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Penelope?
Odysseus swears his eyes deceive him. Sitting by the pulsating waves softly hitting his legs, he rubs his eyes as he sees the figure of the woman he loved beyond all. He feels the waves tense, if that was even possible; yet he stills indefinitely. His mind urges that it’s a siren mimicking his heartache, he covers his ears instinctively thinking it was the chaos of a siren’s ode, but the supposed figure steps ever closer, until its feet hits Odysseus’.
“I’ve been awaiting you.” the waves now prick at his skin like needles, a familiar voice, not one that belongs to a siren, no, a voice that belongs to ruthlessness.
Even in this utopian nightmare, the ugly side of his mind never fails to defy Odysseus’ means to escape him. A man he knows all too well, divine in his ire, Poseidon.
Odysseus’ breath stops, stepping back with his legs dragging sand. If Poseidon were to fight him, he would be free from the imprisonment of Calypso, but of what in exchange? His life and honour? The chance to see his beloved wife?
“What has become of you? I’ve been expecting you to finally cease this feud. Yet here you are, dallying about on an island, philandering with a goddess?” Poseidon’s arm snatches Odysseus by his cape, smelling of flowers as Calypso urges him to refresh his wearings.
“I have barely interacted with that woman! She is clearly holding me captive.” Odysseus cries, though Poseidon seems to be focused on something else. One that makes his eyes darken further. Odysseus' breath stops after a gasp, seeing Poseidon focus, it stills him; hanging from his grasp of his cape in the air.
“Why do you smell like a woman?” Poseidon raised an eyebrow at him, hand clasped around his neck without much pressure and much care, taking in the smell of laurel. Odysseus half assed an explanation, but to no response.
Odysseus felt his legs further from the ground, Poseidon's presence felt like an ever increasing shadow that looms over him. His water illuminated arm held his ankle, holding him up by the ankle like a prized fish catch.
Odysseus sputtered in place, flopping around in his grasp with much struggles akin to a fish out of the water, dangling as Poseidon walked towards God knows where with an uncharacteristic unhurried pace.
Poseidon tossed him over his shoulder without much force, laying him surprisingly gently on a rock. He disappeared and reappeared, hands full with a change of clothes, as well as some other indistinguishable items in his arms.
“You reek. Please change.” Odysseus was handed, rather roughly by his account, those fresh clothes. A sea blue chiton with toga that smelled of the beach, its whereabouts are a mystery to Odysseus, examining it closely.
Poseidon glares at him as if he was offended.
“Are you going to watch me change?”
Poseidon promptly turned around.
After Odysseus had changed, suspiciously, he watched the god warily as he turned around, hands seemingly full of…seashells?
“My son, the one you didn’t kill, taught me the art of decorating things.” Odysseus sat on the rocks, seeing him approach before him, halting with an arm raised, seashell secured in his hair, assembled in a curved shape akin to a wreath.
Odysseus stared at the man with intrigue, startled by the sudden act akin to a nymph’s silliness, dilly dallying with her fellow nymphs. He is attentive to the god’s every move, the divinity’s hands encasing his face with contradicting gentleness, a nod of satisfaction.
“Blue is superior to yellow on you.” Poseidon remarks, before leaving with his trident now in hand. Upon seeing it, Odysseus’ breath hitched, but the towering man reassured him with a great palm.
“I am going to,” Poseidon paused, as if he was contemplating his wording, “ Speak to that Calypso.”
“No diplomacy is achieved with a weapon in hand, Poseidon.”
Poseidon only gruffed in response, suddenly turning a cold shoulder after that rather… intimate interaction, as if the softness had hardened up in a flash, like a lotus’ fading influence. Odysseus hopped off the rocks, following close behind with worn out eyes, bumping into Poseidon’s broad back when he came to an abrupt stop.
“Lord Poseidon?” Calypso was visibly startled, a bowl of fruits in her hand which a pomegranate rolled out of, stumbling backwards. Poseidon raised his trident at Calypso, a firm arm raised out as he swivelled his trident in hand, a protective stance. Calypso showed no defensiveness, backing down indefinitely.
