.  Poseidon, still fuming, suddenly let out a strangled cough, a hand flying to his mouth. His face paled, losing its customary healthy glow, and he swallowed hard. The anchovies, though untouched, seemed to be having their own effect. Penelope, ever observant, immediately pushed a small, plain bowl of steaming porridge towards Poseidon. "Perhaps something milder, Lord? No anchovies, I promise. Just simple oats with honey."

  Poseidon eyed the porridge with suspicion, but the desperate rumble in his own stomach, coupled with the lingering nausea, seemed to override his pride. He took the bowl reluctantly, scooping a small spoonful. To everyone's surprise, he ate it, slowly at first, then with more gusto. Odysseus, seeing Telemachus still hunched over his plate, pointed a stern finger at his son. "Telemachus, look at me. Tell me plainly why you wish to leave this table."

    Telemachus slowly raised his head, his gaze darting nervously towards Poseidon, who was now quietly eating his porridge. "Father," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "I am simply... not accustomed to sitting at breakfast next to a god." The words hung in the air, a raw, honest admission of his discomfort and confusion. Without waiting for a response, he pushed back his chair and, with a quick nod to his mother, practically fled the dining hall. Odysseus watched his son go, a complex mixture of understanding and frustration on his face. He sighed, then rose from his own seat. "Penelope," he said, his voice softer now, "I must speak with our son."

  With that, Odysseus too left the table, leaving Penelope and Poseidon alone in the vast, suddenly quiet dining hall. Penelope turned her attention to Poseidon, who had finished his porridge and and was looking rather glum. "Lord," she began, her tone gentle but firm, "might I offer you assistance in moving about the palace? I fear your… condition… might make navigation more challenging than usual." Poseidon's eyes narrowed slightly, a familiar flicker of his divine pride returning. "I am the lord of the seas, mortal woman. I require no assistance from a human to walk. My balance is as unshakeable as the ocean's depths." He pushed back from the table, intending to rise on his own.

  But before he could fully leverage himself, Penelope was at his side. With a surprising strength and determination that brooked no argument, she gently but firmly took his arm, helping him out of the chair. He might be a god, but she was the Queen of Ithaca, and her hospitality, once offered, was not easily refused. Poseidon, caught off guard by her resolute action, found himself being effortlessly guided from the table. As they began to walk, Penelope adjusted her grip, her movements flowing with the grace of long practice. "You know, Lord," she murmured, her voice soft and understanding, "there are many small discomforts that come with bearing life. The swelling of the feet, the sudden pangs in the back, the strange cravings or aversions to certain foods." She glanced at the abandoned anchovies on the table. "Even the mightiest women feel these things. I remember with Telemachus, I could not bear the smell of honey for weeks, though I usually adore it."

  She looked up at him, a knowing, empathetic expression on her face. "Sometimes, a warm bath can ease the aches, or perhaps a gentle massage for the lower back. And for the queasy stomach, ginger root, if you are able to keep it down, can be a great comfort. My handmaidens are skilled in such remedies, should you wish for any relief."

  Poseidon listened, his initial bristling pride slowly giving way to a flicker of surprise, and perhaps a reluctant recognition. The unexpected understanding in Penelope's eyes, the practical wisdom shared without judgment, was disarming. He was accustomed to awe, fear, or worship from mortals, not such quiet, knowing care. He didn't speak, but he allowed her to continue guiding him, a silent acknowledgement of her unique insight into his current, bewildering state. As Penelope continued to guide Poseidon, her gentle counsel filling the quiet hall, a young servant rounded the corner ahead. She was a slender girl, perhaps no older than Telemachus, with quick, darting eyes. Upon seeing the queen and the imposing figure of Lord Poseidon, she immediately bowed her head low, her movements precise and respectful.

  "Greetings, Queen Penelope, Lord Poseidon," she murmured, her voice soft, though a subtle shiver ran through her frame, betraying her awe, or perhaps fear, of the god.Penelope offered a warm, reassuring smile to the girl. As she spoke, she shifted her body slightly, subtly angling herself to cover half of the Lord's swelling stomach from the servant's direct view. "Elara," Penelope said, her tone calm and clear, "would you be so kind as to fetch some of the special infusions from the stores? The ones for... unusual morning discomforts, and perhaps some of the soothing balms for weary muscles. And a fresh pitcher of water, if you please."

  Elara, eager to please her queen, straightened up, her eyes bright with readiness. She did not question the unusual request, nor did her gaze linger on Poseidon's form. "At once, my Queen!" she chirped, and with another quick, respectful bow, she turned and hurried away down the hall, her footsteps light and swift. Penelope continued to guide Poseidon, her hand still gently on his arm, leading him away from the main hall and towards a more private part of the palace. She took him to her and Odysseus's own bedchamber, a room filled with the familiar scents of her husband and the quiet comfort of their shared life.

  "Here, Lord," she said softly, gesturing towards the large, comfortable bed, far more suited to his immense size than the guest room's meager offering. "Please, make yourself comfortable." Poseidon, still somewhat bewildered by her gentle but unwavering insistence, allowed her to help him settle onto the bed. He reclined, his powerful form finally able to stretch out without discomfort. Penelope sat on the edge of the bed beside him, her gaze thoughtful as she looked at his stomach. "If you don't mind my asking, Lord," she began, her voice hesitant, yet filled with a genuine curiosity born of her own experience, "how many weeks along are you, if you know?"

  Poseidon looked at her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes that she would ask such a direct, intimate question. He paused, then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his unaccustomed state, he replied, "Eight weeks, mortal woman." Penelope hummed softly to herself, a sound of quiet understanding. "Eight weeks," she repeated, almost to herself. "Ah, that explains it then. That's why your stomach has swollen so much already. The child is growing quickly, it seems." She offered him a small, knowing smile. Penelope's gaze remained on Poseidon's stomach, her expression thoughtful. "Lord Poseidon," she asked, her voice soft, "may I... may I place my hand upon your stomach?"

  Poseidon's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise, then confusion. "Why would you wish to do that, mortal woman?" he questioned, a hint of disdain in his tone. "To touch the stomach that holds the child that is your husband's? Do you not find that... strange?" Penelope met his gaze directly, her serene expression unwavering. "Perhaps," she conceded, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "But it is also the child of a great god, and a part of a new beginning. If we are to find peace, if we are all to live under this roof, perhaps... perhaps this shared life could forge a bright relationship for us all in the future."

  Poseidon looked away, a grunt escaping him that could have been dismissal. He found her mortal sentimentality perplexing. Yet, he made no move to stop her. Slowly, gently, Penelope extended her hand and laid it flat upon the subtle swell of Poseidon's abdomen. She kept her touch light, respectful, her expression one of quiet wonder. After a moment, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor passed beneath her palm. It was fleeting, easily dismissed, but Penelope felt it. Her eyes widened, a small gasp escaping her lips. It was the distinct sensation of a new life stirring, a movement she recognized from her own pregnancies. A soft, knowing smile bloomed on her face.

  Poseidon, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, pretended not to notice her reaction, but a flicker of something unreadable crossed his features. The silence in the room stretched, filled only by the quiet hum of the palace and the extraordinary presence of a god bearing life. Penelope withdrew her hand slowly, her eyes still wide with a quiet awe. The fleeting movement beneath her palm, a secret shared between mother and soon-to-be-father, solidified something unspoken. She looked at Poseidon, no longer seeing just the formidable god, but a being grappling with a profound, unfamiliar transformation.

  "That," Penelope murmured, her voice barely a whisper, "was truly remarkable, Lord. A powerful new life indeed." She then straightened, a practical air returning to her. "The early weeks are often the most tiring, and the humors of the body are much affected. Rest is paramount. Perhaps, after a short while, you might consider a walk in the palace gardens? The fresh air often settles the stomach." She paused, her gaze steady. "And should you feel the need for anything, Lord, however small or strange, do not hesitate to ask. This house, and I, are here to support this new journey."

  Poseidon watched her, his initial gruffness softened by the unexpected depth of her understanding. He was not accustomed to such solicitude from mortals, especially not one whose husband he had tormented for years. He merely inclined his head, a gesture of reluctant acceptance, the faint swell of his belly a constant, living reminder of his extraordinary circumstances.

  Just then, the door to the bedchamber creaked open, and Odysseus stepped in. He had obviously not found Telemachus, or at least, had not swayed his son from his breakfast-table discomfort. He saw Penelope sitting on the bed beside Poseidon, a new quietude settling over the room. His gaze flickered from Penelope's thoughtful expression to Poseidon's surprisingly subdued demeanor, and then to the very faint, but undeniable, curve of the god's belly beneath the thin tunic.

  He walked over and sat down beside Penelope, placing a reassuring hand on her back. "Has our guest found some comfort, my dear?" he asked, his voice soft, joining the unspoken conversation that hung in the air. He looked at Poseidon, a complex mix of inquiry and shared responsibility in his eyes.

 Penelope offered a soft smile to Odysseus. "Indeed, husband. Lord Poseidon has had some porridge, and we were just discussing the nature of... This child." Her gaze drifted meaningfully to Poseidon's stomach, then back to Odysseus, a silent message passing between them.

  Odysseus, understanding, shifted closer to Poseidon on the bed. The god's proximity was a surprising comfort. Poseidon, in turn, seemed to find a natural ease in the king's presence. He shifted his large frame, moving closer to Odysseus, and with a soft sigh, adjusted himself to lay more fully against the mortal king. Odysseus wrapped an arm around him, providing a steady anchor for the immense god. Penelope, seeing the unexpected tableau, leaned her head onto Odysseus's other shoulder, completing a strange, quiet circle of intimacy.

  "Do you both think," Penelope began, her gaze moving between her husband and the sea god, "that if we were to truly set aside our past grievances and the great challenges before us, we could ever truly be... one big, happy family?"

  The question hung in the air, a testament to Penelope's hope and perhaps, her own exhaustion with the endless strife that had defined their lives for so long. Poseidon visibly tensed at Penelope's words. He unexpectedly sat up straight, a look of confusion clouding his features. He looked down at his stomach, placing his large hand over the slight swell. Another hand, warmer and calloused, joined his—it was Odysseus's. The king's fingers intertwined with Poseidon's, rubbing soothingly over their joined hands on the god's belly.

 "I believe we could, Lord," Odysseus said, his voice quiet but firm, his gaze meeting Poseidon's. "If we are willing to forgive each other, truly, and embrace this... unexpected path we're on."

  "Lovers?" Poseidon voiced the question that had been churning in his mind, his confusion evident. His gaze, usually so knowing and vast, was now narrowed, fixed on Odysseus. The idea of family in the mortal sense, particularly one that involved him, Odysseus, and Penelope, was utterly alien to his divine understanding of relationships. His hand, still intertwined with Odysseus's on his belly, tensed. Odysseus met his gaze calmly, a faint, understanding smile gracing his lips. "Not lovers, Lord," he clarified gently. "Not in the way you mean. But a family forged by fate, by shared burden, and by the life you carry. A family where the past is... acknowledged, but does not dictate the future. Where the child you bear is welcomed, and raised with love, and where even a mighty god can find a different kind of peace and belonging. Though, if we can set our differences asid, we might work. Together."

 Penelope, from Odysseus's other side, shifted slightly, her presence a silent reinforcement of her husband's words. She looked at Poseidon with an expression of open, unwavering acceptance, a quality that, perhaps even more than Odysseus's cunning, began to chip away at the god's rigid divine perspective. Poseidon looked from Odysseus to Penelope, then back to his own hand on his stomach, now firmly held by Odysseus's. The sheer unexpectedness of this mortal concept of "family" as it applied to him, the tumultuous god of the sea, left him uncharacteristically speechless. He thought of the deep, quiet comfort of Odysseus beside him during the night, the unexpected tenderness of Penelope's care. He thought of the new, bewildering sensations within him, sensations that no other god or mortal could comprehend, save for these two.

  A slow, profound sigh escaped him, one that carried the weight of eons of solitude and sudden, overwhelming change. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he simply leaned back against Odysseus, his powerful frame finding an unexpected solace in the mortal's embrace. The silence that followed was no longer awkward, but filled with the fragile beginnings of understanding, and the bewildering promise of a future no one could have ever predicted. Poseidon remained silent, leaning heavily against Odysseus. The king's steady presence, the warmth of his hand still intertwined with his own on the subtle swell of his stomach, was becoming increasingly… necessary. Penelope's quiet empathy, her genuine concern for his discomfort, was also disarming. He, the Earth-Shaker, the Master of Quakes and Storms, was accustomed to mortals trembling before him, not offering soothing remedies and comfortable beds.

  He recognized a burgeoning, unfamiliar sensation within himself – a complex intertwining of grudging respect, profound vulnerability, and a nascent, undeniable fondness. It was a different kind of bond than any he had known in his long existence. With Penelope, it was a curious, almost maternal comfort, an understanding of his physical state that no other being, mortal or immortal, could truly grasp. But with Odysseus… with the cunning king who had dared to defy him, who now bore a portion of responsibility for this unprecedented situation, the connection was deeper, more complex. A raw, shared origin of this new life.He shifted slightly, burrowing a fraction more into Odysseus's side, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort he found there. The mortal king, despite his audacity and past transgressions, possessed a certain unwavering strength, a pragmatic kindness that resonated with Poseidon's own turbulent spirit in this new, bewildering state. The notion of a "family," as Penelope had put it, was still alien, almost absurd, but the feeling of being cared for, of not being alone with this incredible, overwhelming change, was beginning to take root within the mighty god.

  Penelope, ever the dutiful mother, rose from the bed. "I should go and speak with Telemachus," she said, her voice soft. "He is clearly troubled, and I should see if I can ease his mind before the day progresses." She offered Odysseus a knowing look, a silent trust passing between them regarding their unusual guest. With a final, gentle smile at Poseidon, she quietly left the bedchamber, closing the door behind her. The room settled into a profound stillness. Odysseus remained where he was, Poseidon still resting against him. The morning light filtering through the window cast a soft glow on the god's features, highlighting the unexpected serenity in his expression as he rested in Odysseus's embrace. He looked remarkably calm, a stark contrast to his usual tempestuous demeanor. Odysseus found himself observing the god, noting the uncharacteristic peacefulness. The sheer strangeness of the situation, of the mighty Poseidon resting so placidly in his arms, was not lost on him. He considered the journey that had led them to this point, a path fraught with divine wrath and mortal cunning, now culminating in this quiet, shared moment of vulnerability and unexpected companionship. The weight of the world, and the sea, seemed to have momentarily lifted from the god.

  Breaking the comfortable silence, Odysseus spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. "Lord Poseidon," he began, his gaze resting on the subtle swell of the god's abdomen, "do you know if the Fates have revealed to you the gender of this new life?" Poseidon's eyes, previously closed, slowly opened. He looked at Odysseus, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before he gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Yes, mortal king," he rumbled, his voice still heavy with the remnants of sleep. "It is a daughter." The word hung in the air, a profound revelation. A daughter. Odysseus felt a surge of something unexpected—a mix of awe, wonder, and a nascent sense of paternal anticipation for this divine-mortal child.

