Drink. That’s all they ever did. They used the excuse of some famous mortal hero feasting on Olympus as yet another reason to drink. Gulping down goblet of wine after wine, ambrosia after ambrosia. He hated it. He hated the ogling eyes. The way hands grasped his body making him feel sick. He felt fear pooling in his stomach as he approached Zeus, his hands shaking.

“Lord Zeus, your drink.” He held his head down, eyes refusing to meet the gods. Heaven forbid Zeus would force him into that dark bed again. Just the thought made his body grow cold and bile rise in his throat. His worst fears began to rise as Zeus placed a hand on his hip. He felt like he wanted to cry. He couldn’t. He was a prince damn it. He was a man now. No time for tears.

Never before did he ever think he’d be relived to head Ares holler drunkenly for another glass. Ganimedes hurried over and poured a glass.

He was so tired by the end of the night. He wanted to weep as his chains were reapplied, leaving him curled on the cold floor. But he preferred it to Zeus’ bed. He preferred it to the touch of another. Because he’d never been touched with anything but lust if it wasn’t the gentle had of his mother.

He’d been sleeping soundly, dreaming of home yet again when a hand snapped him from his dream. He gasped and quickly moved back to the wall, praying to anything that would save him it wasn’t Zeus. But he heard soft words. They weren’t filled with power. This was ether Hestia or some fellow slave of the gods.

But as his eyes focused he realized it was the hero. He took a shaky breath and tucked his knees into his chest, eyes focused on the floor.

“You should be in bed.”