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Waking up wasn't what Eron expected. He'd fully expected to see Charon the next time he opened his eyes, maybe even Hermes. As a mortal, a satyr, going to the Underworld was what was expected of him when he died after all. Instead, he opened them and found himself staring up at a high ceiling, made from white and gold marbled stone. He frowned, his mind racing. He supposed he could have already been taken to the Underworld and he simply didn't remember it. But he was pretty sure if that's where it was, he doubted it would have white marble. Not even Elysium, the place reserved for the best mortals, would have that. That was Olympus' thing.
As that thought hit him, he gasped. He looked around to confirm, noting in the back of his mind that his long, dark brown dreadlocks had been cleaned and were spread out against the pillow his head rested on. His shock only grew when he saw more white marble in the walls and the columns spread around the room. Tall, floor to ceiling windows surrounded the room. They were all open with their long curtains tied out of the way to let in both the sunlight and the breeze from outside, simultaneously warming and cooling his brown skin. Straight across from him stood a set of double doors, outlined in striking gold. That's all Eron needed to see to know for sure where he was. He shot upright, realizing for a short moment that he was lying on a soft bed, large enough for even his heavy, seven-foot frame to feel small. But then all thoughts vanished when pain sliced through him.
He doubled over, clutching his abdomen, but as he did a pair of hands, strong and calloused, grabbed his shoulders. He was pushed down before he could react and then his hands were pulled out of the way. "I'd appreciate if you didn't undo all my hard work." The voice was melodic, pleasing to listen to despite its scolding tone. It shouldn’t have surprised him after his sudden realization of where he was, but Eron still was when he opened his eyes and found himself staring at one of the Gods. He froze, mouth falling open, and his pain was momentarily forgotten. He stared at the top of the god’s blonde hair as he quickly, efficiently, checked over the wounds in his abdomen. And then he raised his head slightly and glanced up to meet the satyr's eyes. Bright blue eyes met his dark brown ones and his whole body shivered. Then the god smiled and straightened up and the feeling passed. He looked down at Eron’s chest and pulled the thick blanket up under his arms to tuck it around his chest. "It's good to see you awake. Now we can be properly introduced. I'm Apollo."
"Apollo?" Eron breathed, staring up at the blonde. He'd never met him before, hadn't ever even seen him, but he'd heard the stories and rumors. And most of them seemed to be true. He was indeed tall and thin, but well-muscled from years of drawing the bow and handling his horses. His sharp face was clean shaven, and his bright blonde hair was cut short, which made sense for an archer. His tanned skin didn’t glow in the sun like many claimed to have seen, and he had no way of knowing right then if his blue eyes did glow with power when he healed someone. But he supposed he’d find out for himself later.
He tried to sit up again, got his elbows under him, but then the pain returned full force. His eyes shut tight, and his teeth ground against each other as he groaned, falling back to the bed. His hands automatically reached for his stomach, but Apollo quickly grabbed his wrists. He pushed his hands to the bed and held them in place. The move had him leaning over Eron, lowering his head down to the satyr's. Cracking his eyes open, Eron blinked away tears of pain and found himself staring again into startling blue. Unable to look away, he shakily asked, "What happened to me?"
Apollo didn't answer. He held Eron's gaze for several seconds before studying his face. The satyr visibly flushed under the scrutiny, swallowing heavily. Without his eyes to look at, he focused on one of the windows on the side of the room. Then he saw Apollo move in the corner of his eye and his gaze jumped back to the god. Their gazes met again, and instead of finally answering the question, he replied with one of his own. "Can I trust you not to touch?" Eron knew what the god meant, but the question had him fully blushing under his beard. Afraid he'd embarrass himself if he opened his mouth, he could only nod. With that assurance, Apollo slowly released his wrists and sat up.
Eron resisted the urge to move the blanket and instead lifted his head to look down at himself. The blanket was too thick for him to see anything other than the shape of his body under it, starting in the middle of the bed with his hooves, but when he focused, he realized something was wrapped around his abdomen. Looking at Apollo again, he repeated his question, with a steady voice this time. "What happened to me?"
"How much do you remember?" Apollo once again answered the question with one of his own. Eron bit back the irritated growl that bubbled up. He just wanted a straight answer, not to play games. As if reading his mind, Apollo patiently explained, "You were hurt when I found you. On the brink of death. I don't know what happened."