   Odysseus remained silent for a long moment, processing the revelation. A daughter. His mind, accustomed to strategies of war and the rebuilding of a kingdom, now wrestled with the image of a child born from such an impossible union. A daughter of the Sea God, and of himself. The implications were immense, stretching beyond his comprehension. "A daughter," Odysseus repeated softly, almost to himself, the word tasting unfamiliar on his tongue in this context. He then looked at Poseidon, a new light in his eyes, not of fear or calculation, but of genuine curiosity and a profound, shared destiny. "What will she be, Lord? What nature will she inherit from the depths of the ocean and the shores of Ithaca? Will she command the tides, or possess the cunning of a mortal queen?"

  He shifted slightly, adjusting his arm around Poseidon, a gesture that spoke of a burgeoning, albeit bewildered, acceptance of this extraordinary new reality. The idea of raising such a child, a being bridging the divine and mortal realms, was daunting, yet held a strange allure that resonated with the adventurous spirit he had always possessed. Poseidon closed his eyes again, as if peering into the depths of a cosmic vision. When he spoke, his voice was softer, laced with the ancient echoes of prophecy. "She will be of the sea, profoundly so. The waters will answer her call, more instinctively, perhaps, than even to mine. But she will also walk the land with the grace and strength of a mortal, unburdened by the limits of a purely divine form."

  He paused, a subtle tremor passing through him, unrelated to discomfort. "The Fates whispered of her name, too. Not yet for mortal ears, perhaps, but a name that speaks of both the deep ocean and a journey. As for her spirit... she will possess the passion of the storm, but tempered, perhaps, by a wisdom found in stillness. And yes," he added, opening his eyes to meet Odysseus's gaze directly, "she will know a cunning that rivals your own, King of Ithaca. She will be a bridge, Odysseus, between our realms, and her life will weave new destinies for gods and mortals alike."

  He shifted again, pressing a little closer into Odysseus's side, a silent request for continued presence. The sheer weight of this prophecy, combined with his physical state, seemed to exhaust him further. Odysseus observed the God's face, then to his curved stomach. His daughter will be powerful, and he'd never seen someone so capable of carrying her. He Leaned against the Olive tree, Poseidon shifting in his grasp. "Beautiful.." Odysseus, unintentionally whispered out loud, the peering blue eyes snapped open. "Truly, divine." Odysseus smiled, watching Poseidon flush and turn his head. Maybe, just maybe, they could work. Him, Penelope and Poseidon, the three of them, could work. Someday.

Chapter Text

   Staring at the God without hatred, was undeniably weird. Though, he's never hated Poseidon, no matter how much he tries. He has always been the sea, and the sea had always been his anchor, he loved the sea, and that hadn't changed. He's grown in the sea, and so was his father and his father before him. But, with Poseidon in his arms, carrying his child, Odysseus couldn't bring himself to feel anything more than mild anger at what the God had done to his crew. It was understandable, he was also a father, and he couldn't say he wouldn't have done the same for Telemachus. But the God had gone overboard, killing five hundred fifty eight of his crew members, for his son. 

  "What is occupying your mind, little king?" A voice broke through his thoughts. He shook his head, refocusing his eyes onto the bright sea ocean blue ones. "Nothing Lord, you needn't worry." Poseidon's eyes narrowed before he turned fully to face the mortal holding him. "Do not lie to me Odysseus, you may be silver-tongued, but you are a terrible liar." That earned a chuckle from said man, before he sighed. "Lord, do you still despise me?" Odysseus stared at the God, holding eye contact. It was Poseidon who broke it, by turning his head. He figured that the God was not going to answer, and he needed to hear that answer. Odysseus shifted closer, the bed creaking under their shared weight. The man slowly raised his hand under Poseidon's chin, turning it to face him. "Do not shy away from me, I need you to answer..Please." 

  Poseidon grunted, frustration written all over his face. "I don't.." He shook his head. "You don't.?" It was clear that the God hadn't finished his sentence, and he didn't look like he was going to. "I don't know, I don't know. You're.. different now. These feelings are so confusing, especially now than ever." He turned his gaze towards the latter, a glint in them. "I don't forgive you for what you did to my son, I mean, do you know how much that does to a God's reputation?! Having to listen to your son cry over a mortal blinding him. Revenge was the only thing I thought about. At that current moment. Now? I do not know what I think, I..from how you've been treating me, you and Penelope." Odysseus remained silent for a moment, absorbing the weight of Poseidon's confession. The god's raw honesty, a stark contrast to his usual divine posturing, resonated deeply. The king understood the depth of the offense he had inflicted on Polyphemus, and by extension, on Poseidon.

  "Lord Poseidon," Odysseus began, his voice measured and clear, "I cannot undo what was done to your son, nor can I diminish the pain it caused you. I sought to survive, as any mortal would when faced with such peril, and my actions, though grievous to you, were born of necessity in that moment." He shifted slightly, the warmth of Poseidon's form against him a tangible reminder of their current, undeniable bond. "But the past, however profound its wounds, has brought us to this extraordinary present. This new life you carry, this daughter, is a testament to a path forged by unforeseen circumstances. Penelope and I, we extend to you what any host owes a guest, and what any living being owes another in a state of vulnerability and profound change. It is not born of a desire to erase the past, but to build a present, and a future, that transcends the cycle of vengeance."

   Odysseus gently squeezed the hand still intertwined with his own. "Forgiveness, Lord, is a journey for all involved. It is not merely a word, but an understanding that grows. Perhaps, through the shared reality of this child, through the peace found within these walls, a different kind of balance can be struck. A balance where the past does not entirely dictate what we become."

   Poseidon's gaze held Odysseus's, his vast, ancient eyes searching. The fury that had once defined his pursuit of the king seemed distant, overshadowed by a profound weariness and the bewildering tangle of emotions he now experienced. The subtle pressure of Odysseus's hand, the steady warmth emanating from the king's presence, was a stark contrast to the divine isolation he had known for millennia.

   He did not reply immediately. Instead, a deep, shuddering breath escaped him, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of untold ages. He turned his head slowly, resting it more fully on Odysseus's shoulder, a silent acceptance of the mortal's words, or at least, a temporary truce to the internal conflict raging within him. The formidable Lord of the Seas, in that moment, seemed less like a vengeful god and more like a being grappling with the unprecedented reality of impending parenthood and the unexpected solace offered by his former adversary.

   "I.. I must rest now, your child takes a lot of my power to stay up." Poseidon closed his eyes, breathing steadily. Their hands were still intertwined, rubbing against each other affectionately. "You mean, our child." Odysseus held a small smile, squeezing the latter's hand. "Yes..Our child, she is currently flipping herself over. She must've hatched out of her egg." Poseidon whispered. Odysseus sputtered, before regaining himself. "She can flip? Does it hurt?" He asked, rubbing his hand over Poseidon's swollen stomach. "Mm." Poseidon sighed, relaxing more into Odysseus before drifting to sleep.

  Penelope found Telemachus in the palace courtyard, pacing restlessly beside the well where the women of the household gathered to draw water. The sun was fully risen now, but the warmth of its light did little to ease the cold knot of confusion and frustration in her son's heart.

  "Telemachus," she began softly, her voice carrying across the stone. He stopped his pacing and turned, his face a mask of bewilderment. "Mother, what is happening? First, Father sends me away, and now... now Lord Poseidon is a guest at our table, and you speak of it as though it were the most natural thing in the world." Penelope walked to him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Come, let us walk to the garden. There is much to tell you that cannot be spoken so openly."

  As they walked among the fragrant lemon trees, Penelope chose her words with the care of a weaver at her loom. "Your father's actions, and mine, are born of an extraordinary turn of fate. For years, we endured Poseidon's wrath. Your father, a mortal, dared to defy a god, and the god’s vengeance was relentless." She paused, looking into her son's eyes. "But now, the Fates have woven a new path. By circumstances beyond our comprehension, a new life is being brought into this world. And Lord Poseidon, the great god of the seas, is the one to carry it." Telemachus stopped dead, his mind reeling. The words were simple, yet their meaning was vast and impossible. "This child," Penelope continued, "is part of a new, unforeseen alliance. A bridge between the divine and the mortal, forged from the most unprecedented circumstances. Your father's duty, and mine, is to see that this new life is brought forth safely and that a lasting peace is secured for our house."

  She looked at her son, her gaze steady and full of trust. "This is not a matter of friendship, Telemachus, but of profound change. It is why we must afford Lord Poseidon our complete hospitality and discretion. He is a god grappling with a profound, and very human, vulnerability." Telemachus could only stare at his mother, the frustration on his face slowly giving way to a silent, astonished awe. Telemachus blinked, his eyes wide with a profound confusion that now eclipsed his earlier frustration. He shook his head, as if to clear the impossible words from his mind. "But... how? And why?" he stammered, the questions tumbling out. "How can a god... and why would Father...?"

   Penelope, seeing the overwhelming torrent of questions in his gaze, held up a hand. Her expression, while empathetic, was firm. "The how and the why are questions that even your father and I do not fully comprehend. The will of the gods is not for us to understand with mortal logic." She paused, her voice softening, yet retaining a certain finality. "All that we know is that it occurred on the beach, on the day your father and Lord Poseidon met to settle their long-standing feud, a month ago. It was a moment of vulnerability and longing beyond our control. That is all I can tell you." She then placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "You are now a man, Telemachus. You must understand that some mysteries are not meant to be solved, but endured. Your duty now is to welcome this new reality, as we have, and to accept the peace that has been granted to our house."

  Telemachus swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling over him. The image of the stormy beach, the moment of his father's return, now held a new and terrible significance. He looked at his mother, his mind struggling to reconcile the impossible truth with the quiet order of their palace life.

   Telemachus stood rooted to the spot, the impossible truth settling over him like a stone. The image of the tumultuous beach, the unyielding power of the god, and the stoic calm of his mother all clashed in his mind. For a long moment, he said nothing, his face a mixture of shock and profound contemplation. The weight of his father's long absence and the endless cycles of divine wrath now made a strange and terrible sense. This was not a story of gods and men, but a fragile truce, forged from the most unexpected of alliances.

   Finally, he spoke, his voice low and firm, no longer that of a confused boy. "Then I must see for myself, I must feel it." he stated, not as a question, but as a declaration. "If our house is now bound to this destiny, I will not stand apart from it. My duty is to this home and to its future, however strange it may be." He looked at his mother, his eyes clear and resolved. With a final, determined nod, Telemachus turned and walked back toward the palace, his steps purposeful. He was no longer running from confusion, but moving toward an uncertain future he was now determined to face.Penelope smiled, gently holding his hand. "Let us be going then, if Lord Poseidon is in a good mood, he might let you glimpse."

   Penelope led them both towards the room she left Poseidon and Odysseus in, opening the door as to not wake them if they were asleep. Odysseus lie awake, opposite to Poseidon who looked as if he hadn't slept in years. Telemachus eyed the hand that currently rubbed massages into The Lord's curved stomach, still not used to the display of affection between the two. "Dad.." Odysseus hushed him, motioning to him to come closer. Telemachus followed his mother, who had made herself comfortable in front of the headboard. "He seems to like massages.." Odysseus whispered as Poseidon shifted, arching into the affection Odysseus bestowed. "The baby must be kicking, then." Penelope added, speaking from experience. Telemachus stared at the God's expression, seeing how calm and relaxed he looked in his father's arms. 

   "I wonder how that feels. For him, I mean.." Telemachus muttered, hardly making it to the couple's ears. "She is strong, so strong to even exhaust him." Odysseus responded, almost fondly, if you squint. Telemachus turned his gaze to meet his father's, only to see that he's occupied with observing the God's face. "It's a she?" He almost, almost leapt at that. He's wanted siblings for so long. Odysseus nodded, facing him now. "I wonder what you two are gonna name her." Penelope smirked, sliding closer. "Poseidon already has a name in mind, but I will suggest." The three of them looked so close, as if they're a big family, lovers even. Telemachus cringed at the thought, but how can they not be lovers when the God was literally carrying his father's child? All of this was still new and confusing, he wasn't sure he'd even get used to it. 

   "In due time, you'll get used to it, son." Odysseus smiled, still massaging the Lord's stomach. "Sure." He muttered, though he wasn't entirely convinced by his own voice. He doubt he'll even accept Poseidon. And besides, what is he supposed to call him? Step-mother? Step-Dad? That doesn't seem right, he's literally pregnant right now. Whatever, he'll get to nicknames later.

Chapter Text

   Odysseus stood quietly, his eyes fixed upon the imposing figure of Poseidon, who gazed out of the large, arched window of the bedchamber. The glass panes, polished to a perfect sheen, framed a panoramic view of the sparkling Ionian Sea, its waves now calm and gentle under the morning sun. Yet, for the mighty Lord of the Seas, this tranquil sight seemed to be a source of profound unrest. Poseidon's shoulders were slumped, a posture of uncharacteristic dejection, and his eyes, usually so fierce and commanding, were filled with a deep, palpable yearning. He was a being of immeasurable power, yet here, in this mortal room, he was a prisoner of his own condition and a captive of his own longing.

  With slow, deliberate steps, Odysseus crossed the chamber, the sound of his sandals on the marble floor barely a whisper. He came to stand beside the god, his presence a silent anchor in the restless air. Without a word, he placed a steadying hand on Poseidon's broad back, the gesture one of intimacy, the simple contact was a stark symbol of their new, fragile alliance.

   Poseidon did not turn. Instead, he leaned into the touch, a heavy sigh escaping his lips—a sound that resonated with the mournful roar of distant tides. "My domain calls to me," he rumbled, his voice low, as though speaking to the sea itself. "I feel its rhythm in my veins, the immense pressure of its depths, the salt upon the wind. To be separated from it... is a torment I did not foresee. It is a part of my very being, a constant, living echo that clamors for my return."

  Odysseus kept his hand on the god’s back, feeling the tremor of his internal struggle. "I understand, Lord," he said, his voice measured and respectful. "To be a king and separated from one's kingdom is a kind of death. But a kingdom waits for its king to return. A god, I imagine, is a part of his domain, and his domain is a part of him, no matter the distance." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "It is not a matter of separation, but of patience. The sea, in its vastness, will wait for you. And for now, you are a part of a new, unexpected domain, within these walls, where you are both guest and guardian."

  Odysseus met the god’s gaze, his own eyes reflecting the deep blue of the sea outside the window. He spoke with a quiet certainty that belied the monumental suggestion he was about to make.

  "Lord Poseidon, to be so near to your domain and yet apart from it is a pain no one should bear," Odysseus said. "Perhaps your strength will not allow you to walk the length of the palace and down the cliffside to the beach, but should you be willing to try, I will be there to assist you. You could swim in the calm shallows. I can be nearby, to watch, and to ensure no harm comes to you. There would be peace in the water, I imagine, and a solace from the weariness you bear."

   Poseidon's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something akin to hope igniting within them. The idea of the cool, familiar touch of the sea was a powerful temptation, a remedy for the profound exhaustion that weighed on him. He considered the physical effort, the unaccustomed frailty of his current form, but the yearning for his domain was stronger than his pride. He gave a slow, deliberate nod.

   "You would accompany me?" Poseidon rumbled. "I would like that, to walk on the beach, with you. The sea calls to me with a voice I cannot deny."  With that, he pushed himself away from the window, his form now imbued with a renewed purpose. Odysseus moved to his side, offering a steadying presence as they began their slow, purposeful journey out of the bedchamber and down the long, winding corridors of the palace toward the sea.

