Chapter 6 Sweet Temptations

Apollo was in the kitchen, his hands moving rhythmically while kneading the dough. The familiar movements soothed him, a comfort he had known for a long time. The air was warm and perfumed with the intense aromas of the cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg, their sweet scents mingling with the soft crackle of the fire from the stove. It was late, and the world outside was still silent; it was just the two of them in this tiny, intimate space.

Silently, Ares moved to his side. He seemed quieter than usual, with much of his sharp edge replaced by something more subdued. However, his stance still conveyed tension, as he maintained a rigid and poised posture, as though prepared to run at any moment.

Apollo joked, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. "Do you want to help or keep standing there looking pretty?"

Ares looked at him, his mouth twitching at the corner, fighting the urge to smile. "I don't do pretty," he said, with a hint of amusement.

He chuckled, his laughter low and rich, as the easy banter brought a welcome shift in the atmosphere.

Rolling his eyes, Ares couldn't resist his curiosity and stepped closer. "Alright, what's next?"

"Grab that bowl of honey," Apollo instructed, nodding toward the counter. "We're making melomakarona, a traditional Greek dessert. It's all about balance. Sweet, but not too sweet. Rich, but not too heavy. You'll like it."

Ares carefully set the bowl down onto the table, the scent of Greek spices filling the air between them. As their fingers touched, a sudden, sharp jolt of electricity ran through Apollo, unexpected yet undeniable temptation. Ares pulled back quickly, creating a small but noticeable distance between them, though not before a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, catching Apollo off guard.

"Did your mom teach you to make this?" Ares asked, his tone light but curious.

Apollo's smile eased, the playful tension giving way to something more tender as memories washed over him. "My nana used to make these, every holiday," he began, gentle with nostalgia. "She taught me how to bake, and Mom taught me how to cook. They just held our culture close, and you could feel it in the way they moved in a kitchen. Some of my favorite memories are the three of us in there, music blaring, laughter bouncing off the walls. It was always alive with warmth and love in the kitchen."

Freshly baked goods wafted in through the room, and Apollo was hit by a symphony of nostalgia and comfort. His senses were on high alert, his mouth watered, and he could taste a glistening sweetness in the air. The odor wrapped itself around his person like a tapestry of memories tugging at the heartstrings.

Apollo closed his eyes, letting thoughts wash over him, carrying him further and further back in time, to a world bright and trouble infinite in distance. Warmth settled in his chest, seeping through to each of his fingertips with light tingling. It was as if every single nerve within his body had woken to life at that scent, so meaningful to him.

"Sounds… nice." Ares's response was short and curt, surprising Apollo. He thought they had made some strides in trust and dialogue, but Ares's stony mask of indifference was back on.

"Have you ever baked before?" He asked, keeping his voice light as he reached for a mixing spoon.

Ares shook his head. "No. That was never… my thing."

Apollo pressed a little, half-jokingly, questioning, "Let me guess: your thing was more about looking good at charity galas and making your father proud, right?"

Ares stiffened at his poke, the tension snapping further into place. "Something like that."

He kept his tone light, almost teasing, but with a thread of seriousness woven in. "You know, you don't have to live up to anyone's expectations here. In this kitchen, you're just you. No titles, no pressures."

"And what if I don't know who that is?" Ares asked, his voice now laced with a weight it hadn't held earlier.

"Then we'll figure it out, one step at a time."

They worked further in silence, the tightened atmosphere having shifted to something more relaxed and pliable. The whisking of ingredients, the crackle of the stove—all sounds of the kitchen filled the space, working to enforce some intimacy neither of them had expected.

Once the dough was ready, Apollo tore off a piece and gave it to Ares.

"Here. Roll it into a ball like this." He showed the motion, his hands going fast with practiced ease.

Ares hesitated, then mimicked the motion, his hands clumsy at first. "Like this?"

"Close, but kind of softer. You're not trying to strangle it," Apollo teased, leaning a little closer, letting Ares feel his hands to guide.

The light contact sent a spark through the air between them, a jolt neither could ignore. Biting back a gasp, Ares tried again, this time gentler, and Apollo gave a nod of approval.

"Better. See? Not so hard."

"Yeah, well, I'm not used to doing things this… delicately," Ares confessed, refocusing on the dough.

As they continued with their dessert, a shift in the kitchen settled into a slow metamorphosis. It was almost as though the heat from the stove infused the air between them, melting down the tension that had thickened the mood only moments prior. The scent of honey and spices surrounded them, Ares's tight body only inches apart from his, a subtle shift between them, an invitation—to something neither of them knew how to name.

When honey needed to be added, Apollo seized the opportunity to move closer. To have faith in this attraction, as he laid his chin over Ares's shoulder, his breath warm against Ares's ear, his presence intentional, somewhat claiming.

"Careful with this part," Apollo suggested, his voice smooth and steady. "Too much, and it'll drown the flavor. Too little, and it won't be sweet enough. It's all about finding the middle ground."

The soft tremor that ran through Ares' body didn't slip past Apollo, a silent response to the narrowing space between them. He dipped his fingers in the warm honey, steering the drizzle of honey with practiced elegance on top of the soft dough. The air thickened, and the line between teacher and student blurred with the passing seconds.

Ares's voice finally cut the silence, and though threaded with playfulness, it didn't quite veil the tension underneath. "If you're not careful, I may never want to leave."

Was that a confession? A Freudian slip of sorts? Was Ares being honest? His heart thundered in his chest, hoping this might be the start of a new beginning.