The irritation instantly bled away, leaving shame. He looked away from Apollo and back up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry. Thank you, for saving me." The words came without thought, part of his mind knowing that was the expected response. The other part was thinking about the question. He wasn't sure what he remembered. He'd woken up expecting to be dead, so obviously his subconscious remembered. "I knew I was dying," he mumbled. That opened the floodgates and suddenly it all hit him. His eyes snapped closed, his hands gripped the blanket tight. Images flashed through his mind, broken for the first few seconds before becoming clear.
A hand touched his, bringing him out of the memories. It easily unclenched his fist, then stroked his palm in an attempt to soothe him. It worked slightly, enough for him to take some deep breaths. With each heavy exhale, he spoke, slowly getting the horrible images out of his mind and into the air. "There was a satyr. I didn't hear him come in. Didn't know he was there till he was standing over my bed." He opened his eyes and let out a shaky sigh. "He must've done something to my spear because it wasn't by my bed where I left it. He had a knife, but I thought I could win. We fought, destroyed my home. Then he stabbed me. I made it outside, but I don't remember what happened after that."
"That's normal. You had some serious head trauma. I'm assuming you two went goaty and butted heads a few times. And then the blood loss." He placed his free hand gently on Eron's stomach. "That was a nasty wound. His knife must have been serrated, it shredded everything inside. You're lucky I found you when I did. A few more minutes and it would have been too late."
Eron raised his free hand up and wiped his face, hissing when his fingers brushed the bump on his forehead. The other satyr's horns must have missed his own completely, otherwise they would have protected him. Dropping his hand to the bed, he looked at Apollo. The god was still holding his hand as he watched him. Their eyes met and Eron found himself flushing again. He cleared his throat then asked, "How long was I out?"
"Two days. You'll need to rest for a few weeks, at least, before I'd advise going anywhere."
"No, that's too long." Eron shook his head and immediately regretted it. He groaned and breathed through the surge of pain. When it passed, he impatiently explained, "My home, he'll take everything, I have to go back."
"If you leave before your body is ready, you'll end up the same way you were before," Apollo pointed out with an irritating calmness. "You certainly can't fight in this condition."
"Couldn't you just snap your fingers and heal me instantly?" Eron couldn't keep the snark out of his voice, but he was panicking inside. He'd spent years building his home and protecting his land. To have it taken so easily and being unable to go back and get it meant having to start completely over and losing years of hard work, years of his life. Frustrated, he slammed his fist down on the bed.
Ignoring that little outburst, Apollo gave him a sad, but understanding, smile. "I could, but even I have limits. Doing so would require me to rest and recuperate, which is not a good thing for someone who has as many duties as I do. Trust me, everyone is better off if you're the one in bed healing and not me.” Apollo paused and tilted his head to the side as if he’d just had a thought. “Not to mention, if I do it for you, I'll have even more people begging me to fix them in an instant, and there's too many of those as it is. I've got a precedent to uphold, after all."
Eron understood what the god meant, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. He let out an angry snort and turned his head, looking out the window again. After a moment of silence between them, he mumbled, "I'm sorry."
Apollo patted his leg over the blanket. "I'm well used to satyr tempers, don't worry. I'll have you out of here as soon as I know you won't collapse. In the meantime, just enjoy the pampering." He turned from the bed and walked away, his robe trailing the floor behind him.
"Pampering?" Eron repeated, curiously. He turned his head back and watched Apollo's back as he crossed the room. He stopped at a white marble table, set against the wall. His form concealed the middle of the table, but he could see medicinal things on the edges, bottles and loose ingredients. Apollo began moving, mixing something up, and Eron found himself focused on his back, which was visible through the sheer fabric of his robe. His eyes trailed down his form, perfectly toned from centuries of pulling a bow. His muscles moved under his skin with his smooth, practiced movements. It was captivating to watch but also frustrating as he couldn't look at everything at once. But then his eyes drifted lower, and he saw what he hadn’t noticed during their conversation. The god was completely naked under his robe. He snapped his eyes shut, but it was too late. Apollo's ass, just as toned as his back, was imprinted in his mind. His face burned beneath his beard, and he raised his hand up to hide behind it. The movement tugged slightly on something, he wasn't sure what, but he let out a pained groan in response.