   The salt-laced air grew stronger with every step, and with each breath, Poseidon's demeanor seemed to shift, his divine strength slowly reasserting itself in the presence of his beloved domain. "Oh how I've missed the smell of the beach.." Poseidon allowed Odysseus to let go of him, feeling a magnetic pull from the sea. He stumbled across the sand, stopping when the water lapped at his feet.

   Poseidon let himself sink into the water, deeper than any mortal could go. A school of fish surrounded him, greeting him. "I've missed you all, as well." Poseidon smiled, sensing his wife's presence. She spoke in ancient tongue, never quite knowing when to speak English. "Amphitrite..How, how are you?" He felt the vibrations of the Sea, scattering the school of fish around him. "Well. How's the babe? She has a strong heartbeat." Poseidon held a hand over his stomach fondly, responding to his wife, "She is rather difficult to set still, but her father seems satisfied with her existence." A wave of vibration surrounded him, comforting him. Poseidon felt the waves going away and he bid her and the sea creatures farewell before he scratched the surface of the Sea. 

    Odysseus sat on the shore, his feet being tickled by the soft embraces of the water. He looked as relaxed as he felt, seeing Poseidon with so much joy lit up something in him. He sought to make him that happy, always. Odysseus watched fondly as his God emerged from the ocean depths, the sun reflecting on his dark blue hair. He seemed to notice Odysseus' stare and flushed, turning to dive back in. Odysseus was a bit disheartened to be neglected the sight of Poseidon, his God was truly a sight for sore eyes. If he could, he'd praise him on his beauty until he physically can't anymore. A splash of water hit his face, knocking his train of thought to a halt. 

   The divine being had turned tail, more convenient for the ocean swim. His tail shimmered in the evening sun, sea-green blue scales glowing like the rest of his body. "You can join me, or would you prefer to stay on land?" Odysseus smirked at the invite, kicking off his sandals and making his way towards the God. He dove in, making it his objective to splash Poseidon as much. Odysseus landed near the base of the God's tail, holding onto it. The fins on the side twitched, spreading out and showing their full beauty. He made sure to avoid touching Poseidon's dorsal fin, lest he be drowned. "Must you always make a mess of things, little king?" He heard the latter's voice above him, meeting his gaze with a mischievous glint. "It is always a pleasure of mine to make a mess of you, my Lord." Poseidon rolled his eyes, pulling Odysseus up, causing him to straddle his tail.

    Curiosity got the best of him, and Odysseus splayed his hand over the delicate scales, flicking one with his nail. It twitched and so did Poseidon, tightening his grip on Odysseus' waist. His other hand glided downward, feeling the frills of his pectoral fin. "These are beautiful, Poseidon." Came the breathless compliment, holding the luminescent like appendage with care. Poseidon grunted, hoisting Odysseus higher. "You keep saying that." He narrowed his gaze, watching Odysseus with intent. "Because I mean it, Lord. You are beautiful." Odysseus muttered, looking away from the fin. He met Poseidon's gaze, pretty sure the latter could see that he spoke nothing short of the truth. A clawed hand came up to his cheek, carresing his face gently. Poseidon smirked a little before leaning in.

    A small peck was placed above the scar of his eyebrow, the action ending as soon as it begun. "I am not doing anything in particular to make you think that, king." This time, Odysseus held Poseidon's chin fondly. "Exact reason as to why I find you so appealing." He whispered the last part as he closed the distance between their lips. The kiss was tender and slow, the God caressing Odysseus' sides as the kiss deepened. He pulled away with a sharp intake of oxygen, tightening his hold on the mortal before him. "Why… why do you treat me as though I’m your spouse? As though, despite everything, I haven’t been trying to kill you?" Poseidon’s voice trembled, barely holding back a torrent of emotion. He pressed his forehead against Odysseus’s, locking their gazes with a force that almost felt like an attempt to pierce the truth out of him. “I don’t understand you,” he murmured, the words heavy with confusion, frustration, and something darker — a fear he couldn’t quite place. “Why would you still look at me that way? Why would you still stay?"

  The air between them thickened, the tension wrapping tighter around Poseidon's chest like chains. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. His mind screamed for answers, but his heart… his heart only whispered one thing. Odysseus didn’t pull away. His eyes softened, and for a moment, there was no war between them — no gods, no heroes, just two men who had lived through lifetimes of pain and fire. He exhaled, slowly, as if releasing something heavy within him. “Because I love you, Lord,” Odysseus whispered, and the sincerity in his voice cut through Poseidon like a blade — sharp, honest, and terrifying.

   Poseidon froze. His pulse spiked, and the world around him seemed to blur into the background. He couldn’t look away from Odysseus. Couldn’t stop the aching need in his chest from flooding his senses. “No… no, you don’t,” he breathed, his voice breaking. He wanted to pull away, wanted to push this truth away like a dream too painful to hold. But he couldn't. Not now. Not when Odysseus’s gaze was laid bare—vulnerable, raw, with nothing left to hide. “I do,” Odysseus insisted, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with the weight of a thousand lifetimes of longing. “I always have. I… I tried to bury it, tried to pretend it was just my anger, my pride, but it was never that. It’s you. You’ve always been there, in every fight, every battle, in the moments I should’ve been destroying you... I’ve loved you, Poseidon. And I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know if I even want to.”

   Poseidon’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might break free from his chest. "Why?" he choked out, the words tasting bitter and sweet on his tongue. “Why love me? After everything? After all I’ve done?” Odysseus’s hand trembled as it reached up, cupping the side of Poseidon’s face with the gentleness of a touch that spoke volumes. “Because your rage, your power... it's all a part of you. You’re not just a god of the seas, Poseidon. You’re a man. You’re... my man. I’ve seen every part of you—the parts you hide, the parts you’re afraid to show. And still, I love you. I will always love you. My love for you is endless, like the ocean itself, no matter the storms you bring, no matter the ways you’ve hurt me.”

   His voice cracked, and Poseidon saw the weight of his words sink into Odysseus, deep and overwhelming. “I’m not asking for forgiveness,” Odysseus whispered, his forehead resting gently against Poseidon’s. “I’m not asking for you to accept this love. I’m just… giving it to you, because I can’t hold it in anymore. I can’t pretend it doesn’t burn inside me.” Poseidon closed his eyes, trying to hold himself together, but his chest ached in a way he couldn’t explain. Every part of him screamed to run, to deny it, to crush this love that had been growing ever since that day in the rocks, the beach. But the other part of him—the part that had always been drawn to this broken man, this unyielding hero—finally whispered the truth he had always known. “Then… take me,” Poseidon murmured, his voice barely audible, “if this is truly what you want, I'm yours.” Odysseus’s eyes glistened, and he took a slow, deliberate breath, as if trying to calm the storm inside himself. “You're mine, Poseidon,” he said softly, brushing his lips against the god’s forehead. "You always have been."

   Poseidon felt his heart burst. This man, this infuriating man, is his. He surged forward, locking their lips in place with more passion than he originally planned. Odysseus sighed happily, letting Poseidon control the kiss. He felt his tongue barge in through his parted lips and he let him, feeling all too caught up in the moment of their embrace. "I love you..I love you.." He rambled against the lips of his mortal, an endless stream of "I love you's", and "Mine" emiting from the God. They eventually parted, both panting from the lack of oxygen. Odysseus' hands found their way onto Poseidon's waist, flicking up the scales there. A pleasurable shudder wrecked through the God above him, a low groan above his ear. He slid his hand forward, between the base of his tail and his navel.

   He heard a grunt, one of urgency. Confusion dawned on him, what is the God expecting him to find? He stroked his thumbs below the navel before it slowly sank. Another groan. "Poseidon what is this?" He pulled his thumb back, watching as the scales that covered the area went back in place. Odysseus was fixated on that, how many secrets did his God have? Wanting to test it, Odysseus put his fingers there again and added pressure, reeling in the way Poseidon groaned. It started sinking, making the slit appear. "Oh my.." He almost moaned at how hot and slick his cunt was, pulling his fingers deeper in. The hands on his waist gripped tighter, would most likely bruise later. "Fuck.." Poseidon swore, throwing his head back. Suddenly, Odysseus remembered what Poseidon was expecting and pulled his hand out. The God glowered at him, bearing his teeth. "Why did you stop?" Odysseus leaned over, kissing his pecs. "Would it effect the babe?"

Chapter Text

   Poseidon stared at the man incredulously, before stifling a chuckle. "No, of course not, little king. If I were humane, sure. But now? No, no, she'll be left untouched." Odysseus sighed at the reassurance, taking a nipple into his mouth. He sucked slowly, rolling the nub in his mouth. That earned him a low groan, taking his other hand and tweaking with the next one. Poseidon's panting came hot above Odysseus' ear, allowing him to hear all the sounds he made. He felt a hand slither between them, making it's way down to Poseidon's slit. Odysseus pulled away, looking down at the sight. With little to no hesitation, the fingers plunged into the God, causing him to arch into the touch. "Gods..," Odysseus muttered, observing how deep the fingers went and how rough the pace was. 

    The sounds that poured from Poseidon's mouth were nothing short of obscene.The God panted and writhed beneath him, moaning without shame. He looked so.. ravishingly beautiful. Odysseus’ eyes roamed slowly over the form before him — not just the god of storms, but the man he adored. Poseidon lay still beneath his gaze, vast and powerful, scarred and divine. Those old wounds, reminders of battles both physical and emotional, tugged at something deep in Odysseus’ chest. He remembered the moments that made them — the fire, the fury — but now, all he felt was a quiet ache and the longing to soothe, to honor. With a reverent slowness, Odysseus leaned in and pressed a kiss to the first scar, just above Poseidon’s shoulder. His lips lingered there, soft and warm, his breath trailing over the skin. Then another kiss, lower. Another, beside it. And another, as though he could kiss away what time never could.

   “You are still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he whispered, his voice quiet, trembling with devotion. “Even your scars… gods, they only make you more magnificent.” He moved with unhurried tenderness, letting his hands explore as if they’d forgotten nothing — tracing the strong lines of Poseidon's chest, the smooth curves, the tension of muscle under skin. Each touch was gentle, loving, each kiss laid down like a vow. His mouth traveled lower, mapping out every plane of his lover’s body with sacred care. “You were carved by the sea itself,” Odysseus murmured, his lips brushing over Poseidon's ribs. “I could spend the rest of my life just learning you... inch by inch.” He kissed the dip just beneath his navel, stopping for a moment to hold the hand currently in his lover before he resumed, he kissed the curve of his hip where the scales had gathered, every touch more reverent than the last. With each kiss, he whispered more — not just praise, but worship:

  “So strong… and still you let me see you like this.”

  “Every part of you, a wonder.”

  “You don’t even know what you do to me…”

  “You are my shore, my storm, my shelter.”

  When he reached Poseidon's hand — the same hand that had once hurled tempests in his name — Odysseus took it gently in his own. He kissed the center of the palm, then each finger with slow devotion, his eyes never leaving the god's face. “You’re a miracle,” he whispered, almost breathless. “And I am so endlessly yours.” And with that, he bent again, pressing another soft kiss to Poseidon’s skin—not from duty, not from guilt, but from a love so deep it could drown them both. Poseidon grunted, having no choice but to obey as Odysseus pulled his hand out. "My sea, my God, mine," he whispered, lifting up his chiton, exposing his shaft. Poseidon is rendered speechless at the sickening sweet compliments Odysseus mindlessly utters. Stroking his erection to the capacity, Odysseus' eyes never left his face. It didn't leave even as Odysseus pushed in, pushing each inch in before he was being pulled into the tight heat. 

   Poseidon's hand gripped Odysseus's hip with a possessive intensity, pulling him closer, deeper, as if trying to merge their very souls. Odysseus sputtered, his breath catching in his throat as he sheathed himself fully in the god, the sensation overwhelming and intoxicating. For a moment, he paused, savoring the tight, wet heat that enveloped him, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. Poseidon's eyes fluttered closed, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as Odysseus began to move, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm that left them both breathless. Each thrust was a claim, a promise, and Odysseus's eyes narrowed with intensity, fixated on the way Poseidon's face contorted in pure bliss. He brushed a stray hair strand from Poseidon's forehead, his touch gentle yet firm, admiring the way the god's eyes glazed over with pleasure, staring at him with a mix of awe and desire.

   "Fuck...So beautiful...My God," Odysseus hissed, slamming forward once more, his body moving with a primal rhythm that spoke of centuries of longing and lust. Poseidon let out a high-pitched whine, his grip on Odysseus's waist tightening as if to hold him there forever, to never let him go. "Right there.?" Odysseus asked, his voice low and husky, brushing the spot again and earning another high-pitched sound of pleasure. "Yes, please...," Poseidon pleaded, his eyes filled with a desperate need, a hunger that could only be sated by Odysseus. Odysseus grinned, speeding up his pace, his body slamming against Poseidon's with a ferocity that left them both breathless. Poseidon nearly sobbed at the overwhelming stimulation, his body teetering on the edge, desperate for release. "Odysseus—Ah fuck!" Poseidon whimpered as Odysseus added two fingers alongside his cock, pushing his whole hand in and ramming into the god with a force that left them both gasping, their bodies slick with sweat and the sea's embrace.

   "Say my name again. Say it, Lord." Odysseus demanded, his voice a low growl, a command that brooked no argument. "Odysseus, please, harder!" Poseidon cried out, his body arching violently as Odysseus obeyed, his movements relentless, a pounding rhythm that matched the beating of their hearts. "Not yet, lovely. Be good for me and hold on." Poseidon whimpered but nodded weakly, his body crying out at the inhumane pace Odysseus kept, his mind a whirl of pleasure and need.As they moved closer to shore, Poseidon's hands were buried in the sand, his body tense and trembling, his muscles coiled tight as a bow. "You're perfect...Made for this, made for me." Odysseus growled, grinding deeper, brushing against the wall of Poseidon's cunt, his voice a low rumble of possession and desire. Poseidon shuddered, his body on the brink of release, his mind a haze of pleasure and longing. "Please..." He held onto Odysseus tighter, his free hand tangled in Odysseus's damp curls, his body aching for more, for everything.

   "You're gonna bring forth such a beautiful baby girl for me, Dear. And I'm going to cherish both of you, until the last of my days." Odysseus grunted, his motions getting sloppier, his body coiling with the intensity of his impending release, his voice a promise, a vow. Poseidon's torso pulled taut like a bow, his body trembling with anticipation, his mind a whirl of pleasure and love, his heart swelling with a love that transcended time and space. "Odysseus...I love you...I always have...I always will..." Poseidon whispered, his voice a soft caress, a confession of his deepest, most cherished feelings. Odysseus's eyes softened, his movements slowing, his body stilling as he looked down at Poseidon, his heart swelling with a love that matched the god's. "And I you, my love...My beloved Paramour..." Odysseus murmured, his voice a low rumble of emotion, his body trembling with the intensity of his feelings.

   Their lips met in a passionate kiss, a dance of tongues and teeth, a promise of love and lust, of a future together. Poseidon's body arched against Odysseus's, his hands roaming over the man's back, his fingers digging into Odysseus's flesh, holding him close, never wanting to let go. Odysseus's hands were just as eager, roaming over Poseidon's body, exploring every inch, every curve, every dip, his touch a brand, a mark of ownership and love. As their kiss deepened, their bodies began to move again, Odysseus's thrusts slow and deep, his body claiming Poseidon's with a passion that left them both breathless. Poseidon's body tightened around Odysseus, his walls clenching, his body coiling, his mind a haze of pleasure and love, his heart swelling with a love that was as vast and as deep as the sea itself.

