Chapter 13 Redemption and Acceptance

Two years had slipped on by since the fire as Ares breathed in the scent of fresh wood and hay, the light filtering through gaps in the walls from the evening sun, as he stood in the center of the barn. Their barn. The real-world manifestation of the life he'd built with Apollo was thousands of miles beyond the twisted expectations of his father's legacy. He couldn't resist dragging a rough hand down what once was sanded wood, remembering how dramatically his life had changed—all from an opulent and directionless waste of resources to this, a man with purpose and love in his heart and an almost utopic kind of peace.

Not that they had only rebuilt. The inferno had destroyed the fantastic number of hives they'd had before, leaving their bees with no home which was another thing Ares and Apollo had worked to take care of. This was a delicate process: one of patience, precision, and respect for nature's rhythms.

They built new hives together, carefully tending those bees that had made it through while ensuring they introduced some new ones. An almost inaudible hum of life slowly began to return. It was a sound that somehow could symbolize their own resilience, like the bees. The honey each different harvest brought was sweeter than anything; it told of engineering, love, and fierce determination, through which they survived the darkest of their days. Similar to them, the bees found a way to live again and even prosper; and their colony was a living, breathing tribute to the kind of life they had managed to create together.

It had been a labor of love, constructed by his hands with Apollo by his side. It had taken months of sweat and tears, but the result was beautiful. The wide doors opened onto the rolling hills of Midnight Pleasure, a view as vast and filled with hope as the future they were about to ditch into together. He and Apollo would exchange vows there in that very barn, surrounded by the townspeople who had become their family.

But the road to this very moment hadn't been easy.

Ares's carpentry skills had skyrocketed in the past two years. What had once been a sullen sort of thing done under duress, in Apollo's studio, had gotten to be something enjoyable. He liked the patterns of it, the way it went from raw material into something sturdy. Something long-lasting. It put him back into control, gave him an accomplishment that had been sorely missed for far too long in his life.

It wasn't long before the talent of his quickly came to the attention of the townspeople, and before he knew it, Ares was contracted to help rebuild houses damaged in a ravaging fire. It was extensive hard work, but rewarding as well, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he was part of something that was so much more important than just himself. Every house that he was able to fix and each board of wood he was able to cut, and shape brought the two of them closer to healing him and the town together.

It was then that the unexpected call had come—one of the requests; work on a very private and exclusive property in the deep countryside. An unknown owner, but an offer too juicy to turn down. Ares accepted, feeling the nagging curiosity as he drove deep into the countryside to a palatial country home rising seemingly out of nowhere in lordly splendor, surrounded by lush gardens and ancient trees.

Greeting Ares was an assistant from among the crowd, a fine tailor by the looks of the suit and polish of his smile. "Hello there, Mr. Sinclair. Do make yourself at home. Bitsy should be here any moment."

Ares blinked. The name echoed through his ears. Bitsy. It felt so removed, like an echo in the distance from a past in which he had long ago chosen to forget. He was passed a cold glass of water flavored with berries, and he found the luxury of the coldness to be refreshing upon the drive. He took a sip, unable to help his gaze as it strayed across the grand foyer.

It was a house that spoke of the marvels of architecture, tinged with a feeling of what a life would be like inside. Antique furniture, all passed on by generations or others from high-end dealers, were all relatively placed. There were shelves used for leather-bound books, family photo albums, small decorative items like porcelain figurines, and crystal trays, all speaking of a life steeped in history and tradition.

He had set into the foyer already when his eyes caught a huge painting of a woman. The subject was elegant, poised, with a hauntingly familiar expression. Ares's heart skittered a beat as recognition slowly dawned on him. He had seen that face in an old photograph hidden away in the attic of his father's estate.

A soft rustle of cloth, and it could have been that he was suddenly attuned to the sound of it. He looked, turning slightly to find a small, demure woman standing beside him, her presence nearly ghostly in its silence. She was older now, the motley of silver streaking the darkness of her hair, but those eyes. those eyes of hers were unmistakable. They were his eyes.

"Bitsy," Ares whispered, as if the name itself was a prayer forgotten.

Sadness mixed with determination played around the woman's thin smile. 'It's been a long time, Ares."

Ares surged with so many emotions at once, shocked, furious, bewildered, but most of all deeply, wretchedly sad. "You… you are my mother."

Bitsy nodded, eyes still holding his in a lock. "I'm. They took me from my family when I was just a girl, sold me to your father. I was fourteen when I had you. He kept me isolated, monitored my each move, and breathed down my neck. When you were born, he made me sign papers giving you up. I never had a choice."

Ares's throat tightened; the weight of her words seemed to press down on him. " I'm sorry. He was a real asshole."

