William
Apollo visits Psyche at the Elysium Retreat Wellness Spa for a relaxing massage. During his session, both gods discuss the pressing issues of the day and learn a little more about each other.
Helen
Situated inside an earthly paradise of parkland in the middle of Olympian, the Elysium Retreat Wellness Spa blended seamlessly with its surroundings. Its architectural style was neoclassical and made from white marble, striking a harmonious contrast of grandeur against the peaceful pasture of green it was located in, welcoming guests through its doors from near and far. The entrance itself was framed by ivy that climbed the perimeter of the double doorway, blooming with jasmine flowers woven around the stiff threads to set a scene of luxury and allure. 

When Apollo arrived, he was welcomed to a reception area bathed in soft, ambient light as the gentle sound of flowing water from the nearby fountain filled the atrium with a sense of natural relaxation. Soon, he was led through a corridor adorned with landscape paintings and glowing lanterns that lit stonework carvings depicting legends and epics of myth. When he arrived at the private room, the reception clerk wished him well and made herself scarce, leaving the god to enter of his own volition. 

Designed intricately for an experience of ultimate relaxation, the space flooded his senses with the scent of jasmine and amber, sunlight rolling across his body through a large window that overlooked a lush garden. Inside, a massage table stood in the centre of the room, draped in crisp white linen beside a table where aromatic oils and rejuvenating serums lined the surface. His masseuse welcomed him inside, her smile radiating a sense of serene calm as he entered, then closed the door quietly behind him.

She wore a simple dress that allowed for easy movement, her blonde hair cascading down in waves past slender shoulders halfway down her forearms. Her shoes were modestly heeled and clicked as she turned to face the god, closing the distance between them as she relocated to the massage table in the middle of the room. Then, with a look of warmth, she greeted him earnestly in kind. 

**"Hello, sweet Apollo. I was worried that you wouldn't show,"** The goddess smiled, her voice a silky lilt that soothed the senses. **"Make yourself as comfortable as you'd like. I'll start warming an oil blend with my hands while you get situated. How do we feel about sandalwood and bergamot? They both do wonders for softening tension in muscle."** 

Behind him, the blinds descended gently seemingly of their own mind; her command over the material world manifested through nothing more than a simple thought, allowing her to control objects and matter alike. In her hands, she warmed the blend of oils together with hypnotising, circular movements, filling the room with the combined scent of something euphoric and calming. Eventually, low, ambient light from glowing lamps replaced the harsh illumination of daytime as the blinds concealed the windows, shutting both of them off from the outside world.

**"Remove your shirt when you're quite ready,"** Psyche said softly, her lilt as soothing as the atmosphere she had gone to great lengths to curate for the God of the Sun as he acclimatised to his surroundings. **"Then we'll begin. Do you feel any tension anywhere in particular?"**
Jerry
Amongst the soft off-whites and gentle lighting, a wash of darkness, like shadows, moved through the scene like a serpent. Despite being the god of the sun and many other artistic and beautiful things, Apollo favored a darker look this century. His flesh, once unblemished, had been collecting ink. At first, it had been little more than experimentation. But in the work upon his form, he had bestowed divine intervention on those who pressed ink to his flesh. Not all were of the utmost quality, but through worship, he granted boons beyond the scope of what they thought was possible from such a simple, everyday transaction. 

If one thing was for sure, it was that this look made him stand out. Furthermore, the frame beneath the dark fabric did much to make his entrance more memorable. A simple, black Henley was nothing to write home about, but the abundance of Olympian physique beneath tested the elasticity of the bicep cuff. The ink spilled forth from the fabric down to the knuckles in two separate designs mostly done in black, white, and grey scale. Color was present here and there, but he favored the continuity established by the more significant works beneath the waffle-knit fabrics. 

Where his eyes fell was impossible to know. Ray Banes cloaked his gaze behind dark shades that did not get removed upon entering the premises. Apparently, he could see fine, and it gave him this aura of mystique, or so he thought. Truth be told, when conversing with the attractive localities of Olympain, he dared not let his gaze linger too long where it did not belong. Some would get the right idea, and while there had been a time when he engaged with any and every pretty face that crossed his path, he felt *Different* After his introduction to fatherhood. Somehow, the notion of being known for his libido in a world where his daughter existed didn't please him. She made him *Want* To be better. A role model, all be it a flawed one.

Upon rounding the corner, the mass of darkness came face to face with Psyche. She had a face fit for sculpting. She was as inspiring as any muse he had laid eyes on before. "Not show when you seemed so eager for my presence?" While she could not see his eyes, there was a sense that his face was twisting into the quintessential *Girl-please* Sort of look. A slight perk of a brow gave it away. He spoke in a deeper tone. Something fitting his barrel chest as both hands reached to take her hand for but a second. They were massive. If curled into a fist, one could imagine the force of a cinder block traveling faster than mortal eyes could follow. Yet, they held her delicately, even if the pads of his fingers were worn by time and the labors of combat. 

"I typically wear sandalwood, though bergamot is a new twist. I defer to your superior judgment. By this point, he removed his glasses and set them upon a flat surface in one smooth stroke. At least his eyes were a lighter contrast. That was a part of himself he would not change. A quick glance from her to the descending blinds took his attention for a moment, but the words that followed brought him right back. "Not even a dinner first?" A playful tsk tsk sounded from his lips. Like a good soldier, his hands paired to remove his shirt in a fluid motion. When removed, he laid it right next to his glasses without any need to fold. 