   "Odysseus...I'm close...So close..." Poseidon whimpered, his body trembling, his breath coming in short gasps, his mind a whirl of pleasure and need, his body aching for release. Odysseus grinned, his movements speeding up, his body slamming against Poseidon's with a force that left them both gasping, their bodies slick with sweat and the sea's embrace, their hearts pounding in unison, their souls entwined, their love a force as powerful as the tides.Poseidon shuddered, his torso pulled taunt like a bow. "I'm—I'll.." Was his only warning before his back arched dangerously, his walls caving in around Odysseus. "That's it, lovely. Let go." Poseidon came with a scream, panting as Odysseus helped him ride out his high.

   Odysseus leaned in, stifling his soft moans by burying his face in Poseidon's neck. He bit down as he came with a grunt, grinding deeper until he shuddered from the overstimulation. He slowly pulled out, lying next to the fucked out God. He tore a piece of his chiton, gathering it in water. Odysseus brought it to Poseidon's slit, watching it twitch once a drop fell. He cleaned him softly, hearing little whines from the God above. Once he was finished, Odysseus laid next to him again, his hand massaging the slightly curved stomach that held his baby girl. Poseidon's tail separated once more, bringing forth a pair of legs. The divine being curled up next to his beloved mortal, falling asleep. The man continues his motions mindlessly, resting his head on his lover's.

   She was trying to be as supportive as she can be, sure, the news of the God carrying her husband's child was surprising and welcomed, there were still matters that stood out. Penelope sat on the wedding bed, weaving a small blanket that held little sea creatures and shells. This would be for the little minnow that the God borne, hopping that he'd like it. The problem was, Odysseus and her have grown old, their child days over. Besides, they had a grown child—man that could take care of himself and the kingdom if need be. An infant with Odysseus' age could be troublesome, there's only one way they'd be able to see the child grow, that being to turn them over to the immortal side. As much as she was tempted to ask the God, Penelope knew that she'd rather die of natural causes than live forevermore. But, if Odysseus wanted to stay and raise his child, she'd gladly accept the proposition.

   So deep in her thoughts, Penelope didn't hear the knock on the door, nor did she acknowledge her son sitting next to her. "Mom?" Telemachus hesitantly whispered, trying and failing not to frighten his mother. Penelope jumped, the small woven together blanket falling to the floor. She flung her head towards the direction the voice came from, almost knocking Telemachus. "Telemachus..you gave me quite the scare!" She laughed, clutching her chest. Telemachus chuckled a bit, apologizing in a quick breath. "What is it you wanted, dear?" She asked after a few minutes of regaining her breath. 

   Telemachus shuffled his feet, the same way he had done it when he was a child. Penelope smiled fondly at the memory. "How-I..I don't know how to act or what to say..Father and Lord Poseidon. I don't understand mom." He stumbled over his words, his eyes never leaving his feet. Penelope understood why he was confused, sure. She sighed wearly, choosing her words carefully as to not frighten Telemachus. "I understand your confusion, I too, am a little concerned for the well being of the babe. But," She closed her hand over his, rubbing it soothingly. "Just know, Lord Poseidon is adding an additional member to our family, we might get granted protection from the storms that plague this small island. And it is the will of the Gods, we shan't question their motives." 

   Telemachus gave a small smile, well, tried to before it fell, his hand clutching his mother's. "I know, mom. I'm just..Are you guys really okay with this? I mean, dad's been gone for twenty years and we just got him back. Do you really want to go through with this?" She felt a rare pang of irritation run through her. It wasn't Odysseus' fault he was gone that long. "It's not his fault he was separated from us, and you know that Telemachus." He almost flinched at the hint of irritation in his mother's words, adverting his gaze. “Yeah..Sorry mom. It's just, how are things going to go with Lord Poseidon here? What am I meant to call him now?” Penelope sighed, bending to pick up the small blanket even as her aged bones ached in protest. She placed the blanket in Telemachus' hand, smiling softly. “You welcome him and the babe, as family. He'll be apart of this family, as of now and I want you to treat him as such,Okay?”

   He nodded sharply, observing the patterns in the blanket. He envisioned his soon to be little sister, sleeping soundly, holding the blanket near her. A slow smile touched the corners of his face, turning to Penelope. “Of course, mom.” Penelope leaned in, placing a soft and tender kiss above his eyebrow. Telemachus chuckled, hugging his mother before he left the room, the blanket still in his possession.

    Soft hands curled around his wrists—too soft. He felt them before he saw them, pale fingers lacing through his, unnaturally warm, clinging like seaweed in the undertow. A voice whispered from nowhere and everywhere, calling his name like a memory dredged up from the black water of sleep.

 “Ody...”

He knew the voice. Hated that he knew it.

  He opened his eyes to the familiar blur of gold and blue: the cursed beach. The endless sky. The air was too still. The sea was wrong—silent, waiting. Her hands were still on him. They weren’t Penelope’s—too short. Not Poseidon's—too small. Yet they knew him. They knew him. Then her body, curved and shimmering, coiled around his like ivy wrapping a tree marked for the axe. “You’ve come back to me!” she sang, syrup in her voice. Her mouth moved too wide. Her eyes glistened too brightly.

  “No—” he gasped, shoving her away. She staggered, then danced back toward him, never missing a step, her smile unchanged. He turned and fled, sprinting for the ocean, but the horizon never came closer. The beach stretched on and on, mocking him. Sand clung to his ankles like fingers. Behind him, her voice followed. “Me and the children have missed you so! Why do you run, Ody? Why leave us again?”

He stopped dead.

The children.

  Odysseus turned, breathless, bile rising in his throat. “Don’t—don’t harm them. Calypso, please—” Laughter split the still air. Not mirthful. Splintered. It cracked across the sky like thunder. “Come back to me, my love in paradise,” she crooned. “Your sons are safe. They are mine, just as you are.” He backed away, frantic, as she approached with open arms.

“Papa?”

 The voice was small, high, and trembling.

  Odysseus whirled around. Nausinous stood at the edge of the surf, wide-eyed and unsure, his bare feet sinking into wet sand. “My boy...” Odysseus took a step forward, his knees threatening to buckle. But then Calypso’s arm whipped forward and snatched the child back like a viper striking prey. Her fingers bruised the boy’s arm as she held him close. He whimpered. She bared her teeth.

  “Come back, Odysseus!” Another boy stumbled into view—Nausithous—only to be yanked behind her, flinching, silent. Puppets on strings. Odysseus reached for them, helpless, heart shattered. “I miss you,” she hissed, her body beginning to change—elongating, expanding. She grew taller than the trees, her limbs too long, her face stretching, mouth widening with grief warped into rage. “You belong with me!”

   “No!” Odysseus screamed, his voice cracking as he fell to his knees in the sand. “I can’t! I won’t!” The sea didn’t move. The sky didn’t blink. Time didn’t pass. Only her voice, rising and falling like a siren’s wail, echoing around him as she closed the distance, hands outstretched, ready to take hold again. Odysseus backed away, heart hammering like a war drum in his chest, but there was nowhere to go. The beach was endless. The sky had no sun. Her shadow loomed taller than anything on earth, a goddess in form, a monster in presence.

  She reached for him again—

  And suddenly—

 He was somewhere else.

   The scent of salt gave way to myrrh and honey. The air was heavy, thick, drugged. The light—wrong. Dim but golden. Like the dusk never ended. He was in the cave. The one with silk curtains that never stirred in wind, where time had no meaning, and the stars never moved. And he was lying down. Bare chest. Heavy limbs. Every breath was a battle. His mouth opened, but no words came. Something pressed against his ribs—an arm, too smooth to be his own.

 Her.

  Calypso lay draped across him like a blanket he could never push off. Her curls stuck to his skin. Her nails traced his scars with unnatural familiarity. Her voice, soft and too-close, whispered things in his ear he never wanted to hear again. “My brave Ody,” she cooed. “Still fighting? You don’t need to fight anymore. You have me.” He blinked, willing himself to move. To resist. But his body betrayed him—drugged? Worn down? Broken? He didn’t know anymore. His spirit kicked in his chest, but the flesh obeyed her, not him.

  “You’re mine here,” she murmured against his neck. “You’ll forget all the pain. You’ll forget the war. Forget her.”

  He didn’t forget.

  He remembered everything. The war. The dead. Penelope. His boy—his real boy, Telemachus. And he remembered this night. One of too many. The ones where he said no and she smiled anyway. Where he turned away and she turned him back. When her divinity made resistance a fantasy. He remembered saying her name like a curse. He remembered being silent, because it was easier than being helpless and loud.

And then—

 He was back on that fucking beach again.

  Sand against his knees. Chest heaving. Face wet—not from seawater. The giant Calypso loomed above, her mouth wide in a sobbing grin, hands still reaching. “You need me, Odysseus. You were never more loved than in my arms. You wanted to stay. You chose me—”

  “Liar,” he croaked, shaking, curling his fists into the sand. “You took me. Every time. You  took and called it love.” A gust of wind tore across the beach like a scream. The sky fractured—cracks like glass spidering across the heavens. The children vanished. So did the sea.

  Only her shadow remained.

 And Odysseus, alone, trembling beneath it.Calypso’s voice warped into a thousand whispers, pulling at his ears like hands at his throat. Her shape dissolved into smoke. The beach curled in on itself, dragging him down into cold, dark water—

And then—

  He woke up.

  Air slammed into his lungs like surf crashing against stone. Odysseus shot upright, chest heaving, sweat chilling his back. His hands fisted the sheets as if they were the last thing tethering him to the waking world. Darkness surrounded him—not the cursed beach, but the familiar warmth of a room lit only by moonlight filtering through linen curtains.

  His room.

 Their room.

A weight shifted beside him.

“Odysseus?” Poseidon’s voice—deep, gravel-rough from sleep—cut through the fog like a guiding star. A hand brushed gently against his back, warm and careful. “You're dreaming again.” Odysseus didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His body still trembled. He could still feel her hands—those soft, inescapable hands. Could still hear her voice.

Come back to me…

  He shook his head like he could fling it all out through his ears. Poseidon sat up behind him, the bed creaking softly beneath his massive frame. There was no storm in his presence now—just ocean calm. His arm came around Odysseus’s shoulders, steadying without smothering. “Same one?” Poseidon asked. Odysseus gave a small nod. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, but it didn’t stop the shaking.

  “She had the boys. Nausinous. Nausithous. My sons. And—gods, she was so real.”

  Poseidon was silent for a moment, then spoke low and sure. “She isn’t here.” Odysseus let out a bitter breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Doesn’t matter. She’s in me. Still. I see her every time I close my eyes. I feel her like she never let go.”

  “She didn’t.” The honesty was brutal, but comforting. It wasn’t denial. It wasn’t dismissal. Poseidon’s hand moved to cradle the back of his neck, thumb stroking slow and grounding. “But you got away. You chose to leave her, even when she made it feel like you couldn’t. That matters, little king.” Odysseus leaned into the touch, closing his eyes again—not to dream, but to rest. “She took everything from me,” he whispered. “No,” Poseidon said, voice low, but resolute. “She didn’t take me.”

  For the first time in hours—or days, maybe—Odysseus breathed evenly. Not peace. Not yet. But a pause in the war. He let himself sink back into the bed, into the quiet strength beside him. Poseidon curled closer, an arm slipping beneath Odysseus’s waist, holding him like something precious and living. They lay in silence, the tide of sleep beginning to return. This time, when it came for him, it did not take the shape of Calypso.

Chapter Text

  The sea had gentled for the first time in weeks. Waves rolled lazily against Ithaca’s southern cliffs, whispering rather than roaring. The sun warmed the sand with a golden ease, and three figures stood near the shore: one god, one queen, one warrior. Odysseus stripped down first—grinning as he ran barefoot into the surf, splashing salt water at Poseidon like a boy who didn’t grow up fearing storms. Poseidon, still adjusting to the heaviness of late pregnancy, waded in more slowly, his rounded belly catching the sunlight, skin shining like wet marble. Penelope stayed closer to the shore, lifting the hem of her tunic as she let the sea brush against her ankles.

  They laughed. Freely. It was strange, how natural it had become. Strange, how easy it was to live like this. Odysseus swam circles around them, teasing Poseidon when he flinched at colder currents. “You’re the god of the sea. You act like this water owes you comfort.” Poseidon arched an eyebrow. “I don’t ask for comfort. I am the comfort.”

  “Oh, you’re something,” Penelope murmured under her breath, hiding her smile. She stepped further into the surf and approached Poseidon slowly, watching as he floated effortlessly, hair drifting like ink in the water. The sight of him now, divine but softened by life growing within him, made something ache in her chest. He noticed her gaze.

  “You’re staring, Queen.” Penelope stepped closer, letting her fingers graze his. “I think I’m allowed.”

  “You’ve never been hesitant to claim what’s yours,” he said with a knowing smirk. Penelope glanced over her shoulder at Odysseus, still swimming. “He’s not the only one I claim.” Poseidon stilled, the teasing edge slipping from his face. “You’ve always been a mystery to me,” she continued, voice low. “And now here you are… lying in my waters. Carrying a piece of my husband. And I—” She reached out, brushing a hand across his cheek. “I want you, Poseidon. Not for power. Not for politics. I want you.” His expression softened, uncertain and open. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

  “I do,” she said. “I’ve thought on it long enough. You’re not just my ally. Not just Odysseus’ consort.” She leaned in, brushing her lips just above the curve of his cheekbone. “You’re my lover.”

  Poseidon inhaled sharply.

  “I’ve never shared a title with a mortal,” he whispered. “And yet,” Penelope said, stepping even closer, “you’ve never looked more divine.” Odysseus, from the water, watched them—smiling faintly. There was no jealousy. No bitterness. Just the warmth of something real forming between the three of them. By sunset, they sat side by side on the shore, sea-soaked and sun-warmed, Poseidon nestled between the two mortals he had once called enemies. Now, they were something else entirely.

   Another day had passed, Poseidon's body grew, preparing for the day his little minnow would be born. The God sat on the shaded veranda of the palace, feet soaking in a cool basin, one hand resting on his stomach, the other holding a slice of fresh pear. The day was slow, golden. From the yard below came the sound of Telemachus finishing his sparring drills—grunts, clashing wood, and then quiet. Footsteps approached. Hesitant.

  “Can I sit?” Telemachus asked, slightly out of breath, wiping his face with a cloth. Poseidon nodded, shifting in his chair. “You don’t have to ask anymore.” Telemachus sat beside him, eyes drifting to the soft swell of the god’s belly. “So… she’s really in there?”

  Poseidon gave a wry look. “Either that or I’ve been cursed with a divine watermelon.”A small smile tugged at Telemachus’ lips. But it faded. “I was wondering,” he said, “what I’m supposed to call you.”

  Poseidon blinked. “You don’t have to call me anything.”

  “I want to,” Telemachus said quickly. “You’re not just… some passing figure. You’re having my sister. You’re here. You’ve stayed. So, yeah, I want to call you something that fits.” Poseidon paused. He looked out toward the horizon for a moment before nodding. “All right. Let’s find something.”