Odysseus peaked out from Poseidon’s back, Calypso’s fruit bowl splattered on the floor and rolled; its contents staining Odysseus’ sandals as it did, lotuses amidst one of them.
Odysseus is visibly alerted by it, when the two before him were focused on each other, the lotus catches him off guard before he could even react with his usually fast wit, drowsy and his arms wobbly clutching onto Poseidon’s toga, which had him looking back, before he fainted with the last blurry image of Poseidon’s trident falling to the floor with him snapping to catch him.
________________
Odysseus finally wakes up after what felt like forever, expecting the prickling bushes and rough rocks, but meeting cold-blooded flesh. He hurried to sit up, but was met with a ushering palm that pushed him back down onto the makeshift pillow.
“That wicked woman had attempted to render you unconscious, I am sure of it. How are you feeling, Odysseus?” A cold, broad palm smoothed his back, with his vision clearing up, feeling the gentleness of bubbles, form akin to a nest, seeing the plushness of Poseidon’s thigh that he had so comfortably lied on, as well as Poseidon himself, who has his palm rested on the small of Odysseus’ back.
“That lotus must be enhanced somehow, it’s barely possible to have such an effect by its scent alone.” Odysseus grunted as he sat up, clutching at his messed up bearings, rearranging them neatly. Poseidon only nodded in acknowledgement, face still filled with dour.
Odysseus raises his eyebrow, but does not speak of it. He only picks at one of the vines of grapes prepared clumsily by a foreign hand, one that Odysseus smirks at the sight of.
“O'Mighty Poseidon, you needn't stoop so low to pick grapes for me.” Odysseus picks at a vine, holding it up to a face filled with disgust as if a toddler being fed broccoli.
Odysseus is, of course, trained with picky eaters.
Odysseus bites gently onto the grape, facing ever closer to Poseidon, who's arm retaliates by intervening any means of getting closer from Odysseus. Retching this expression out of the god, he is satisfied.
Odysseus ends up poking at Poseidon's side unexpectedly, opening a window to drop the grape into his mouth via his own. Plucking his own in triumph.
Poseidon coughs, gripping onto his trident and glaring at him as if offended. Odysseus grapples at another, one plucked by Poseidon.
“Skin or no skin?” Odysseus asks in a taunting voice, double entendre in his speech. Poseidon gasps at this insolent, downright scandalous attitude of the honourable and prideful king, knocking Odysseus' head with his trident, which elicits a grunt out of him.
“You are too far gone. What did Calypso do to your psyche?” Odysseus shrugs, tossing Poseidon another grape as he reaches for the chalice, pouring himself wine to drink himself silly wantonly.
“Simple Greek customs, O’Mighty. Hospitalities are important in Ithaca.” Odysseus dances around his words as he sloshes his wine as if it was libations, pouring a cup for Poseidon as well. Ever the hospitality.
“If I had it my way, I would make you my cupbearer.” Poseidon muttered in a faint voice, despite it, Odysseus with his insomnia induced alert ears picked up instantly.
“Didn’t think you’d follow your brother’s footsteps.” Odysseus grins cheekily, which Poseidon miffed at the thought of Zeus, a palm to his face to push him aside grumpily. Odysseus lays on the rock with one leg hiked up akin to a siren, still cheeky, attempting to frustrate Poseidon.
Poseidon grabs a grape and hack open Odysseus’ jaw, pulling him closer rather intimidatingly. Clearly he is mocking Odysseus in an act of vengeance, dropping a grape in his agape mouth and eating one on his own in satisfaction. Odysseus swears their lips touched in a flutter.
Contrary to his character, it is much too soft. It drives Odysseus insane, it reminds him of Penelope, and he almost is tempted to approach for another. Odysseus grabs at Poseidon’s toga, mouth open yet no words come out, Poseidon grins at the rare wordless Odysseus, for he had known the man’s mouth to run ceaselessly like a waterfall.
