Page 9 of Midnight Pleasure

Something flashed in Ares’s eyes. Anger, yes, but something else that Apollo knew all too well. The distance between them seemed to shrink further, heavy with the thickening air, thick with tension that grew with each passing second. “You’re delusional if you think you can control me,” came the spat words out of Ares’s mouth, his voice tinged with that kind of defiance that comes before surrender. “I don’t submit.”

Apollo chuckled softly, the sound a deep vibration that seemed to resonate between them. He moved in closer again, and his breath brushed against Ares’s ear; his voice dropped to a commanding and teasing tone. “The secret is knowing just the right spot to push. They all surrender.”

His hand swept upward, his fingers brushing against Apollo’s chest; the touch was light, as soft as a feather, provocative rather than symbolic of connection. Apollo didn’t flinch. He remained where he was, eyes locked on Ares in a bold, almost playful glare. He could feel the underlying tension in that touch, the swagger that masked something much more vulnerable, the way Ares’s fingers trailed a little longer than they should have. Apollo knew this wasn’t some casual move; it was a test, a challenge clothed in flirtation.

Ares’s smirk deepened as he sensed the shift, determined to seize control. “What if I’m the one applying the pressure, Apollo? What then?”

Apollo didn’t miss a beat. He calmly reached out, capturing Ares’s wrist with a firm but unhurried grip, holding him in place with a quiet authority that spoke volumes. His presence wrapping around Ares like a promise, his voice brushing against Ares’s skin like a warm breath.

“If you’re going to try that, you’ll need to step up your game,” Apollo countered, his tone smooth and unyielding. “And if you want to push Ares, you must ask me for permission first.” Ares’s breath caught, his smirk faltering as he finally realized, Apollo wasn’t just answering; he was orchestrating. The power shift was deliberate, the tension between them twisting into something more dangerous, more intoxicating.

“Ask nicely,” Apollo continued, his grip tightening just enough to send a simple message. “Or, don’t play at all.”

They stood locked in a silent battle of wills for a long moment; the air crackling with anticipation. Ares’s pulse quickened beneath Apollo’s fingers, thoughts scattered as he wavered between pushing further and giving in to what was a force so much more significant than himself: Apollo’s unyielding dominance.

But the moment slipped by, and who stood on top became unmistakably clear. Apollo’s gaze held Ares’ steady, unrelenting gaze, daring him to challenge the rules he’d set.

Finally, the defiance in Ares wavered, his voice now only a bare whisper, laced with reluctant submission. “What if I don’t know how to ask?

The words hung there, raw and unguarded, slamming into Apollo with the force of something that absolutely wanted to splinter his ironclad control. For a heartbeat, he stumbled, his confidence teetering as Ares’s vulnerability sliced through the tension like a knife. All that bravado, the sharp edges, crumbled in that one admission. Apollo’s “Ares” wasn’t as invincible as he wanted the world to believe.

It was then that Ares’s strong mask slipped, and the edges that lay beneath showed. His normally fiery eyes held a flicker of uncertainty—something he had wondered about but didn’t really want an answer to. Apollo could see the battle that raged inside him: the way his need to protect himself wavered with the yearning to let someone else take the reins, at least for a moment.

Apollo’s breath caught in his throat, his pulse pounding in his ears. He hadn’t expected this—to face the real Ares, scared and at a loss as to how to let go. It brought out a protective depth inside him, a desire to be the anchor Ares so greatly needed.

His smile was slower this time, though it was still a taunt; he also held a reassurance. Leaning in, his lips brushed the shell of Ares’ ear. His voice had softened; the edge it held before was gone. “Then let me show you, Ares,” he murmured, his tone both an invitation and a promise. “You don’t have to know how. You only have to trust me.”

Ares was immobile for a whole moment. He stood like a statue, every muscle held tight, as though one deep breath might shatter him. But something in him changed after the slightest second. There was a softening in his posture that nobody else would likely ever notice—the loosening of the winced tension that always seemed so woven into him. He was like a man carefully testing the waters to see if he could let someone else be in charge without losing himself entirely.

There was a fragile trust between them, delicate and easily broken. He knew he had to tread lightly and carefully because it wasn’t just about power or dominance anymore. Indeed, it was about the connection, to give Ares something he didn’t even know he needed.

He pulled back only far enough to meet Ares’s gaze, his own vulnerability reflected in the way he looked at him–steady, yet with a silent understanding. “You’ve been surviving for so long, Ares. It’s OK to let go. It’s OK to let someone else carry that weight for a while.”

It was then that Apollo finally noticed how Ares’s breath caught—a telltale sign that the walls he had fortified around himself were falling. Their eyes met, and in Ares’s gaze, Apollo saw a soft entreaty, an almost desperate search for something more, probably assurance, or maybe permission to let his guard down just a little. This wasn’t just the pull of desire or the push to control; it was about trust, finding strength in vulnerability. And right there, Apollo realized something: this was more than a power play—it was an unspoken invitation into stepping within that delicate dance between strength and surrender, something requiring more than dominance: care.

“OK,” whispered Ares, barely audible, but everything was enough.

Apollo smiled tenderly, touching lightly, reaching up to cradle the back of Ares’s neck with his thumb, brushing softly against the warm skin.

“That’s all you have to do,” he said quietly. “Just let go.

It was then, as their struggle began to move from a battle of wills to something so much deeper, so much more intimate, that Apollo realized they were both learning to ask and learning to trust. The roles of master and student, dominant and submissive, blurred, leaving them on the edge of that entirely new thing, so irrational that neither had ever dealt with it.

The dance between them was far from over; there was just a truce for the time being. That very shifting, very fragile peace was born of shared vulnerability. Apollo didn’t need to guide, but he only had to be there, steadfast and unmovable, so that if Ares was ready to let go, he would have someone to catch him.

The moment passed, as fleeting as its arrival, replaced by the hum of unsatisfied desire that permeated the very air of the room. But as Apollo went back to work, the drone of the chainsaw once again filling the studio, he understood that between them, whatever it was, was far from over.

Later that evening, Apollo found himself at the restaurant, reviewing the day’s receipts. It was quiet; the patrons of the last dinner crowd had left hours before. The soft clink of dishes from the kitchen was the only thing that broke into the stillness. Ares was in there, doing his nightly duties. Apollo watched, taking more than a normal level of satisfaction in that maybe he was beginning to settle into normalcy, even if it seemed begrudged.

Part of him wanted to check in to ensure Ares was OK, but another part knew better. Getting any closer would only get messy. So, instead, he focused on his work—until Ares appeared in the doorway with a dish towel slung over his shoulder.

“Am I always this boring, or is it because of you?” Ares quipped.

Apollo looked up, catching the glint in Ares’s eyes. “I’m a man of simple tastes. I enjoy peace and quiet.”

“A man of peace, huh?” Ares smirked. “I would’ve pegged you for one of the raging sort.”

“Maybe I’ve had enough chaos for one lifetime,” Apollo replied, his voice quieter than before.

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