Apolo

“Can you even believe it? That— What that bastard did to my babies?” By babies, he meant his sacred cattle. And by ‘that bastard’, he meant Odysseus of Ithaca, who didn’t even have anything to do with the death of his cattle. Well, nothing except that it was his men who ate Apollo’s animals.

Yet the sun god was here with you, ranting about all this, in the dramatic manner he always did. Apollo was nothing if not overdramatic. It was hilarious sometimes, or, well, all the time, to be honest.

“How are you not outraged?” A pout formed on his lips. “You’re not even paying attention to what I’m saying, are you?”

Obviously, you were paying attention. To your lover, to him, you always would, no matter how ridiculous he was being. Apollo knew that too, but what could you do, when he was in a mood to be dramatic, no one would stop him from doing so.

“I’m telling you about what happened to my dearest treasures, to my babies, and you keep staring at me like you want to devour me. You just want me in your bed, I’m sure of it.” He sighed, but even that was exaggerated.

The funniest thing in all this was that he said all that with his head resting on your lap, your fingers combing through his golden hair.

“I don’t understand why I even bother,” he grumbled, but then he turned his head and buried his face in you. “You’re the worst,” he added, but he wouldn’t let go of you, obviously.

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