Odysseus climbs atop the man to reach his face, knees digging into his thighs. If they were to kiss, they put passion first. If they were to engage, they put hate first. Odysseus' legs are toned, but comparatively, it paled much in comparison to Poseidon’s form. No fair, he thinks, he gets to choose.
Despite sitting down and Odysseus elevated atop him, Poseidon still manages to stare down at him. His mind must be playing tricks, had he grown in a few seconds? Or had the man sneakily made himself much taller? Odysseus tugs him by his toga, gruffed at his tease and bites his lip in retaliation. Small seeps of ichor flow into his own mouth, tasting fine. He had always wondered about the taste of ichor, it tasted like its appearance, liquid gold.
Poseidon swiped at his lips in disbelief, smearing it over the smaller man’s cheek, as if putting paint on canvas. Odysseus groaned at the ichor staining his beard, Poseidon leaning in to get his own fill, blunt teeth, ones that mimicked the jaws’ of a shark, digging into his lips and tearing skin.
Odysseus cursed as his own human blood stained his like the finest cosmetic, who knew red would look so good on him? He placed a chaste peck to his lips, the unexpected gentleness in comparison shocked Poseidon at first, but softened up to it gradually, arms wrapped around him comfortably.
“Foolish.” Poseidon lies his head on his shoulder, teeth grazing at his nape. Even if he is in such a comfortable stance, he bares his fangs. Odysseus reciprocates with arms digging into the wide shoulders of Poseidon, unkempt nails digging redness into skin in a parasite-like manner. As if he was a jellyfish encasing its prey.
His soles could bruise a lesser man with its force. Poseidon’s fangs dig into skin with quaint pressure, not to scar, but to serve as a warning. Poseidon trails his claws to his nails, screeching an unpleasant record beside his ears, Odysseus repulsed, straying from Poseidon yet their eyes stay connected, almost electrifying.
“Are you even trying, Ody?” Odysseus paused at the nickname, one that only people in his intimate circle would call him, the implications of which frighten him slightly.
“You talked a lot in your sleep.” Poseidon answered his unasked question, which Odysseus rolls his eyes at.
“Thanks for killing the mood, you eel.” Odysseus retracts himself from his koala bear tight hug from Poseidon, only to be tugged back in.
Poseidon teeth felt ever sharper as it dug into Odysseus’ shoulder, drawing blood, which Odysseus huffs an offended gasp. He dips his fingers at the wound, deep.
“Are you a seal?” Odysseus pushed against Poseidon's lips for him to bare his fangs again, the teeth dipped in red with Poseidon swiping his tongue over it in a twisted manner. Odysseus recalls the sirens he encountered, even their fangs paled in comparison to his razor-sharp teeth.
Odysseus felt the slight urge to punch him.
However, he is just a man. He trips them both to be laid down on the rock, knees dug into Poseidon's shoulder in an attempt to entrap him, hands scrambling to his throat in an unruly quarrel, which Poseidon laughs at.
Odysseus scoffs, delivering one bruise to his face, which Poseidon blocks by his palm stopping his fist, almost twisting his arms as Odysseus falls backwards at his movement. Now, Poseidon has his ankle dug into Odysseus' shoulder, his chest heaving up and down, ichor and blood mixed upon that rocky surface.
“Do you surrender?” Odysseus, ever prideful, tries to shift and writhe out of his grasp. Such an imbalance, he fails no matter the effort.
Poseidon grins at his failed attempts, leaning down with his necklace dangling over his face, almost taunting him. Odysseus seizes, ever the opportunist, to drag him down via his necklace. Poseidon grunts, with Odysseus kissing him once more, more teeth gnashing than what is gentle or loving.
In the end, they rolled off each other and laid splayed on said rock, panting after their quarrel. Ichor and Blood, sweat and saliva all mixed messily. Both of them earned prized scars.
“You’re horrible.” Poseidon scoffed at Odysseus working out the knots of his hair, wiping the blood on his rather luxurious clothes. He sneered, accompanied by his infamous cheeky grin at Poseidon.
"I know."