The meeting dragged on, as they always did, until the topic shifted. Another holiday. Another bloody festival. This time? For Luxor. Of course. Golden boy Luxor. The God of Light. The God of Flashy Entrances. I looked up at him, sun-kissed arrogance personified. Long dark hair, slicked back into that perfect little ponytail that showed off the short sides. Golden eyes that burned like a sunrise. Skin that gleamed like polished bronze. Gorgeous. Annoyingly, infuriatingly gorgeous.
Then again, we were gods. Gorgeous was practically a job description. Still… I winked at him. He rolled his eyes, utterly unimpressed, which should have been the end of it. But it wasn't. Because my brain decided to take that wink and sprint straight off the cliff of decency.
Suddenly, I was imagining my hand wrapped in that perfect ponytail. Imagining those golden eyes doing something other than glaring at me, something filthy. Those golden eyes looking up at me from his knees. My hand tightened on Annie's thigh. Harder. Higher. Without even realizing it, I was gripping her like she was the anchor keeping me tethered while my mind drowned itself in Luxor.
Luxor kept talking. Probably about light. Or sunshine. Or whatever boring nonsense he thought was important. I didn't hear a word. My thoughts were too loud, replaying that one time. Well. Technically two times. But I had been far too wasted the first to remember much. Shame. A real bloody shame. Because Luxor's realm? Gods, it was beautiful. Pyramids and palaces, traps everywhere because he loved to test people, loved to make them prove their worth. I always found the challenge entertaining. Maybe it was time for another trip. Strictly business, obviously. Entirely professional. My grip on Annie's thigh slid higher. Almost where I wanted to be—
And then her hand covered mine. A silent pause. Just a touch. Not stopping me, not pulling me back, just… there. Waiting. I leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Annie Princess," I murmured, "you are no fun."
She looked at me, cool, composed, unreadable. Then let go. Just like that. That ruined it. Completely. Because if I continued, it wouldn't be a game anymore. No resistance, no pushback, no reaction? What was the point? Gods damn her! She knew. She knew exactly what she'd done, and the smirk tugging at her mouth proved it. My fingers squeezed her thigh once more, retaliation, before I pulled away and slapped both hands dramatically onto the table. Fine. Fine.
⟁⟁𓂃✦𓂀✦𓂃⟁⟁
My eyes drifted over the rest of the Pantheon. All perfect. Every last one of them flawless, symmetrical, immortal dolls. And then there was Annie. Beautiful, yes. But flawed. She had hair. Not head hair, everyone had that, styled into divine waves and braids. No, Annie had arm hair. Leg hair. Probably more places, if I went looking. My own arms were smooth, unmarked. Had they always been?
I squinted at her forearm. No, it wasn't gross. Just… mortal. Normal. Different.
My mind spiraled. My own appearance, had it changed? Hadn't I had chest hair in the 70s? Gods above, I had. Because chest hair had been fashionable. I actually shuddered, remembering my ridiculous haircut back then. What was I thinking? Did I choose it, or had my form just… shifted? Adjusted to mortal trends? Oh no. Did I change myself subconsciously to match whatever mortals found desirable?
Of course I did. We all did. All the gods shifted, subtle tweaks here and there. Broad shoulders when warriors were in vogue, softer lines when beauty demanded delicacy. Hadn't I always been the epitome of mortal lust? I stared at my own hands like they were guilty of a cosmic crime. Yes. I changed. All the time. But Annie… Annie didn't.
I tilted my head, looking closer. She had lines. Little ones. Barely there. Creases at the corners of her eyes when she squinted in suspicion. A faint dip in her brow when she was unimpressed, far too often, thanks to me. Were those… laugh lines? Had she laughed enough in her life to earn them?
Her skin wasn't porcelain smooth, like the goddesses with their airbrushed perfection. It had texture. History. Character. If I pressed my thumb beneath her eye, would the line smooth away? Or would it stay? Was she still aging, just… slower? Would she keep aging? Would she-- oh gods. That thought was hilarious. Would she get old woman hands?
Mortal hands aged in a very specific way. Veiny. Bony. Papery. Would Annie, Another thought hit me so hard I snorted. Grannie Annie. The name alone was so damn funny I burst out laughing, loud and sudden.
Aerion turned immediately, face twisted in annoyance. "Something funny, Malvor?"
I tilted my head back, still chuckling, and purred, "Oh, just your face when you speak. Like an overcooked potato trying to lecture a room full of people who don't give a single shit."
He sighed, long and suffering, and returned to his tedious agenda. I grinned, leaning back. Oh yes. Grannie Annie. That one was never leaving.