 They tried a few.

  “Stepmother?” Poseidon winced. “Too operatic.”

  “Ma?” Poseidon tilted his head. “Surprisingly not awful.” Telemachus grinned. “It’s soft. Casual. Doesn’t sound like I’m calling you a goddess.”

  “And yet… I like it.” Telemachus shrugged. “Then Ma it is.” Poseidon smirked. “You know, you're handling this with far more grace than half of Olympus would.”

  “You’re not chaos, Poseidon,” Telemachus said. “You’re not here to burn anything down. You’re helping build something. And I’m not blind. My mother… she smiles around you. She calls you her lover now.” Poseidon blinked at that. He hadn’t expected Penelope to speak it aloud beyond their small circle. “You okay with that?” he asked. “I’m not a boy,” Telemachus said simply. “You all found peace together. And soon, you’ll bring her into the world.” Then quieter: “I want her to be born into something whole.” The words settled like sunlight on water.

  Poseidon nodded. “You’re a good man.”

 “So they keep telling me.”

  They shared fruit for a while after that—quiet, comfortable. But at some point, Poseidon’s gaze turned distant. His thumb drifted absently across his stomach. And his voice lowered. “Do you want to know something strange?” he murmured. Telemachus looked over. “What?”

  “I didn’t know I could be pregnant.” A silence passed between them. Telemachus didn’t interrupt. So Poseidon spoke.

   It had been months after Odysseus returned to Ithaca. Poseidon had not forgiven him—not fully—but he had watched him. The mortal king haunted his dreams. Not out of rage, but something else. Something darker and warmer. Poseidon left Olympus often during that time. To think. To feel. To ache in solitude. It was in a quiet, hidden cove—waves humming like a heartbeat—that he noticed something was wrong. Or rather, different. He was tired. His moods swayed like storms on a string. The sea did not answer him the same way. His own body was changing—softening, growing heavy in places he did not recognize. His magic had begun to spiral inward, as if growing something without his command. Panicked, he sought Themis, one of the few Titans who still whispered prophecies to those who dared ask.

  She had not looked at him with confusion. Not even curiosity. She’d simply said:

  “The sea is a womb when it chooses to be.”

  Poseidon stared at her, frozen.

 “You were not made to carry, but you were never unmade from it either. Divinity can shape itself around truth. And you—"

 “You let yourself be opened. You let yourself be loved.”

  He had staggered out of her temple, shaking.

  Alone, Poseidon stood in the middle of the ocean, waves rising around him, and screamed—not in fear, but in defiance of everything he thought he was. When the scream faded, all he could hear was her.

  A heartbeat. Tiny. Inside him. He placed his hand over his belly. And wept. Not in shame. Not in regret. But in awe.

  Telemachus listened quietly. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t try to comfort. Just… heard him. Poseidon finally looked up, eyes rimmed with something unshed. “I never thought I’d be this,” he said. “A bearer. A parent. A—Ma.”

  Telemachus offered a half smile. “Well, you’re already pretty good at it.” Poseidon chuckled once, low in his throat. “We’ll see.”

  They sat together, letting the sun cross the sky slowly, with nothing but time, fruit, and salt in the air between them. And inside the god’s womb, a daughter dreamed of waves.

Chapter Text

  The palace was quiet. The servants had retired. The lamps glowed low, throwing soft amber light across the walls. Outside, the sea lapped gently at the cliffs, whispering lullabies to the stone. Poseidon sat on the bed in their shared chamber, wrapped in a linen robe, hair cascading over his shoulders in damp, loose curls. His belly shifted under his hands—restless, full of life. He wasn’t alone for long.

   Penelope entered first, barefoot, her robe slung loose around her shoulders. She crossed the room slowly, as if afraid to disturb the hush. “How are you feeling?” she asked, voice low.

  “Tired,” Poseidon admitted. “She’s been… active.” Penelope smiled and came to kneel beside him, her hand resting gently over his. “I think she’s impatient.”

  “Just like her father,” Poseidon murmured. “Which one?” Penelope teased, raising an eyebrow. A soft laugh broke from him, genuine and warm. “Both, perhaps.”Moments later, Odysseus stepped through the doorway, hair still wet from a quick rinse, eyes soft as they landed on the two of them. He closed the door behind him and came to sit on Poseidon’s other side, one arm sliding behind his back, anchoring him. For a long while, they simply sat there, the three of them close and silent.

  “She’ll be here soon,” Odysseus said. Poseidon nodded. “I know.” Penelope leaned her head against Poseidon’s shoulder, her voice no louder than the sea. “Are you afraid?” Poseidon hesitated. “Yes. Not of the pain. But of... what it will mean. Once she’s here, I can’t pretend to be anything other than what I’ve become.”

  “A parent,” Odysseus said gently. “A lover. Ours.” Poseidon looked down, rubbing slow circles over his belly. “I don’t know how to be all those things. I was born of storms. I’ve shattered islands for less than a wrong word.”

  “And yet,” Penelope whispered, “you’ve held me when I couldn’t sleep. You’ve kissed him like it was prayer. You’ve taught Telemachus to listen before he swings his sword. You are already everything she needs you to be.” Silence bloomed again—but it was full, not empty. Then Odysseus reached forward and gently pulled Poseidon into his arms. Penelope moved with him, the three of them entwining with practiced ease. Their bodies found the familiar rhythm of closeness—limbs overlapping, hands pressed to skin, breath mingling.

  Poseidon buried his face in Odysseus’ neck. “Don’t leave me.”

 “Never,” Odysseus said, kissing his temple. “Not now. Not ever.” Penelope kissed the other side of his face, her voice low and sure. “We’re here. We’re yours.” Poseidon exhaled, long and shaky, the weight of the moment settling into his bones. He rested his hands over the swell of his belly, and beneath them, Eirene kicked once—gentle, then still. “She knows,” he said.

  “Then she’s wise already,” Penelope murmured. They lay down together, Poseidon in the middle, head cradled on Odysseus’ shoulder, Penelope’s fingers laced with his. The room was dim, soft with lamplight and the scent of salt and citrus. None of them spoke again.

  But Poseidon’s last thought before sleep came was not fear.

It was this:

 “I am not alone.”

Chapter Text

  The first contraction woke Poseidon like a wave crashing into a quiet cove—deep, rolling, and absolute. His breath caught. Odysseus was beside him, curled close, a familiar arm draped over his waist. For a moment, Poseidon simply lay there, feeling the storm rise within him. Then the pain returned, sharper this time, and he hissed through his teeth. Odysseus stirred instantly. “What is it?”

  Poseidon turned his head, eyes wide but steady. “She’s coming.” Odysseus didn’t hesitate. He kissed Poseidon’s temple and slid out of bed, already moving to rouse the household. By the time Penelope entered the room, barefoot and robe hastily wrapped, her eyes already knew. She took in Poseidon’s sweat-dampened form, his hands clenched around the sheets, the ripple of power moving under his skin like a tide beneath glass.

 “It’s time,” she said softly.

   Midwives arrived quickly—summoned from the village, still tying their hair and pulling cloaks over their nightgowns. They slowed when they entered the chamber… and saw him.

 One gasped. Another froze entirely. “By the gods,” one whispered, wide-eyed. “That’s Poseidon…” The air was thick with divine presence—the pressure, the scent of brine, the faint shimmer clinging to the bed linens. Their eyes dropped to the god’s rounded belly, labor beginning to shake his powerful frame. Penelope stepped between them and Poseidon, calm but commanding. “He is in labor. And he is your patient now. Speak no word of what you see outside this room, or I swear, I will have your tongues buried in salt.”

  The midwives exchanged glances, then silently got to work.

   The labor built like a rising storm. Poseidon gripped Odysseus’ hand as each contraction tore through him, sweat beading on his brow, his long sea-dark curls plastered to his face. Penelope knelt at his other side, one hand pressed firm to his thigh, the other smoothing his hair back when the pain wracked his body. “Breathe, love,” she whispered against his temple. “She’s almost here.”

  The word love passed between them without fear. There was no confusion in it. What they shared wasn’t the sharp flame he had with Odysseus—but a deep, steady warmth. Like the ocean’s quiet pull on the shore. Poseidon turned to her during a moment of calm. “Don’t leave me.” She smiled, then pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Never.” A contraction hit hard, stealing the breath from him. Odysseus leaned in close, clutching his hand tightly. “You’re doing so well, sea-heart,” he whispered, kissing his cheek. “You’ve survived gods and storms. You’re nearly there.”

  Poseidon sobbed with the next push, overwhelmed—but he didn’t fight it.

  “She’s crowning!” one of the midwives called, her voice caught between reverence and shock. A shadow passed across the doorway—Telemachus, panting, sword not in sight. He’d come running after the shouting reached the courtyard. “Is she here? Can I see her?” Penelope looked up and met her son’s eyes. “Not yet, my love. Soon. Wait outside. She’ll want to meet you.” Telemachus nodded, breathless and grinning, and stepped back without protest.

  The next moment came like lightning cracking through water. With a final, guttural cry, Poseidon bore down, power thrumming through every muscle and every drop of divine blood in his veins—

  And then a sound broke through: sharp and immediate. A cry. Alive. The midwife lifted the baby, her hands trembling. “She’s here.” 

  Everyone went still.

  She was small, damp with birth, and glistening faintly—like moonlight through sea glass. Her tiny knees and shoulders were dusted with delicate, iridescent scales, like flecks of silver armor. Damp, dark curls clung to her head— his curls. But her eyes, when they blinked open… they were Odysseus’ eyes. Hazel-brown and bright with will. Thin, translucent fins fluttered faintly at the sides of her head. Her hands flexed, already grasping for the world. “She’s beautiful,” Odysseus whispered, awe-struck.

  “She’s perfect,” Penelope corrected, voice warm. The midwife gently placed the infant into Poseidon’s arms. The moment her skin touched his chest, he broke. Poseidon—god of waves, of fury, of unrelenting tides—sobbed openly, clutching his daughter like a treasure wrecked ashore. His whole body trembled with joy and disbelief, overcome by the miracle of her weight, her warmth, her presence.

  “She’s real,” he choked. “She’s mine—ours.” Penelope kissed his forehead, one hand still on his shoulder. Odysseus kissed the other side, then rested his cheek against Poseidon's, both men wrapped around their daughter. “She’s Eirene,” Poseidon whispered. “She is peace.”

  Odysseus smiled. “Then let her bring it.” Penelope leaned her head against them both, arms curled around Poseidon’s back. They stayed like that for a long time, the three of them—and the one they had created—held together by something even older than gods or war.

Not conquest.

Not obligation.

But love.

   The birthing room had quieted. The tension had broken like a wave retreating into the sea, leaving warmth, salt, and the soft sounds of new life behind. Poseidon lay back against a pile of cushions, his skin still damp with effort, his face flushed but radiant. Eirene slept against his chest, wrapped in soft linen, her tiny fist curled just over his heart. Her damp curls clung to her scalp, black as the ocean in the deep, her skin flecked with fine, opalescent scales across her shoulders and knees. Odysseus sat at Poseidon’s side, still holding his hand, their fingers interlaced.

  Penelope stood a pace away, arms crossed gently, her eyes soft and filled with something private and full. She wasn’t just proud—she was present. And that, for Poseidon, was everything. Then a soft knock came at the door.

  “Can I come in now?” Penelope smiled and turned to the doorway. “Yes, Telemachus. Quietly.” The door creaked open and Telemachus stepped inside. Still dressed from sparring, his hair sweat-damp, his sword forgotten somewhere in the courtyard. He approached like one might approach a sacred thing—slow, respectful, wide-eyed. His gaze flicked to Poseidon first. They had never spoken much—cautious around each other, But now they had built something as strong as a bond, Telemachus bowing his head slightly, offering something between a nod and an acknowledgment.

  And then… he saw her. “She’s so small,” he whispered. Poseidon smiled. “And fierce already.” Odysseus beckoned him closer. “Come. Meet your sister.” Telemachus stepped forward, then knelt beside the bed. He peered down at the baby swaddled in white and sea-blue, and his breath caught. “She looks like you, Pos-Ma” he murmured to Poseidon. Penelope and Odysseus were stunned at the nickname, but relaxed seeing as Poseidon's face melted into a soft smile. Telemachus returned the smile. Then his eyes met the baby’s fluttering lids. “And like you,” he added, glancing at his father. “But those eyes... those are ours.” Eirene stirred softly, her small hand opening and closing.

  “Can I… hold her?” Poseidon hesitated. Just for a moment. Then nodded. He gently passed her into Telemachus’ arms, guiding his hands beneath her tiny body. The young man took her with more care than he held a sword—cradling her like she was made of light and foam. “She’s warm,” he said, wonder creeping into his voice. “And… her scales are like fish scales, but softer. Her skin shines.”

  “She’s a child of many things,” Penelope said softly. “And many people.” Telemachus rocked her slightly, his movements instinctive. “She’s going to be terrifying when she grows up.”

  “She already is,” Poseidon muttered, smiling wearily. Telemachus looked up, his expression serious now. “Then she’ll need someone to protect her. From anyone who doesn’t understand.”

  “You plan to be that person?” Odysseus asked, eyebrow raised. Telemachus looked at his father, then at Poseidon, then back to the child in his arms. “I’m her big brother,” he said. “That’s not just something I can be. It’s something I am.” Penelope’s eyes shone. Poseidon blinked hard, throat tight again. “She’s lucky to have you.”

  Telemachus grinned. “She doesn’t know it yet. But she will.” He leaned down and kissed his sister’s tiny forehead. Eirene shifted slightly, then settled again in the crook of his arm. “I’ll teach her how to hold a sword,” he added. “And how to spot liars. And how to tell a good story.” Odysseus chuckled. “Gods help us if she learns your sense of humor.” But Poseidon only smiled, his heart full, watching his daughter cradled in the arms of her brother.

  This—this moment, in the soft golden light of morning—felt eternal.

Three parents.

One child.

And a brother who would never let her walk through this world alone.

Chapter Text

  The air on Olympus always shimmered—light bent in ways mortals couldn't perceive. Time itself flowed oddly, as if second-guessing its own momentum. Nothing escaped the mountain’s gaze. Especially not this.

  It began in the currents of the sea. A pulse, deep and ancient, rippling through the oceans and the sky. The cry of a newborn not fully mortal, not fully divine—something new. Something impossible.

  Hera felt it first.

  In the marble courtyard of her temple, she paused mid-step, head tilting slightly. The air shimmered. Her lips pressed into a tight line. “Something’s been born,” she murmured. “But no one asked my blessing.”

  Elsewhere, Hermes nearly fell off his perch atop the Western Wind when the pulse reached him—like a soft explosion of light. “That’s… not supposed to happen.”

  He dropped his game of astragaloi and vanished in a blink, sandals spinning lightning behind him.

  It was Athena, however, who sought answers first. Within the high golden dome of her study, a scroll unrolled itself midair, ancient ink shifting of its own accord as the Fates rewrote a name onto the edge of destiny.

  Eirene.

  A name with weight. A name with power. Born to Poseidon. Sired by Odysseus. Athena’s eyes narrowed. “So,” she whispered, not without admiration, “the sea finds peace in the arms of Ithaca.”