Later, Bitsy's eyes would harden, a coldness sinking into her gaze. "I couldn't. Not with your father. He wouldn't allow it. He bought me, Ares. I was nothing more than a possession to him, but I swore I'd make something of myself. And, son, I did. I used every favor, every connection I could get my hands on to stay alive to make sure you wouldn't have to suffer under his thumb like I did.

The sting of tears came to Ares's eyes, but he blinked them back, his trembling fist tightening at his sides. "And now?"

Bitsy sighed, her shoulders slighly sagging, just for a second. "Now, I'm here to set things straight. When I learned about the stipulations in your father's will, I did what needed to be done. People disappear, Ares. People die. Hargrove was the first to go. You know hard being a lawyer is."

Ares stared at her, trying to adjust to the image of the mother he longed for within the specimen standing before him. "So, what now?"

Bitsy reached into her bag and pulled out a check, sliding it across the table toward him. "Take it. Forty million. Most I could get for you, but it's enough to make sure you and your fine fellow never have to work again. Take him to Greece, Ares. Live the life you deserve."

Ares' eyes widened as he looked at the check, feeling his heartbeat speed up. "I can't take this."

Bitsy threw up a hand, halting him. "You can, and you will. I may not have been there for you, but I can do this. I was a child when I had you, Ares. Your father took everything from me, but he won't take this from you."

It remained quiet for a moment, the tension in the room thick with unsaid words. Ares could almost feel a flicker of what might be gratitude, or perhaps just acceptance. Maybe he was just on edge from the embarrassment. He accepted the check, his fingers brushing hers briefly.

"Thank you," he said quietly, the words feeling odd in his mouth.

Bitsy nodded, a tiny smile gracing her mouth. "Make sure you use it wisely."

Bitsy turned for the door, but paused before leaving, a gleam of almost mischief in her eyes. "Oh, and by the way, Brently's lost all access to his trust fund. That hotel and restaurant he built? He's got to keep running them. Can't think of a more deserving sort, can you?"

Ares chuckled, and with that small comment, some of the tightness within his chest lessened. "Yeah. It really does make me smile."

Six Months Later

The wedding day at last arrived, perfumed by a softly glow of the afternoon. Wildflowers had been used as decorations in the barn, the expressive colors as vibrant as one could imagine, touching the place with life and warmth. The townspeople had massed, joyfully expectant, their very countenances expectant, to witness the union of two men who had become part and parcel of their community.

Apollo waited at the altar. He was dressed in a fitted tuxedo looking quite handsome. His heart throbbed against the excitement and nervousness as he walked down the aisle. Adjusting the collar of his shirt. He could not divorce the feeling of the rough cloth against his warm skin from the journey that had brought him there. Their barn, once a symbol of particularly and perseverance, now stood for love, a love that bore a higher price and was all the more precious for it.

Their eyes met for that single moment, and everything else blurred away. There were just the two of them standing there, at a threshold that opened out into a new chapter in their lives.

As he uttered his wedding vows, Ares spoke with conviction, his voice strong. Apollo's love had redeemed him to finally accept who he was. No shadows haunted Ares anymore. He was free now to move into the future with love, trust, and an unbreakable bond between them.

The ceremony itself was understated, but it said it all. There was an outburst of applause and cheers in the barn when they sealed their kiss with their vows. The town celebrated with them, hope and promise pure and new for the two in front of all of them. Holding hands as they walked down the center of the barn, Ares felt wholly complete in a way he'd never known before.

Ares rocked back a bit, a devilish smirk upon his lips as he gazed down at Apollo. "You know, for a man who loves to be in control, you really are patient. What happened?"

Apollo's gaze darkened with humor, his hands tightening on Ares's hips to guide him into a slow dance, deliberate grind. "Patience isn't the issue. I'm just enjoying watching you struggle to drive me nuts. It's cute."

Ares chuckled, felt himself grow even lazier in movement, more teasing. "Cute? I really don't think that's the word you've been trying to come up with."

"Oh, I'm sure of it." Apollo's voice was a low, dangerous rumble, his gaze fixed on Ares's lips. "You're putting on quite the show, but we both know who controls here."

Ares grinned wickedly and leaned in close, speaking in a husky voice close to Apollo's ear, "We do?" He murmured; the challenge was clear in his voice. "Because it seems to me that you are the one who's been holding back. What are you waiting for? Permission?"

His eyes shone with intent; Ares didn't pause before obliging with a withdrawal that was archly slow. He took up a lazy circuit of Apollo, each purposeful step he made toward his husband granting him the chance to admire those splendidly strong lines of muscle that defined Apollo's form. It was electric in the air, tension wrapping around them thicker than anything, and yet Ares continued to trail his fingertips lightly down Apollo's shoulders, down his arms, relishing those tensed muscles beneath his hands.

