Chapter Text
Hephaestus was not known to be a very social- let alone promiscuous -god. It was fine, really. Everyone saw him at least once a month, given he hadn’t let the forge overheat. Of course, both his wife and his brother knew that he often did it on purpose. Hephaestus couldn’t feel the hot temperature properly anyway, and it kept potential visitors away. If he saw the thermometer above his workbench go over a certain number, he would first evaluate how he was feeling before addressing it.
On an evening in early December, he was working on a commission from Ariadne for the upcoming occasion of Dionysus’ birthday. It was always a chaotic month. Everyone wanted to be all merry and drunk and indulgent, but the blacksmith just wanted to stick to the routine he was used to.
Ares entered the forge to the sight of his brother sitting with the posture of a shrimp. His goggles seemed to be on his face, which meant he was working on something precise, even if Ares couldn’t see it yet.
“You’re going to make your back pain worse.”
“What has more value? A perfect work, or a spine with less pain?”
Ares stood behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder. He used the other hand to take Hephaestus’ goggles off, placing them on the table in front of them. The blacksmith didn’t even seem to notice. The god of war kissed his brother’s ear, and then across his jaw.
“You’re going to make me mess up…” Hephaestus mumbled, putting the object down.
Ares leaned further forward to look at him.
“Hey,” said Ares.
“Hey.”
“So how is the spine?”
Hephaestus sighed, feeling his brother’s firm hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t expected a follow-up. He thought Ares was just here to tell him to go to bed.
“...right now? It’s not that bad.”
“You never complain about it. You should.”
“I mean- really, Ares, it’s fine. I can walk sometimes, and I don’t piss myself anymore. What more could I want?”
Ares tilted Hephaestus’ face up. His thumb lingered on the other’s lip. Despite having scarring in certain places, that face carried such an honest quality.
“Be honest. Are you in pain?”
“...no,” the blacksmith told him quietly, “I’m okay.”
Ares went silent for a moment.
Eventually, he whispered, “It still aches me every time I think about it. A woman throwing her firstborn down a mountain.”
"If I were to have a child from rape, I wouldn't want it either."
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t try to kill it. Especially since you can’t kill it. Only fuck up its life forever.”
“Hera can’t undo her actions.”
“And you can’t fix your spinal cord.”
The sentence made Hephaestus’s eyes widen. He froze. Then he looked down again.
“I’m sorry,” Ares said after a little while.
“Yeah.”
When Hephaestus returned to looking at his commission, the war god couldn’t gauge whether his brother was upset with him. The blacksmith wasn’t very expressive of his emotions. Even in bed, he often gave no more of a reaction than sighing, or his eyes glazing over.
“Did I fuck up?”
Hephaestus immediately looked up again, surprised.
“What? Why would you have fucked up?”
“...nevermind. Are you going to sleep tonight?”
“Hold on.”
He tinkered with it some more before setting it down.
“Come on,” Ares told him, “let’s get you to bed.”
Given that Hephaestus currently had no sensation in his legs, the easiest option was to be carried, despite his hatred for the act.
Aphrodite was already in bed when they came up. The sight of the goddess of beauty was always breathtaking, no matter how long one was married to her. And all the same, she was practically formless when in her godly form. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, after all. Her favourite mishap was when mortal men who witnessed her would at first think she was their wife.
The sheer silk of her nightgown was draped over the goddess’ body as though she were a marble statue. A lock of her impossibly long hair fell over her shoulder, and the rest flowed over the edge of the bed like a waterfall. She was neither sitting nor lying down, more so leaning languidly.
When she spotted her lovers, Aphrodite sat up, her knees drawn. She combed her fingers through the lock of hair on her shoulder.
“My dears,” she said in her melodic voice, “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
“He was being stubborn again,” Ares told her, to which Hephaestus gently protested.
When Ares set him down on the bed, the blacksmith dragged himself closer to the middle where his wife was. Aphrodite wrapped her arms around his neck in an embrace. He sighed, sinking into her soft body. The war god stopped to undress before joining his lovers.
“How was your day?” Aphrodite inquired, the question directed at the more conscious of the men.
“Rather boring. There’s always conflict somewhere, but when is it ever interesting?”
Aphrodite lay down again with a little sigh, though her knees were still drawn. Her husband’s head rested on her belly.
“I would guess you’re not in the mood for anything… extracurricular?” she asked Hephaestus.
“I could absolutely start, but it’s not like I could…”
His wife gave a knowing smile.
“That’s not an issue, my love, but I fear you would get tired quite quickly.”
Ares discarded his last piece of clothing, but didn’t yet lay down with them.
“I don’t suppose I could have some, then?”
The goddess of love giggled at his advance.
“Would you really ask me that right in front of my husband?” she teased, pretending to swoon. “Such a travesty. I thought you learned your lesson from the net. You ended up having to turn that mortal man into a rooster.”
He rolled his eyes.
“I thought we were past discussing Alektryon. And surely Hephaestus wouldn’t mind?”
“Well, no, but Hephaestus needs to get out more.”