  On the highest balcony of Olympus, where the clouds curled like misted marble, Zeus stood alone. He had known before the others. The moment her first cry echoed, it had reached his throne like thunder traveling backwards.

  He gazed down toward Ithaca—not in anger. In curiosity. “A daughter of both wave and will…” he mused. “Not claimed by Olympus. Not sanctioned. Not raised in our halls.” Lightning flickered in his eyes, but his mouth curved faintly at the edge.

  “They name her Eirene? Peace?” He laughed softly—intrigued. “Well. We’ll see.” He turned and disappeared into stormclouds, voice trailing like distant thunder.

   Back on the mortal plane, Eirene stirred in her father’s arms. Poseidon’s thumb gently brushed a drop of salt from her cheek. She blinked once—those hazel-brown eyes wide and knowing, impossibly alert. Odysseus noticed the sudden stillness in the room. “Did you feel that?”

  Poseidon’s gaze drifted toward the sea beyond the window, a distant crackle of static in the air. His voice was calm, but low. “They know.” Penelope crossed the room, wrapping a light blanket over them all. “Let them.”

  Odysseus kissed Eirene’s small forehead. “She’s not theirs to claim.” Poseidon looked down at his daughter, cradled in his arms, radiant even in sleep. “No,” he whispered. “She is ours.”

  And above them, the wind whispered her name again.

 Eirene. Peace. Born of storm. Raised by three. Watched by gods. And destined for more than any of them yet understood.

  Odysseus decided to hold the sleeping infant, seeing as Poseidon deserved his time to rest. The baby cooed, shifting in his arms. His eyes watered, the baby—Eirene, held his finger with her tiny hand, falling back to sleep. He glanced back to the birthing couch, Poseidon sleeping soundly. Oh how far they'd gotten together. He called for a servant—several, to move him and make him comfortable.

   He walked towards the room where he, Penelope and Poseidon had spent the night, watching as Penelope beaconed an artisan through the door. The man came in with a cradle crafted by the island’s finest hands, its base was borne aloft by carved olive branches, symbol of love and endurance, each leaf tipped in gold as though touched by the sun of Olympus. Upon its front, the name Eirene was etched in letters of pure gold, a prayer for peace in a land long tested by war.

   Above, a hood held strands of sea shells and sea glass, gifts from the tide that whispered of distant shores and safe returns. Gold rims traced the base and the boughs, gleaming softly, as if to promise the child within a life guarded by both the earth and the sea. Odysseus smiled fondly, Poseidon would most likely appreciate this. He placed the baby in it, watching as she got accustomed to the rocking. Some of her dark curls had dried, some sticking to the sheet. Penelope held the small blue blanket she had woven, coming closer and wrapping it over the girl. Eirene twitched and stirred, whimpering. She reached out blindly, her whimpers louder. Odysseus kept a light smile as he picked her up, along with the blanket. He sat down on the edge of the bed, humming an old war song until she fell asleep.

   What in Hades was his brother thinking? To take that mortal—of all mortals—the very one who had wounded him deeper than words could measure, and now… to bear a child with them? It was insult beyond reason. Betrayal etched in blood. Zeus exhaled sharply, thunder in his chest. “Hermes!” The messenger appeared in a streak of light, adjusting his cloak as if plucked from busyness. He dipped low. “Yes, Lord of Olympos?”

    “Did you feel it? Across the waters?” Zeus’s voice was low, brooding.Hermes blinked, tilting his head. “Across the… oh.” His brow lifted in realization. “That surge? Yes. Hera felt it too. Athena as well. What was it?”

   “Poseidon,” Zeus growled. “Uncle?” Hermes frowned. “Forgive me, but what has he to do with it?” Zeus pushed from where he stood, circling the room until he collapsed into his throne, its arms groaning under his weight. He beckoned Hermes closer with one sharp motion. “He has sired new life.” Hermes’s mouth fell open. “Uncle Poseidon—Lord of waves, breaker of horses, bane of sailors—gave birth?” Zeus gave a single, grave nod.

   Hermes let out a low whistle. “That explains the pulse. Still… you summoned me for this?”

  “No.” Zeus’s tone cracked like distant lightning. “You will go to Ithaca. Tell my brother I demand his presence.” Hermes arched a brow, his grin quick and sly. “Now? He’ll be… let’s say, less than hospitable. Do you truly want me walking straight into his fury?” Zeus’s eyes flashed, storm gathering. “You dare question me?” Hermes threw up his hands, laughing nervously. “Never, Lord of Clouds. Merely… clarifying my inevitable doom.” He bowed again, more hastily this time, before vanishing in another blaze of light.

   What in Hades was his brother thinking? To keep such a secret… a life born of him, and Zeus had not known. It was not fury that burned in his chest, but a dull, heavy ache of betrayal. He called, voice thick: “Hermes.” The messenger appeared in a flicker of light, half-smirk still on his lips. “Yes, Lord of Olympos?”

  “Did you feel it? Across the waters?” Zeus asked, his voice low. Hermes tilted his head, then nodded. “That pulse? Yes, I did. Hera as well. Even Athena stirred at it. What was it?” “Poseidon.” Hermes blinked, frowning. “Uncle? I don’t—” Zeus moved to his throne, lowering himself with the weight of thought. He gestured Hermes closer, voice subdued. “He has borne a new life.” Hermes’s jaw dropped. “Uncle Poseidon—Lord of the sea, breaker of ships—gave birth?” Zeus gave the barest nod, but there was no storm in his eyes. Only disappointment. “He told me nothing. Not a word. My own brother.”

  A rustle stirred at the chamber’s edge. Hera stepped forward, her gaze sharp but not cruel. “Do not sulk, husband. You pout like a child denied a toy.” Zeus glanced at her, but she only folded her arms. “If our brother has hidden this from you, perhaps it is because he feared your judgment.”

  “I would not have judged him,” Zeus muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. Hera’s brow arched. “Would you not? You might've judged the mortals he's with. Even now you scowl. Perhaps I should go to him myself. He will not fear me as he does you.” Zeus huffed, but it was more wounded than wrathful. “You would go?”

  “I would. He is my brother as much as yours,” she said simply, her tone softening. “And he has done what no god should do alone.” Zeus looked at her for a long while, then sighed. “Go, then. But tread lightly. Tell him… tell him I only wish to speak with him. No more.” Hermes, who had been silently enjoying the exchange, clapped his hands together. “Marvelous. Then I won’t be risking my head after all.”

  Hera shot him a look, and he cleared his throat. “Er—shall I guide you to Ithaca, Lady?”

  “For once, yes,” Hera said, her eyes already on the horizon.

  The sea-winds carried them swift to Ithaca. Hermes alighted first, sandals barely touching the ground, then held out a hand as Hera stepped down from the shimmer of cloud that bore her. The island was quiet save for the crash of waves, but the air was heavy with power. Salt stung the air like incense. Hera’s eyes narrowed. “He is here.” Hermes gave a nervous half-smile. “Yes, and sleeping. Which is why I usually avoid… knocking.” She didn’t wait for him. With a sweep of her gown, Hera strode into the halls of the palace. The chamber smelled of brine, the floor still damp as though the tide itself had carried Poseidon here.

   There he lay — Poseidon, Earth-shaker, his vast form resting heavily against silken pillows. His sea-damp hair tangled about his face, his breath uneven but deep. For once, he looked less like a god, and more like a man weathered by storm. Hera halted, her voice dropping low. “Brother.” Poseidon stirred, lids half-opening. His gaze, usually sharp as tridents, softened when it landed on her. “Hera…?” His voice was gravel and surf, wearied beyond measure. “Even you have come to disturb me?” She moved closer, slow, measured, her eyes not missing the pallor of his skin, the slackness of his limbs. “You hid this from us.” His jaw tightened. “From him, not from you. I owed Zeus nothing.”

   “You owed him trust,” Hera answered quietly. “You owed me truth.” Silence hung between them, heavy as the sea itself. Hermes shifted awkwardly in the doorway, clearly wishing he were anywhere else. Finally, Poseidon sighed, closing his eyes again. “I had no wish for judgment. No desire to hear thunder in my ears while I carried a life within me.” Hera’s hand hovered in the air before she finally let it rest gently against his shoulder — not in pity, but in kinship. “You are not alone, Brother. Nor will you ever be. Whatever child you have brought forth, they belong to us all.” Poseidon’s lips curved faintly, the smallest crack in his storm. “Even to him?”

  “To him most of all,” Hera said, her tone sharp but true. Poseidon exhaled, the tension bleeding from his body as he sank deeper into the pillows. For a moment, the sea-god looked at peace. Hermes cleared his throat softly. “Shall I… tell Zeus you will come when you are ready?” Poseidon opened one eye, amusement flickering there. “Tell him nothing. Let him wait.” Hera’s smirk matched her brother’s. “For once, I agree.”

   Poseidon shifted, his great frame sinking further into the coral bed. The scent of salt thickened, the waves outside rising in sympathy with his unease. Hera’s hand remained lightly upon his shoulder, but her gaze had turned thoughtful, almost pained. “You should have at least called for me,” she said at last. Her voice was quiet, but there was an edge beneath it. “You know this is my province. Childbirth, the bringing forth of new life… it is mine to guard, mine to ease. And yet you bore this burden in silence.” Poseidon’s eyes opened, weary but defiant. “I did not wish to draw the gaze of Olympos. Least of all hers.” Hera’s lips thinned. “You speak as if I am your enemy.”

  “I speak as one who knows how you judge,” Poseidon answered softly. “Had I told you… would you have come as sister, or as queen?” For a heartbeat, Hera said nothing. Then she drew herself taller, though her expression softened. “Both. And perhaps that is what frightened you.” Hermes, who had been trying very hard not to intrude, shifted his weight and muttered under his breath, “And yet here we are…” Hera ignored him, folding her hands before her. “I cannot deny my disappointment, Brother. You robbed me of my place. I should have been there, at your side, guiding you, steadying you, as midwife. That is my right as Hera, and my duty as your kin.” Her eyes flicked down, softening further. “And yet, despite your stubbornness, I would see the child.” Poseidon studied her in silence, the crash of waves filling the pause.

   Poseidon’s gaze lingered on Hera, then drifted toward the sea-stained window. “The child is not here with me.” Hera’s brows rose. “Not here? Then where—”

  “With her father,” Poseidon said, pushing himself upright despite the weariness in his limbs. “She rests in the halls of Ithaca, with Odysseus and his wife.” At that, Hermes blinked, nearly dropping his staff. “Mortal halls? Uncle, you left your newborn with—” “Silence, boy,” Poseidon snapped, though the fire quickly faded from his voice. He drew a deep breath, as though the very act of standing cost him. “She is safe there. Safer than she would be in my keeping alone.” Hera’s eyes narrowed, and disappointment tinged her voice. “You trusted a mortal with her first breath, yet not me. You placed her in a woman’s chamber, yet denied her queen and goddess of women to see her born.”

  Poseidon met her gaze, unflinching though exhausted. “Because Penelope has steadier hands than the gods. And because her hearth is free from Olympos’s storms.” For a moment, Hera looked as though she might scold him further. But then her lips pressed thin, and she only said, “Then take me to her.” Poseidon inclined his head, the faintest trace of a smile at her resolve. With slow, deliberate steps, he led them down the coral-hewn passageways of his hall until they crossed into the mortal palace. The shift was startling: from the echoing roar of the sea to the quiet warmth of torchlit stone, where laughter and life seemed to hum even in silence. At last, he halted before a heavy oak door. His voice lowered, softer than Hermes had ever heard it. “Here.” He pushed it open.

  Inside, the chamber was dim but warm, lit by a single brazier. Penelope dozed lightly, her hand still resting near the cradle beside the bed. Odysseus sat awake, leaning close, watching the tiny form within as though it were the most precious treasure the gods had ever given him. His storm-worn face was softened, eyes bright with awe. In the cradle of olivewood and pure gold, the babe, wrapped in sea-silk. Her chest rose and fell gently, her skin carrying a faint sheen like foam upon water. Hera stepped forward, her breath catching despite herself. “So small,” she whispered, the sharpness in her voice slipping away. “And yet… she shines.” She noticed the name that was carved into the cradle, smiling. “Eirene..” Odysseus looked up then, his mortal eyes wide as he beheld the queen of Olympos in his chamber. He glanced at Poseidon, questions bursting in his gaze, but said nothing. Poseidon’s hand tightened briefly on the doorframe, as if holding himself steady. “This is why I did not tell Zeus. Why I did not summon you. For once, I wished the first gaze upon my child to be… untroubled.”

  Hera knelt beside the cradle, her fingers brushing the edge of the swaddle. Her expression softened further, almost maternal. “You fool of a brother,” she murmured, not unkindly. “You should have trusted me. Still… she is perfect.” Hermes peeked around the doorway, wide-eyed. “Well… this complicates things.”

  The babe stirred softly in her cradle, a sigh like waves on sand. Penelope shifted, half-waking, her hand instinctively finding Poseidon’s where he lay beside her. Odysseus, already awake, clasped Poseidon’s other hand, thumb brushing the back of it in silent reassurance. Poseidon rested between the two mortals, eyes half-lidded, breath uneven but calm. For all his power, for all the seas at his command, in this moment he seemed simply… held. Hera’s gaze sharpened at the sight. She folded her arms, her voice cool but edged with curiosity. “So. This is what you have done. A mortal marriage, split wide to take in a god.” Odysseus lifted his eyes to her, steady but cautious. “We did not take him in lightly, Lady Hera.”

  “Nor would any dare,” she said, her tone dry. She turned her gaze upon Penelope, who had woken fully now and sat upright, still keeping Poseidon’s hand clasped in her own. “And you, queen of Ithaca… do you so easily share your husband’s bed? Do you so easily open the vows you swore before hearth and altar?” Penelope did not flinch. Her dark eyes met Hera’s without wavering. “I swore to be steadfast, Lady. To honor my husband and my household. This—” she gestured softly to Poseidon, resting weary between them— “is not betrayal. It is bond. It is the weaving of thread into cloth that will not tear.” Hera tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. “And you, Odysseus? What say you? Have you not broken the law of marriage, bringing a god beneath your roof?”

   Odysseus’s voice was quiet but firm. “I am no stranger to gods, Lady Hera. They have tested me, tormented me, aided me. But this—” his hand tightened on Poseidon’s— “this is no conquest, no trick. I chose him, as I chose Penelope. He is not intrusion, but kin. Our household is not broken by his presence. It is made whole.” For a long moment, Hera was silent, her eyes flicking between the three of them. Then, softly, almost to herself, she said, “Strange. Strange, that I should see fidelity where law says there is trespass.” Poseidon opened his eyes fully then, his voice low but steady. “Sister, if you would strike us, do it now. But if you would bless us… then speak it.” Hera studied them — god, man, and woman bound together in hands and heart. And for once, the queen of Olympos did not raise her voice in judgment. Instead she leaned closer to the cradle, brushing her fingers gently across the babe’s cheek.

  “I will not bless what I do not yet understand,” she murmured. “But nor will I curse what I cannot deny. This bond you have made… it is unorthodox. But it is strong.” She straightened, eyes gleaming. “And strong bonds, I respect.”

