Chapter 169: “I like fire.”*
The throne hall of Olympus shimmered under the weight of its own grandeur, a vast chamber where light danced across marble and gold. The air thrummed with the faint crackle of Zeus’s power, his throne pulsing with veins of lightning that flickered like a heartbeat. The statues of gods loomed in the shadows, their stone eyes watching, silent but heavy with judgment. Outside, the sky churned, clouds swirling in restless patterns, as if the heavens themselves were restless tonight.
Zeus sat sprawled on his throne, his broad frame filling the massive seat. His white hair fell in wild waves, framing a face both regal and dangerous, his eyes glowing with the storm’s fire. The weight of ruling creation pressed against his shoulders, but tonight, something else stirred in him—a hunger, raw and alive. Metis stood nearby, her presence like a quiet flame in the vast hall. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the golden light, her robes clinging to her lithe form, hinting at the curves beneath. She was wisdom incarnate, sharp and unyielding, but her eyes held a spark that matched Zeus’s own fire.
"You’re restless," she said, her voice low, cutting through the hum of the hall. She stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the cool marble, her gaze locked on him. "The storm in you never sleeps, does it?"
Zeus’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Not tonight." He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes tracing her form. "And you’re not here to talk about Kratos or that monkey, are you?"
Metis tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. "Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not." She moved closer, her hips swaying just enough to draw his attention, her fingers brushing the edge of his throne. "But you’re not thinking about them right now, are you?"
He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, like thunder rolling in the distance. "You know me too well." He reached out, his hand catching hers, his thumb grazing her wrist. Her skin was warm, soft, and the touch sent a spark through him, electric and alive. He pulled her gently, guiding her to stand between his knees, her body close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her.
Metis didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in, her hands resting on his broad shoulders, her fingers digging lightly into the muscle there. "You carry too much," she murmured, her breath warm against his ear. "Let me take some of that weight."
Zeus’s hands found her waist, his fingers spreading across the curve of her hips, pulling her closer until she was pressed against him. "Careful," he growled, his voice low, teasing. "You might start something you can’t finish."
Her laugh was soft, almost a purr, as she tilted her head back, her dark eyes meeting his. "Oh, I always finish what I start."
The air between them thickened, charged with something more than the storm’s energy. Zeus’s hands slid up her sides, slow and deliberate, his fingers tracing the lines of her body through the thin fabric of her robes. He could feel the way her breath hitched, the way her body responded to his touch, and it fueled the fire in him. He leaned forward, his lips brushing the curve of her neck, tasting the faint salt of her skin. She shivered, her fingers tightening on his shoulders, and he smiled against her throat.
"Not so wise now, are you?" he teased, his voice a low rumble. His lips moved lower, grazing her collarbone, lingering where her pulse beat fast and strong.
Metis’s hands slid into his hair, tugging gently, pulling him closer. "You talk too much," she whispered, her voice husky, her lips brushing his ear. She shifted, straddling his lap, her thighs pressing against his as she settled onto the throne. The weight of her was perfect, grounding him in a way the storm never could. Her robes rode up slightly, revealing the smooth expanse of her legs, and Zeus’s hands found them, his calloused palms sliding up her thighs, savoring the softness of her skin.
He groaned softly, the sound caught in his throat, as her hips rocked against him, slow and deliberate. "You’re playing with fire," he warned, his hands gripping her tighter, pulling her flush against him. He could feel the heat of her through the layers of fabric, the way her body molded to his, and it drove him wild.
"Good," she breathed, her lips hovering over his, close enough to feel but not quite touching. "I like fire."
Their lips met, and it was no gentle kiss. It was hungry, fierce, a clash of need and power. Zeus’s hands roamed her back, pulling her closer, his fingers digging into her hips as their tongues tangled, tasting each other. She tasted like wine and starlight, sharp and sweet, and he couldn’t get enough. Her hands were just as bold, sliding under his tunic, her nails grazing his chest, leaving trails of heat in their wake.
He broke the kiss, panting, his forehead resting against hers. "You’re gonna be the death of me," he muttered, his voice rough with want.
Metis smirked, her fingers trailing lower, teasing the edge of his waistband. "Not yet," she whispered, her lips brushing his jaw, then his neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "I’m just getting started."