Apollo watched every one of Ares's movements with a knowing smile lingering on his face. He was usually the one in control, but allowing Ares a turn in the driver's seat really shifted the balance and added a delectable thrill to their dynamic.

His eyes glittered with mischief as he circled Apollo, the dangling leather strap in his hand promising a whole lot more. The air was charged with tension, thick and electric, so it seemed that he could feel it sizzle while he moved around Apollo. His hands slid lower to gather his husband's wrists, and with a deft twist, he brought them together to secure them by the strap. He drew it tight enough to hold Apollo in place, but not so he was uncomfortable. The gesture was deliberate, controlled, and laced with an undercurrent of desire.

He closed the distance with his breath warm against Apollo's ear. "Is this what you wanted? To see what it's like to be at my mercy?"

Apollo's smirk deepened, but his wrists twisted but remained secured by his magic. There was no fear in his eyes—only dark amusement that sent a thrill through Ares.

"Watch yourself, Ares. You're playing a dangerous game."

"Maybe," Ares said, kissing the nape of Apollo's neck and savoring it, the warmth of his skin, the power thrumming through his veins. The heady rush of having Apollo, this strong commanding man, momentarily at his whim, was intoxicating. "But it's a game I'm enjoying."

The l was an emblem, a playful taunt that acknowledged, yet defied, the norm between them. He knew this moment was borrowed, knew submission from Apollo was given, not taken, and that alone increased the thrill. With his wrists bound together, Apollo still managed to put on that air of quiet, dignified bearing that said so much and was so attractive to Ares.

Ares tightened, pulling tight just enough on the strap to get Apollo to hiss at the momentary bite of pain, which sent a thrill through him—a rush of power. He came closer, his voice low and teasing as he murmured against Apollo's ear, "I could keep you like this for as long as I want. Make you wait, make you beg. But something in me tells that you'd turn the tables on me the very second I let go."

He was already there, not waiting for permission, just the brush of lips along the line of Apollo's jaw tasting the heat of skin. He ran his tongue, slow and deliberate, along the sharp edge of Apollo's jaw, feeling the stutter of a shiver that rippled down through his husband's body. Small, but there; it was an undeniable reaction, a small trembling that he allowed himself to relish with satisfaction.

Apollo's breath hitched, but he didn't pull back. Instead, he swallowed, a subtle gesture that worked well with the way he was tilting his head as if asking Ares to go on, his eyes dark with the challenge and the desire both. Even now, with his wrists a bound offering and his control momentarily surrendered, Apollo still exuded that quiet command, and Ares wanted to push further to see just how far he could go.

Apollo's voice had roughened to an amused growl despite the sizzle of heat and the need that seemed relentless between them, like a living thing that would never be quenched.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Ares smirked, dropping another kiss onto the curve of Apollo's jaw. "Immensely. But I'm guessing you are too, even if you won't admit it."

Apollo's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Maybe I am. But remember, Ares… I always get the last word."

Ares chuckled softly, the sound rumbling against Apollo's skin. "You wish."

Apollo laughed, rich and confident, even with his hands bound behind his back. "You know me too well. But maybe this time I'll just let you get away with a bit of fun."

Ares was grinning now, too, getting into the moment as he leaned back to appreciate his handiwork. "Just a bit? How magnanimous of you."

Apollo turned his head, and his gaze was dark with promise when he met Ares's eyes. "Do not push your luck, Ares. You're about to find out just how generous it is that I can be."

Ares's pulse quickened. The challenge was clear in Apollo's voice. "I'm counting on it."

And then the power shifted again, their roles like liquid but unbreakable, the leather strap only a temporary boundary, a line they both knew would soon be crossed, but for now it was part of their dance, a dance fueled by the push and pull of their desires, the unspoken understanding that no matter who took the lead, they were always in this together.

With the heat between them rising, Apollo drew back just far enough to murmur against Ares's lips, "I'm going to make you beg, Ares. And when you do, you'll know exactly who's in control.

Ares's heart was pulsing, his breath coming hard as he looked up at Apollo—a man full of defiance, a man full of desire. "You think so?" he threw at him, his voice threaded with heat. "Maybe you'll be surprised at how far I can push you."

Apollo's smirk was pure fire, his eyes as dark as intention. "I'm counting on it.

A night, long, stretching; a collision of powers and a surrendering to each other, a surrender to bring the other across the very edge between control and submission. A dance both knew well, yet all was different now. There was no going back, only forward, into the blaze of the unknown.

But in those silent vows, sworn by the heavens' witness, Ares knew that whatever battles came after theirs, he and Apollo would stand as equals before them but most of all as partners bound by the unsayable glue of an unyielding, feral love, entirely their own.