Chapter Text

  After Odysseus left Ogygia, time began to rot on the island. The days turned stale. The nights bled slow. Calypso, once radiant and proud, drifted through the cave like a ghost in silk, her rage no longer sharp but festering beneath the surface. She spoke of Odysseus constantly—but never lovingly. His name was a weapon. His absence, a curse. And for Nausinous and Nausithous, his sons, it became clear early on that they were not reminders of love—but of loss.

  Calypso didn’t raise them. She kept them. Fed them like pets. Controlled them like shadows. They were punished not just for disobedience but for emotion. If Nausithous cried, he was accused of weakness. If Nausinous grew angry, she mocked him for thinking he had a man’s strength. They were blamed for her loneliness, her isolation, her fall from grace. “Your father left because I was kind,” she told them once. “I should have let the sea take him. Now I’m stuck with his scraps.”

  It was in this environment—where affection came poisoned with guilt, and silence became their safest language—that the boys grew close. Nausinous, quiet and serious, became the shield. He watched Calypso’s moods like a soldier scans the sky. Nausithous, reckless but brave, became the spark. He spoke the truths Nausinous couldn’t say aloud. They began, in secret, to protect each other. When Calypso ignored Nausithous for days, Nausinous would bring him food. When she accused Nausinous of being just like his “coward father,” Nausithous would make her furious on purpose to distract her.

  In their quiet moments, they talked. About what lay beyond the waves. About Ithaca. About men and cities and freedom. About whether Odysseus would have cared—would he have looked for them? Would he have taken them with him, if he’d known?

  “I don’t know,” Nausithous said one night, his voice hard. “Even if he’s missed us. I doubt he even did. He left us, Nou. He left the island, just like we need to.” They made a pact. They would not stay. No matter what their mother said. No matter what she tried. Every night, while Calypso sang her bitter songs to the waves, the boys planned. They learned the wind by its scent, the tide by its pull, the birds by their patterns. They gathered scraps—driftwood, resin, vines for rope. They sharpened bone into tools, and with salt-stung fingers, began to build a raft beneath the cliffs. There were close calls.

  Once Calypso caught Nausithous returning late and interrogated him with a terrifying calm.

  “Where were you?”

 “Walking.”

 “You’re lying.”

  “Then punish me. But don’t pretend it’s because you care.” She slapped him, hard enough to make his lip bleed. When Nausinous saw the mark, he didn’t speak—but that night, he carved faster, worked longer. They had to go. The night before they left, the sky was bruised with storm clouds, and Calypso, for the first time in weeks, was soft. She braided Nausinous’s hair and told him he reminded her of Odysseus—“when he was still pretending to love me.” She touched Nausithous’s cheek and whispered that if he stayed, she could make him a god. But the boys said nothing. They knew her love was another trap. Another chain.

  They left before dawn. The raft was crude, but it held. Nausithous brought flint, Nausinous brought water. They tied their belongings with rope made from twisted seaweed and cloth. And they pushed off from the island in silence. Behind them, Ogygia slept—empty, beautiful, cursed.

  Calypso woke later and stood barefoot at the shore. She saw the fading shape of the raft, far beyond the breakers, and she did not call out. She simply watched. “Go, then,” she murmured. “He left. You leave. All of you always leave.” But there was no magic in her voice. No storm summoned. No curse unleashed. Just the brittle breath of a woman who had lost even her control.

  The sea was rough. The journey uncertain. It was hard leaving the island you've known from birth, and being tied to it half by blood. They only managed to leave due to their mortal blood, their father's blood. Nausinous and Nausithous did not look back. They had each other. That was enough. They did not know what waited across the sea—but they knew this: They would never speak of Ogygia again.

And they would never become her. They'd find their father, even if it took all of their life span.

   Nausinous curled up next to Nausithous, shivering at the cold of night. Nausithous continued steering the makeshift boat, holding his brother close. “Nau?” He heard his brother's timid voice tremble, his hand fisted into the thin cloth Nausithous wore. “Yes, Nou? What is it?” He felt a soft exhale against his shoulder, dark eyes meeting his. “Do..Do you think we'd ever find papa?” He met his brother's gaze, softened. “I don't know, maybe we will. It will take a long while..” Nausithous focused on the small little boat/raft, the cold air biting at his skin.

  Besides him came forth a trembling prayer, towards the God of the Sea and Hermes, for safe passage and protection on the waves. The elder one of the two curled his fingers, overlapping his younger brother's own. He too said a prayer, one of gratitude for being able to leave their mother.

   “Ody!” The queen laughed, tackling her husband to the floor. His fingers were consistent, tickling her and knocking her off her balance. Poseidon sat on the bed, baby in hand. It was quite nice to see the old couple showcasing their everlasting love. “You thought you could keep me—Wartime king, would let himself get caught?” Odysseus stood up, smiling in triumph. Unbeknownst to the two, Poseidon liked seeing the way the King's pride shattered, so he subtly and non-gently kicked the back of his shin. Odysseus tumbled, would've landed face first if not for his quick reaction time. Penelope took that as her sign and pounced, straddling his waist. Odysseus sighed, his hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine. You've got me.” He smirked a little at Penelope's obvious pleasure at beating her husband. 

    She leaned down, capturing his lips in a gentle but firm kiss. Odysseus openly moaned softly, his hands on her face. She pulled back, smiling at the way he chased her lips back into a kiss. She didn't resist, pushing deeper into his mouth. Behind them, the baby stirred, whimpering. He cleared his throat, catching both mortal’s attention. “As much as I hate to break up this sweet playful banter, I inquire. Penelope..Where ever had you placed the sling?” Penelope blushed, looking around the room before she spot it. “There, atop the armoire, Lord.” He scoffed, getting up with ease. That earned him a twist in the baby's rigid state, her eyebrows harboring a slight crease. Due to Poseidon's irregular height, he was able to achieve the sling with no troubles. 

   “How many times have I informed you to drop the formality, we have seen each other affectionately, there is no need for that.” He said nonchalantly, wrapping the sling around him and placing the baby in it. Odysseus flushed, burying his head in his wife's shoulder. They say up now, Penelope still in the man's lap. “I will go feed the little one, you two just..” Poseidon turned, fixing them a glare. “Don’t.” He simply said, leaving the room. Odysseus chuckled deeply, feeling Penelope's thighs. “He never specified on what we should not do.” The latter rolled her eyes, leaning into a kiss once more.

   The God stalked into the deserted kitchen, Eirene’s little fist pulled into a ball. He pulled out a small seashell cup, decorated in jewels and such. He took the sling off, holding Eirene closer to his chest. Poseidon placed her onto the sling on the table, trying to get the nectar into the cup. Eirene whined, tossing and turning. He sighed, pulling her back into his arms. The nectar flowed, running in a slow stuttering stream from his papilla and into the seashells cup, filling it. The liquid was almost gold, tinged with a bit of silver and a blue so bright the cup looked like it was glowing. The God shifted the baby in his arms, pressing her face against his pec. With that, the cup was brought to her mouth, her little eyes blinking slowly before she held onto the Poseidon's fingers.

    Poseidon smiled at the gesture, continuing to feed her. She drank with more enthusiasm, the nectar quickly emptied out into her mouth. Poseidon stared in amusement as she held out her hands, clenching them and reopening them. He sighed, and placed her on his chest, closer to his tit. Poseidon could've sworn that he heard her sigh out of contentment, the baby now suckling. He felt the nectar, and his energy slowly drain from him, her suckles powerful and vicious. The God opted to sit on top of the counter and let little Eirene suck her little heart out. After what felt like hours, she finally stopped. He looked down, his nipple swollen and red, while she lie there without a care in the world.

   He moved off the counter, picking up the sling and fixing his himation back over his chest. Poseidon placed Eirene in with the upmost care, singing a song in the ancient tongue. He was sure she'd be able to understand. “Θα κεντήσω, πάνω στου αλόγου σου τη σέλλα..” He sang, rocking his arms. “Με διαμαντόπετρες σωρό,του φεγγαριού το πήγαιν’ έλα..” She cooed, settling into his arms comfortably. He kissed her forehead, the fins twitching on either side. “στο πελαγίσιο το νερό.”  He stopped, Eirene sleeping soundly. He sighed, kissing her once more before he headed back towards the room.

 The God barely entered the room before the couple yanked him in, Penelope taking the baby out of his arms. “Come now, lovely. Let us. Poor thing, you must be exhausted.” She insisted, placing Eirene in her crib with the blue blanket. Poseidon sighed, letting himself be led to the bathroom by the mortal king. Penelope followed after the two, leaving the door open in case the baby stirs. Odysseus sat on the edge of the large bathtub, placing the God on a stool in front of him. Poseidon heard water running behind him, Penelope coming back into his vision. “Such a beauty, you.” She commented, kissing him on his forehead. Odysseus nodded, fingers now soothing the tension out of his shoulders and back. “The babe is lucky to have a mother like him.” Said God slumped against the man's hands, allowing Penelope to take his hand and kiss his knuckles. He blushed faintly, watching as she did it again before moving to his skirt.

    She pulled it lower, smirking at his shocked expression. “No, we aren't going to do anything sexual, let us care for you.” Odysseus moved from behind him, also helping rid of his clothes. Poseidon looked away, flustered at the different kind of attention and affection he now received. “Oh, look at that..” Penelope crooned, tapping the side of his cheek. “I admire the way you blush, my Lord. Gold is quite the fetching color on you.” Beside her, Odysseus nodded, having finally rid the God of all clothes. He now sat bare, in his divine glory, to the two mortals. Poseidon shifted under their gaze, anticipating. Odysseus smiled, planting a kiss to his wife's shoulder then to Poseidon's temple. “Two beautiful people, I love you both dearly.” He could practically taste the love oozing out of the man's mouth.

   “I love you too, husband. You as well, Lord, so much.” Penelope’s voice trembled as she reached for Odysseus’s hand, then leaned toward the god hunched on the stool. Her words felt like offerings into a void. “I don’t understand.” Poseidon’s gaze stayed locked on the steaming water, as though he could drown himself in it without even entering. When Odysseus stood to guide him into the tub, there was confusion in his touch, but also worry—fear, even. “What do you not understand, Poseidon?” The god lowered himself until only his head remained above water, hair spreading like ink, swallowing the brightness of the bath. He refused to look at them. “You two. Why would you accept me into your marriage? What have I ever done to deserve even a scrap of love?” His voice cracked, ragged with a bitterness turned inward. “I’ve wrecked ships, ruined lives, cursed men for less than what you’ve forgiven. And yet you—” He let out a sharp, broken breath. “You mortals are so everlasting complicated. I don’t get it. You should hate me. You should.”

   Penelope reached for his hand beneath the water, desperate, her own tears stinging. “You’re wrong. Ody had reason to hate you, yes—and you him. But haven’t you both faced that? Haven’t you both chosen something else—together?”

  “Only for the sake of the child.” The words came out like venom. Odysseus staggered, as if pierced through the chest. His hand slipped from Poseidon’s shoulder like it burned. “That’s all you think this is?” His voice fractured, torn between grief and fury. “That’s what you truly believe?” Poseidon finally looked up, regret already etched into his face, but it was too late. “Isn’t it? What else could possibly bind me to you? To either of you?” The silence was unbearable. Then Odysseus’s face twisted—rage bleeding through hurt, love through betrayal. “You arrogant bastard.” His voice shook with fire, wet with tears he couldn’t swallow. “You think I would shackle myself to you just because of a child? You think I’d endure this—you—out of duty?” His hands trembled at his sides, clenched into fists. “I didn’t choose to love you, Poseidon.” Penelope flinched, her breath catching, but Odysseus didn’t stop.

   “I don’t choose love. It isn’t strategy, it isn’t convenience. It’s torment. And gods help me, even when you make me hate you—” His voice cracked, rage collapsing into pain. “Even when you twist the knife—I can’t stop loving you. Do you understand? I can’t.” He turned his face away, but not fast enough to hide the tear that slid down his cheek. Poseidon’s throat closed, his whole body trembling beneath the water. “Then you’re a fool,” he rasped. “Because I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve either of you. I’ve brought you nothing but grief. A monster at your table, a curse in your bed—”

  “Stop.” Penelope’s hand tightened around his, desperate, her voice sharp. “Stop saying that—listen to us, just once—” But Poseidon only shook his head violently, water rippling around him. His voice rose, guttural with self-loathing. “No! You don’t understand—I should have been your ruin, not your love. Every moment I stay, every breath I take beside you, it feels like theft. And I can’t—” His voice broke, eyes burning as he stared at the water instead of them. “I can’t bear the thought that I’ve poisoned the both of you.”

   The words tore through Odysseus. He staggered forward, bracing himself on the rim of the tub, teeth gritted, a sob caught in his throat. “Poisoned me?” His voice cracked, but there was fire in it still. “Do you think that’s what this is? Do you think I lie awake at night cursing you? Do you think I’ve endured you, like some punishment from the gods?” Poseidon turned his head, unable to face him. “No,” Odysseus rasped, voice breaking now, fierce in its grief. He plunged his hands into the water, seizing Poseidon’s wrists and yanking them above the surface. His grip was trembling but unyielding. “Look at me, damn you. Look at me!” Reluctantly, Poseidon raised his eyes, and the sight of Odysseus’s tears gutted him.

  “It isn’t ruin I feel when I look at you. It’s—” Odysseus’s breath caught, shoulders shaking. “It’s love, Poseidon. Ugly, impossible, maddening love. And I can’t rip it out. I don’t want to.” Penelope’s hand slid over both of theirs, her tears falling freely now. Her voice rose, sharp and fierce, as though her heart were breaking in her chest. “Stop punishing yourself! Stop telling us lies about what we feel. You are not a curse. You are not a thief. You’re ours.” Poseidon’s chest heaved. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he whispered, voice trembling.

  “We do.” Penelope leaned in, pressing her forehead to his temple, clutching his wet hair in her fist as though to tether him. “We do, and we’ll scream it at you a thousand times if that’s what it takes.” The god broke, shuddering as the sob finally tore from him, raw and unrestrained. He collapsed forward, water sloshing as his body shook. Odysseus dragged him closer, arms circling tight around his shoulders, their tears mingling with the water dripping from Poseidon’s hair. His voice was hoarse, ragged, desperate.

   “We love you. Do you hear me? We love you, and you’re not getting rid of us. Not now, not ever.” Penelope wrapped herself around them both, as much as she could, clinging with a ferocity that bordered on desperation. “Ours,” she whispered through her tears, over and over. “Ours, ours, ours.”  Poseidon’s sobs tore through the chamber, quiet enough not to wake the baby but raw and unrestrained, as he collapsed against them. Odysseus held him like a man clinging to wreckage, Penelope folding her arms around them both, murmuring his name as though it might anchor him. The god shook, whispering broken fragments between gasps—I shouldn’t be here, you deserve better, I’ve ruined everything—but neither of them loosened their hold.

  And at last, when his body gave out beneath the weight of his grief, he let himself fall fully into their embrace. He still didn’t believe he deserved it. Not Odysseus’s steady grip, not Penelope’s fierce tenderness, not the warmth that should have been a punishment but instead felt like love.

   But for the first time, Poseidon did not push it away. And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

     The sun seemingly took it's time crossing the horizon, it's rays peering through the window of the Ithacan couple. As per usual, Odysseus had been the one to awake from his slumber first. Glancing around, he noticed the spot in between him and his reason to live was empty. Similar fate to the cradle at the side of their marriage bed. He came to the conclusion that Poseidon had gotten up earlier to feed the baby.