Apollo turned slightly, looking back at the satyr over his shoulder. His hands never stopped what they were doing, effortlessly grinding something up with a pestle and mortar, as he asked, "Is the pain returning? Getting worse?"
Eron shook his head and raised his other hand. He covered his face with them both, peeking at the ceiling from between his fingers, and replied, "I just moved the wrong way, I think. I'm alright."
The blonde studied him for a moment, seeing more than Eron wanted him to, before he nodded. He turned back to the table and for the next few minutes the only sounds were the scraping of the pestle, then clinking as he transferred ingredients into a bottle, and finally the swishing as he mixed it all together. He held the glass bottle up into the sunlight and turned it first one way, then the other, and apparently whatever he saw was acceptable. Eron saw him turn in his peripheral vision and he shut his eyes painfully tight, as if the front of the naked sun god could penetrate through his eyelids. He swallowed heavily as he heard Apollo return to the bed. Eron’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t want to seem rude, but he also wasn’t sure he could handle seeing any more.
When Apollo sat back down beside him, Eron cautiously cracked one eye open to look at him. To his dismay, the god was sitting sideways, facing him with his leg drawn up, but with the satyr lying flat on his back and only slightly propped up by pillows, his thigh hid everything that Eron both did and didn't want to see. That was good enough for him, he knew he’d just have to be careful not to move himself and to act fast if Apollo moved. Opening his eyes to stare straight up again, he relaxed into the bed with a heavy sigh.
Apollo reached out and tapped Eron's hand. He understood the silent command and reluctantly lowered both hands, willing his face to calm down. He wasn't sure how much of his blush could be seen beneath his thick beard, but just its presence was unsettling enough. To his relief, the god either didn't notice or chose not to say anything. He was completely focused on the bottle he held in his other hand. He slipped his free hand around Eron's neck and carefully slipped it under the back of his head. He lifted the satyr’s head with surprising, but gentle, strength, and he let him do it, trusting Apollo to hold his head. The bottle was raised to his lips, and he instinctively held his breath, expecting some concoction that tasted and smelled awful.
Instead, what hit his tongue was pleasant. He gasped softly at the sweet fruit taste and almost choked on it before he remembered to swallow. He gulped it down eagerly then, until suddenly the bottle was empty. He unconsciously let out a disappointed whine and got a warm chuckle in response.
"I know it's good, but too much of a good thing and all that, right?" Apollo carefully lowered his head back to the pillow. He pulled his hand from under Eron’s head, pausing to touch his forehead briefly, and then rested it on his leg.
Eron closed his eyes as his head sank into the soft pillow. Whatever had been in that bottle was working fast, he could feel warmth spreading through his body. "What was that?" he asked.
"Medicine. It'll help the pain, prevent infection, and help you heal. It's my power in a bottle, basically." Apollo stood up from the bed and moved back towards the table.
Eron inhaled deeply and let it out in a heavy sigh, then his eyes opened partially. He watched the god walk through his lashes, openly and shamelessly admiring his body this time. He blamed the medicine for taking away any self-preservation he had, because without thinking, he blurted out, "You're beautiful."
Apollo paused in the process of setting the bottle down, his hand holding it just an inch above the table. He turned his body sideways, turning his head further to look at the satyr. Despite Eron's current lack of inhibition, he kept his eyes trained on the god's face. Apollo studied his face for a moment, then he looked away. He set the bottle down on the table and turned fully to face the bed. Eron's face burned at what he could see peripherally. Leaning against the table, the god met his gaze again and smiled. "Thank you. That's the medicine talking, but I'm not one to turn down a compliment."
Eron wanted to say more, wanted to deny his statement, but he was quickly, unexpectedly, slipping towards sleep. He frowned and let out a frustrated snort. Apollo chuckled and returned to the bed. He leaned over the side and tucked the blanket around Eron's body. "Don't fight it. You need more rest. You'll need all your strength to heal." He gently passed his hand over the satyr's face and Eron let his eyes close with the motion.
When the hand lifted away, Eron sleepily asked, "Will you be here later?"
He heard a chuckle above his head, felt a gentle hand brush carefully through his dreads. "Of course. It is my room after all." Then, Eron was sure he was imagining things because he felt a pair of lips on his forehead, just under his horns. They stayed pressed against his skin, warm and soft, for several seconds before pulling away. "Sleep. I'll be here when you wake." With that last reassurance, Eron finally gave in and let sleep take him.