"That's the plan," Apollo teased as he turned Ares's head a little to the side so that their faces were now perilously close, close enough that Apollo could see the flicker of uncertainty in Ares's eyes, mingling with lust.

This intimate moment stretched between them, feeding off of the anticipation that had created itself between them. Then, slowly, he dipped his fingers back in the honey before returning them to Ares's lips, demanding entrance. "Lick them," he ordered.

The moment Ares leaned in, everything else faded. Apollo's breath hitched as he watched Ares's tongue flicking out, warm and slow, to taste the honey on his fingers. The sensation was electric, sending a shiver down his spine. A groan escaped him, deep and raw, a sound that seemed to reverberate between them, stirring something primal in Apollo. There was a blaze in Ares's eyes—a silent invitation that made Apollo's pulse quicken, anticipation thrumming through him.

"This honey is no ordinary honey. It's mine, and I have been looking after these bees for years, so I know exactly what to do to keep them happy and bring you the sweetest taste you've ever experienced," he revealed.

Apollotraced a honey-coated finger along his jawline, leaving a sticky trail in its wake, with a velvet whisper, he purred, "You're not afraid of a little honey, are you?"

Ares's eyes flickered up to his. A slight hint of playfulness followed his response. "Depends on who's offering."

"Then come taste some," he ordered as he displayed his jaw and neck as an offering.

The air crackled with tension as he gazed at Ares, his hungry eyes taking in every detail. Drawing Ares's face closer, their breaths intertwined, creating a symphony of desire.

Apollo's control wavered, his restraint frayed as Ares' lips pressed against him. Warm, the sensations of his wet tongue licking him were more than he could control. But he held back, his grip on Ares's wrist tightening as Ares continued his tasting of Apollo.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Ares's eyelids fluttered open. "Yes."

Apollo's lips quirked up into a slow, innuendo-ridden smile, his eyes never wavering from Ares as the tension ratcheted between them. The possessiveness simmering inside him sharpened to fierce need, a hunger that was getting nearly impossible to contain.

He wanted to taste every inch of Ares, to leave no doubt in either of their minds about who was in control. But he would not rush it. No, he needed Ares to want it just as bad, to crave it, to beg for it. Apollo could feel the anticipation building, the heat between them almost unbearable, but he held back, determined to let this desire grow until it was undeniable.

His lips were scarcely an inch from Ares', with the air thick between them, as if it was on the verge of suffocation. Every breath he had taken in was like inhaling fire from Ares, sweetened by the lingering taste of honey. His breathing came closer the more he pressed, the proximity, that barely there touch, which pushed him to the edge—a precarious edge where one more step, one more inch, would mean no turning back. The need, the raw want, pulsed through him, its intensity almost unbearable, urging him to close that final distance, to surrender to the magnetic pull that was rapidly becoming impossible to withstand.

But he held back, letting the tension coil tighter between them, feeding off the unspoken desire in Ares's eyes. Ares's breath caught, his chest rising and falling that bit faster. Anticipation lived and breathed between them, building to a storm. Apollo's hand slid to the back of Ares's neck, fingers threading through his hair to hold him there, so close yet still out of reach. The urge to claim, to dominate, strummed through him like a harp string, but he reined it in—not yet, not when he wanted Ares to break first, to feel the same overwhelming urge to close the gap, press forward, and meet him halfway.

Their breaths mingled, their shared warmth making Apollo's heart pound harder, louder. He could feel the battle going on in Ares's eyes, the war between pride and surrender, and it hardened this moment into something potently sexual. He could almost taste the victory in that, the sweet satisfaction of making Ares crave him, need him, as he did.

A slow, deliberate smile curved Apollo's lips as he leaned in just enough for their lips to brush, teasing, testing. "Tell me, Ares," he whispered, low, a seductive murmur, "how much do you want this?"

The words hung between them, challenge and invitation in one, and Apollo waited—waited for Ares to give in, to close that final distance and shatter the last of the tension between them.

But before their lips could touch, before that kiss, so close yet ungiven, might break the spell, a hard rapping sounded through the kitchen, shattering the moment as it pulled them both back to reality.

That rap on the door made Ares jerk back, his eyes flashing with frustration and reluctant relief. Apollo's jaw tightened, the tension of the moment washing away like sand between his fingers. The intrusion slapped him back to where he was and disrupted the delicate balance between them. The air, so full of crackling energy, the kiss that had fluttered so near, now dangled, unfinished and suspended, like a question unanswered.

Ares stepped back, flicking his gaze toward his door, then back to Apollo, a vulnerability from one of his break-ins creeping into his expression. "Who the fuck is that?"

Apollo's grip on Ares's wrist loosened, the moment slipping through his fingers, leaving only a lingering trace of what could have been. "I don't know," he said, his voice steady despite the hunger thrumming beneath the surface. "But we're about to find out."

He let go of Ares's hand, the sudden loss of contact a pang of disappointment; it was a connection severed way too soon. Still, Ares's fingers hesitated, holding for just a second longer as if he wasn't ready to let go. That small, instinctive gesture, like a silent plea for reassurance, made something tighten in Apollo's chest. The knock came again, then, more forcefully this time, cutting through the lingering heat between them. It was that momentary need, that vulnerability, which made Apollo want Ares more and stoked the embers of his desire into a low, steady burn.

As Apollo turned toward the door, their magic broke, yet not forgotten; it was like a flame to be rekindled. At that moment, he knew that the next time they were alone, he wouldn't just take what Ares offered—he would give him exactly what he needed.