   The light to his gloomy days stirred in her sleep, the sun showing on her beauty spots and beautiful aging face. Odysseus hummed, sliding closer to Penelope and placing his nose to the top of her crown. He planted a kiss there, descending towards her neck and shoulders. "Mm..Ody.." She mumbled lightly, shifting closer. "Yes, my light, my love, my peerless paramour. The apple of my eye, my wife of her everlasting splendor?" Penelope swatted his face lightly, chuckling. "Okay, my handsome poet." Her hand lingered, her fingers running through his beard with effort. "When's the last time you got a trim?" Odysseus leaned into the touch, placing a kiss to the palm. "I thought you liked me aged." He smirked. "Aged not shabby!" She laughed this time, watching as Odysseus acted offended. "My! Is that something to tell your beautiful, amazing husband?" 

     "Oh please, spare me the dramatics!" Penelope rolled out of bed, her senile bones aching in protest to her stretch. "I'm going to be busy today, somethings require my attention," She pulled on a sleeveless himation, quickly placing a bridal hair clip into her soft curls. Odysseus wrapped his arms around her, lightly kissing her neck. "My beautiful wife.." A small blush gathered on her cheeks, smiling softly. "I love you." He looked up at her expectedly, almost frightened so. As if she would never say it back. How absurd.

   "I love you." She repeated, patting Odysseus on the top of his bed hair, slightly sorting the curls apart. "You should fix your hair, my love." Odysseus leaned into the touch, sighing. “I know, I know my love. But it just gets messed up so fast!” He tilted his head up placing a kiss to the corner of Penelope's mouth. “You poor thing..Maybe Poseidon will help fix it?” She allowed him to kiss her, properly now. Then she pulled away and placed a kiss on his forehead. “And also, take a shower, dear. Your breath will literally be the death of me.” She laughed, exiting the room.

  Left to he, himself and his thoughts, Odysseus did exactly what she told him to do. He was going to take a shower. He strode into the bathing chamber, the sound of his feet echoing. “Hopefully, my Lord would allow the water to not boil my skin..” He mumbled to himself, turning on the water. Stripping of all remaining clothes, Odysseus stepped in. The water basically hugged him,  warming and refreshing.

  Odysseus let the water hit his face once more, reaching for the oils and lavender mixtures. He poured the oils over his sore muscles, pulled taunt after the voyage. Rubbing helped, it mostly smoothened all the knots he harbored.  He stayed in the bath a while longer, it was quite nice. How disappointing though, he'd have to rejoin his family sooner or later. 

Odysseus lingered longer than he should have, letting the oils sink into his skin. He tilted his head back into the stream, but another sound pulled him out of his haze. A voice.

Low, resonant, carrying through the halls not as speech but as a melody, soft and lilting like waves folding over sand. It wasn’t Penelope—her voice was sharper, her songs more brisk. This one seemed to bend the air itself. He stilled, the water dripping down his shoulders. Then came the faintest sigh, the cry of a babe silenced almost instantly by the soothing tone. Eirene. He shut off the water, his heart kicking against his ribs. Grabbing a linen cloth, he dried himself quickly and padded barefoot into the corridor, following the sound.

    Odysseus moved quietly down the corridor, the linen cloth knotted hastily at his hip slipping loose as he followed the sound. He had expected the soft rhythm of a lullaby — what he found instead rooted him to the spot. Poseidon stood in the center of the room, barefoot, his long hair unbound, robes left open at the chest. In his arms, little Eirene giggled, her tiny hands batting at his beard. The god swayed with her, humming an old tune not meant for mortal ears, his steps careful and light, like the slow dance of waves beneath a full moon. Odysseus’ lips parted, caught somewhere between awe and laughter. He had seen Poseidon command storms, crack mountains, boil seas — but never this. Never the Lord of the Deep moving in circles on the worn floorboards, rocking a babe against his heart as though she were the most precious treasure in all his dominion.

 And then, of course, his linen slipped lower, leaving Odysseus standing in the doorway utterly bare. 

  Odysseus didn't notice Poseidon stopping to stare at him, nor did he register him coming closer.

  "Odysseus." The voice low but soft, a fondness at edge. Said man startled, raising his leg in fright. The babe giggled at her father's actions, idly pulling on a lock of Poseidon's hair. The God fixed him a look, bewildered and amused all at once. Odysseus gathered his wits and huffed, sending Poseidon a lopsided smile. "Yes..my pearl?" The God flushed, instinctively tightening his grip on Eirene.

       She made a noise in protest, tugging the lock in her hand. Poseidon wasn't affected and shushed her, placing a kiss on her crown. He turned his attention back to the still naked king before him. "Is that any way for a king to present thyself? All this time you've stood here and you haven't picked up your robe." He gestured widely, speaking from status. He pointed at the robe discarded onto the floor and quirked a brow. 

   "Right, sorry..." Odysseus muttered, cheeks red from embarrassment. He lowered himself, mindful of footsteps that came too close but never approached. The robe hugged his body, shaping the muscles of his thighs tightly. Odysseus met the ever glowing eyes of his lover, a familiar softness in them. Forgetting about the child momentarily, Odysseus brought Poseidon's chin downward, placing a kiss unto his lips. Poseidon sighed, leaning deeper, about to raise a hand before he remembered the weight that sat heavily on his hip.

   "Ody-," Poseidon pulled back, watching in amusement as said man chased his lips. He allowed him the grace of having one more peck, how could he not? Having parted, Odysseus now saw why Poseidon stopped. "Here, take her."

    Odysseus shifted slightly as Poseidon placed the babe in his opened arms, holding Eirene comfortably against his chest. She reached up and batted at his beard, and he laughed, brushing her tiny hand away gently. "Always so curious," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head. Poseidon watched, leaning casually against the doorway, amusement in his eyes. "She’s been practicing her grabs," he said, voice low but fond, "and clearly, you’re her favorite target."

  Odysseus smirked, tilting his head. “I can’t deny it. She knows who’s safe to tease.” Eirene giggled, her tiny body wriggling against him. He adjusted her in his arms, careful of the way she liked to squirm but with the ease of familiarity. Poseidon stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on Odysseus’ shoulder. "You handle her well. Better than some mortals I’ve seen." He quirked a brow. "Even when… distracted." Odysseus glanced down at the baby, then up at Poseidon, remembering the subtle weight of the robe at his hip. "Distracted? By whom?" He gave a lopsided grin, brushing a wet lock of hair from his forehead.

   Poseidon’s lips curved, amusement dancing in his gaze. "By the king of Ithaca standing here… and possibly forgetting your own dignity in a bathrobe." Eirene cooed, and Odysseus laughed softly, rocking her gently. "Ah, yes, my fault entirely. But I am king, after all. Surely I get some leeway?"

  "Leeway," Poseidon echoed, shaking his head with a smile. "Perhaps. But not that much." He leaned down to brush a kiss across Eirene’s forehead before stepping back, letting Odysseus bask in the small, quiet domesticity of the moment.  Odysseus adjusted the robe more securely as Poseidon led the way back toward the couple’s bedroom, Eirene nestled safely against his chest. The baby yawned, reaching one tiny hand toward the god’s chest, as if already claiming the space as her own. 

   The bedroom was quiet, save for the soft breathing of Eirene, curled up in her blanket on the bed. Odysseus stood in the middle of the room, robe still loosely tied, glancing at his reflection in the polished mirror. Poseidon leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching with that familiar mixture of amusement and mild exasperation. "Odysseus," he said, voice low, "we must talk about this."

"About…?" Odysseus asked, already feeling a twinge of dread.

"This," Poseidon gestured sharply at his robe-clad body. "The unkempt hair, the wild beard, the posture. A king must appear… shapely. Presentable. Even when the queen is downstairs making breakfast, the child asleep, and the sun barely up."

Odysseus opened his mouth to protest, but Poseidon didn’t give him the chance. He stepped forward, seizing the brush with one hand and tilting Odysseus’ chin with the other. "You will stand still. No arguing."

Odysseus raised a brow, half amused, half wary. "I didn’t realize a god doubled as a barber."

Poseidon ignored the jab, beginning to run the brush through Odysseus’ hair with deliberate firmness. "This is not a mere brushing," he said, tugging slightly at knots, "this is the preparation of a king. Every strand matters."

Odysseus winced at a particularly stubborn tangle. "Poseidon! That hurts!"

Poseidon raised an eyebrow, unconcerned. "A king must endure discomfort for his appearance. Surely you’ve faced worse at the hands of my waters."

He then turned his attention to Odysseus’ beard, frowning at the wild tangles. “And this! I swear, it grows like untamed reeds after every voyage. It will not do. Stand still!” Odysseus exhaled in defeat, letting Poseidon fuss over him. The god’s fingers combed and straightened, sculpting, tugging gently but firmly, brushing until every lock seemed obedient. Poseidon muttered under his breath, half lecture, half complaint, "A king should not look like he wrestled a storm and lost. Your queen deserves better. Your child deserves better. Your God deserves better."

Odysseus smirked faintly, despite the tugging. "I suppose I should be grateful you care so much about my appearance."

Poseidon paused, eyes flicking up to meet his. "Grateful? Yes. But also terrified of what others might think if you presented yourself in this state. Now, hold still—almost done." By the time Poseidon stepped back, Odysseus’ hair was combed in neat curls, the beard tamed, and the robe sat properly on his shoulders. He looked more like the king of Ithaca Poseidon imagined than the bedraggled traveler who had just stumbled from the bath. Eirene stirred slightly but remained asleep, a tiny hand curling against her blanket, while downstairs the faint clatter of breakfast being prepared reached the room. Poseidon let out a satisfied hum, brushing imaginary lint from his hands.

"Better," he said simply, and the weight of approval made Odysseus grin. "Now, remember this every morning. Or next time, I might have to give you a proper royal whipping for sloth."

Odysseus laughed softly, adjusting the robe, and Poseidon’s smirk deepened — satisfied, amused, and unbothered by the quiet domesticity around them. The three descended into the kitchen, the smell of baked bread and honey already filling the air. Penelope was bent over the hearth, sleeves rolled up, flipping flatbread on the pan with the ease of someone long used to the rhythm of the household.

 Poseidon shifted Eirene higher against his chest as she began to fuss, her little hands batting at his beard. "Not you too," he muttered, prying her fist from the curls. "Your father already takes offense at it." Odysseus rolled his eyes and made for the table, already reaching for a hunk of bread cooling in a basket.

 “Sit,” Poseidon barked, voice carrying like a wave crashing against rocks. He plucked the bread from Odysseus’s hand before he could bite into it. “Kings eat with dignity, not like starving sailors.”

“Dignity?” Odysseus snorted, plopping into his chair anyway. “You brushed me like a horse not five minutes ago, and now you deny me my spoils?” Eirene squealed at his tone, delighted, kicking her tiny legs. Poseidon glanced down at her, his stern expression softening instantly. He rocked her gently and pressed a kiss into her curls.

  Penelope glanced over her shoulder at them, lips twitching. “Let him eat, Poseidon. He’s always like this before bread.”

 “Like a child,” Poseidon muttered, but he relented, setting the loaf down with a dramatic sigh. Odysseus immediately tore a piece free with his teeth, grinning victoriously.

Poseidon’s eyes narrowed. “Animals chew with their mouths closed, Odysseus.”

“Then it is well I’m not an animal,” Odysseus said around a mouthful.

“Close your mouth.” 

 Penelope laughed outright this time, sliding a dish of olives onto the table. “I have two children in this house,” she said, arching a brow at the pair of them. “One is barely a month old, the other full grown and impossible.” Eirene babbled, waving a tiny fist as though agreeing.

 “See? Even she knows,” Penelope said, shaking her head fondly.

 Poseidon smirked, lowering himself carefully into a chair with the baby tucked safely in his arm. “At least one of my children respects order.”

Odysseus, without hesitation, leaned across the table and swiped an olive. “And the other will never learn.” Penelope sighed but her smile betrayed her amusement, her eyes flicking over the strange but whole sight of them: a god and a king bickering like boys, a babe cradled between them, and the smell of breakfast rising in the air. The scrape of sandals across stone drew their attention. Telemachus entered the kitchen, tall and composed despite the lingering traces of sleep in his eyes. His gaze swept the table, and at once his features softened into something more familiar.

  “Mother,” he greeted warmly, bending to kiss Penelope’s cheek as she turned from the hearth. “Father,” he added, nodding toward Odysseus, who was halfway through tearing a hunk of bread in two.

 His eyes shifted to Poseidon, who sat at the table with Eirene nestled snug against his chest. Without hesitation, Telemachus inclined his head. “Stepmother.” The title rolled from his lips easily now, without a hint of irony.

 Poseidon smirked faintly, adjusting the babe when she began to fuss. “At least one member of this house has manners.” Telemachus ignored the jibe, his attention stolen by the cooing bundle in the god’s arms. “And how is my little sister this morning?” he asked, reaching across to brush a careful hand against Eirene’s tiny fingers. She latched on with surprising strength, and he chuckled. “Still as fierce as yesterday, I see.”

 “She’ll grow to wrestle dolphins at this rate,” Poseidon said with mock gravity, pressing a kiss to her dark curls.

  “Or wrestle her father,” Odysseus interjected with a grin, already chewing noisily. Penelope set figs and honey down at the table, shaking her head. “If she grows up to be half as loud as either of you, I’ll have the gods take pity on me.”

  Telemachus settled beside his father, reaching for bread. “Loud or not, she’s ours. And that’s enough.” 

 After the meal, Odysseus and Telemachus busied themselves with clearing the table, leaving Penelope and Poseidon by the window where the light fell soft. She guided him onto the stool, comb and pins in hand, and began to work through the long, salt-heavy waves of his hair. Poseidon sat still, though every so often his lips quirked as she tugged more firmly than expected. “You are less gentle than the tides,” he murmured.

  “You’ve let this grow wild for years,” Penelope chided softly, gathering the strands with deft hands. “It’s a wonder you can see through it. Hold still, or I’ll pull harder.” His answering laugh rumbled in his chest, but he obeyed, letting her twist and weave until the heavy locks began to take shape under her touch.

 It was then that Eirene stirred in her cradle nearby, fussing and letting out a thin, insistent cry. Poseidon turned his head instinctively, his godly composure softening at once.

“She’s hungry,” Penelope said, already stepping aside. “Go to her.” He rose without hesitation, sweeping the babe up into his arms. Her little fists batted against his chest as she rooted instinctively, and Poseidon shifted, unfastening the folds of his himation. The god’s body responded as it had since her birth — an impossible, miraculous gift from the sea itself. Penelope, comb still in hand, lingered nearby as he settled into the chair with Eirene at his chest. The babe latched quickly, her cries fading into quiet contentment. Poseidon let out a breath, his broad hand cradling her tiny back as she suckled. His eyes softened in a way few had ever witnessed.

“You see?” Penelope said gently, resuming her place behind him to finish what she had started. “Not a storm. Not a god. Just a father with his daughter.”

Poseidon tilted his head slightly, allowing her to tuck the last braid into place as Eirene fed. “And with a clever woman at his back,” he murmured. Penelope smiled faintly, brushing her fingers over the finished braid, and pressed a quiet kiss to the crown of his head before moving to fetch a cloth for when the babe was finished.