Zeus’s hands moved to her robes, tugging at the delicate ties, his fingers impatient but careful. The fabric parted, revealing the curve of her breasts, the smooth plane of her stomach, and he let out a low curse, his eyes dark with desire. "Fuck, you’re beautiful," he said, his voice raw, as he leaned in, his lips finding the soft skin of her chest, kissing and nipping his way down.
She arched into him, her breath catching, her fingers tangling in his hair as he explored her with his mouth, slow and deliberate, savoring every gasp, every shiver. His hands slid under her robes, cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, hard and sensitive under his touch. She moaned softly, the sound sending a jolt straight through him, and he growled, pulling her closer, his lips claiming hers again in a kiss that was all heat and desperation.
Metis’s hands weren’t idle. She tugged at his tunic, pulling it over his head, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his chest, the scars that marked him, each one a story of battles won and lost. She leaned in, her lips following her hands, kissing the ridge of his collarbone, the plane of his chest, her tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. Zeus groaned, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her as she moved against him, the friction driving him to the edge of control.
"Slow down," he rasped, his voice thick, "or this is gonna be over too soon."
Metis laughed, low and wicked, her lips brushing his ear. "I don’t want slow," she whispered, her hand sliding lower, palming him through his trousers, feeling how hard he was for her. "I want you to lose control."
He cursed again, his hands moving to her thighs, pushing her robes up higher, his fingers finding the heat between her legs. She was wet, ready, and the feel of her made him ache, his cock straining against the fabric of his trousers. He teased her, his fingers circling, slow and deliberate, watching the way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her lips parted in a soft moan.
"You’re so fucking wet," he growled, his voice low, as he slipped a finger inside her, feeling her tighten around him. She gasped, her hips rocking against his hand, and he added another finger, moving slowly, drawing out every sound, every shiver.
"Zeus," she breathed, her voice trembling with need, her hands gripping his shoulders as she moved against him, chasing the pleasure he was giving her. He watched her, his eyes dark, drinking in the sight of her—head thrown back, lips parted, her body flushed and alive under his touch.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled his hand away, ignoring her soft whimper of protest, and tugged at his trousers, freeing himself. His cock was hard, aching, and when Metis’s hand wrapped around him, stroking slowly, he groaned, his head falling back against the throne. "Fuck, Metis," he rasped, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer.
She guided him to her entrance, teasing him, letting the tip of him brush against her, hot and slick. "You want this?" she asked, her voice teasing, her eyes locked on his.
"More than anything," he growled, and with one smooth motion, he pulled her down, filling her completely. They both moaned, the sound echoing in the vast hall, raw and unfiltered. She was tight, perfect, and the feel of her around him was almost too much. He held her still for a moment, his hands gripping her hips, letting them both adjust to the intensity.
Then she started to move, slow at first, her hips rocking against him, taking him deeper with every thrust. Zeus’s hands roamed her body, one sliding up to cup her breast, the other gripping her ass, guiding her movements. The throne creaked under them, the marble cold against their heated skin, but neither of them cared. The world outside could burn for all it mattered—there was only this, only them.
"Harder," Metis whispered, her voice urgent, her nails digging into his shoulders. Zeus didn’t need to be told twice. He thrust up into her, hard and deep, matching her rhythm, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the hall. She moaned, loud and unashamed, her head falling back, her hair spilling over her shoulders like a dark waterfall.
He leaned forward, his lips finding her neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks that would linger. Her moans grew louder, her movements more desperate, and he could feel her tightening around him, her body trembling on the edge. "Come for me," he growled, his voice rough, his hand slipping between them to find her clit, rubbing in tight circles.
That was all it took. Metis cried out, her body shuddering as she came, her walls clenching around him, pulling him deeper. Zeus groaned, the sensation pushing him over the edge, and with a final thrust, he followed her, spilling inside her, his hands gripping her tight as they rode out the waves of pleasure together.
They stayed like that for a moment, panting, her forehead resting against his, their bodies still joined. The storm outside had quieted, as if the heavens themselves were catching their breath. Zeus chuckled softly, his hands stroking her back, her hair, her skin. "You’re gonna be the death of me," he said again, his voice softer now, warm.
Metis smiled, her lips brushing his in a gentle kiss. "Good," she murmured. "I’d hate to be boring."
They laughed, the sound soft and intimate, a moment of quiet in the vast, unending storm of Olympus.