It was as advertised. Muscle massed beneath inked flesh. A pair of barbell piercings through either nipple was a touch he had added some years back. If he removed them, it would be nothing to redo the project after it healed, but somehow, the glint of stainless steel against so much inkwork would have been an attractive addition, or so he thought. "You create a blissful tension just by being near you. It starts in my core and spreads.." Fingers came to press at a point in his abdomen before his fingers spread out against the flesh, miming the sensation.

His body turned, moving to sit upon the surface, legs dangling over the side to skim the tops of the floor beneath. "You direct me, and I will play a willing client for as long as I feel the game is fun. Though, do not be shocked if I grow a little defiant." No god, past or present, winked as effectively as this flirtatious poet-god. It was in the body language of his shoulders and the slight bite at the inside of his lip. Subtle, yet bold in how he admired the fabric of her dress and how it rested atop her feminine form.
Helen
Struck by his new look, the goddess marvelled at the sight of him, enchanted by the change in hair from radiant blonde to black, her eyes drawn to the dark, intricate tattoos that wove around his muscle-bound physique. Creating a striking contrast against his pale skin, it was almost as if she was looking at someone else entirely, for he was not the Apollo who appeared to her at his temple on a mountain alongside her parents so long ago. Or rather he was, though with a newfound grit that added to his commanding presence visually *And* Physically all at once. 

His charm, like his good looks, superseded him. The very moment he entered the room, warmth spread like invisible wildfire, infecting and thrumming through everything within his path. Touched by the same tingling sensation of fire, the blonde's lips curved into a friendly if not *Appreciative* Smile as he took her hands in his, deft by comparison, and swiped the calloused pad of a thumb across her soft skin. **"Eager is overstating it,"** The goddess said gently, her lilt as calming as the sweet aroma of oils that wafted in the air between them. **"But I was admittedly anticipating your arrival. It's not everyday** ***Apollo*** **Stops by for a massage, is it?"**

Her smile grew as their eye contact lingered for a good beat, until eventually, he removed his Ray Bans in one swipe and placed them on the table beside the massage bed. Mesmerised by his effortless gusto, she was taken by their bright and inviting brilliance, her wit effectively pacified in their blazing dazzle as she entertained his playful remark. **"I should think** ***You*** **Would see to my invitation to dinner with you,"** The goddess said coyly with an unperturbed grin, massaging the warm, aromatic oils into the palms of her hands. **"But shall we see how you fare in this arena first?"**

She went quiet and stood poised as the god removed his shirt, crossing bulky arms down across his chiselled torso to pull it above his head and eventually discarding it. Once more her shimmering eyes were drawn to the full extent of the canvas of artwork that spanned the entirety of his body. Each mark and etch seemed to tell a story, their dark lines contrasting sharply with the natural glow of his divine form as he stood before her, almost anticipating her reaction. As expected, there was a girlish glint in her eyes as she trailed them down the ink beneath the sinew of his chest to follow where his hand moved to, focusing on the spot of his abdomen where it rested. 

His voice was as soothing as the embrace of a warm fire, her countenance chipped at by the hypnotising movements of thick fingers that splayed across marked skin while he spoke. **"And you truly are the God of Poetry,"** Was all the blonde said, her whisper a faint plaudit of admiration and song as her eyes followed the sculpted edges of rippling muscles down to the sharp v-shape indented just above his waist. **"Aren't you?"**

He sat on the edge of the massage bed and turned his head to face her as she pressed forward, the bottoms of her heels clicking quietly against the marble floor. Between his thighs, she reached out with both hands and placed them against his chest, applying gentle pressure that helped guide him into a recline, though he would need to rotate accordingly because of the angle. **"If it's any consolation, you wouldn't be the first male client whose** ***Excitement*** **Became a distraction,"** She toyed with him, enjoying how the ephemeral connotations of her words washed over in waves that dissipated as soon as they crashed into him. **"Much less the only man to grow some temerity at an instruction. On your front, please, sweet Apollo,"** She tested his resolve once again, her wry smile a daring reminder of her fearless zest for adventure.

**"And we'll make short work of all that tension in your neck too."**

||
Jerry
"It could be if you asked nicely." Apollo had no shortage of quick wit. No sooner had the words left her lips did a clever riposte spill from that silvered tongue with just the right amount of smile to suggest that it was possible for her whim to be his vow. For a daily visit, hands could be set to the task. "I am not such a busy god that I could not carve away time for you. I enjoy my muses, and I find you to be especially inspiring." Like an artist, his words brushed a canvas to create the picture of a two-fold attraction. Like any season courtier, he wished to be placating, alluring, and still mysterious all at the same time. 

She drank willingly with her eyes, and for the longest time, his had only stayed fixated upon her own. It was as if he was sustained by the glint in her eye. She feasted, and he leaned ever so slightly forward, eager to bask in the radiance of her gaze. "Since when could you read minds?" The grin was coy, and that was when his eyes took their first noticeable dip. With no shades blocking his intent, she would note how every feminine curve was noted. Could she notice how his finger curled into the padding of the table beneath his fingers? That silent bid for self-control telegraphed how close he was to launching himself at her. 

Yet, he did not. Control won this day in favor of maintaining their delicate dance. Some gods, when dealing with their peers, lacked the art of subtly, and Psyche was the sort that seemed she would appreciate a bit of cat and mouse. Any brute could make an attempt to bend a woman over the table, but it was a rare feat that one was patient enough to coax out the feral minx over the course of hours, days, and weeks. Apollo had not known attraction in a decade.

"Would you forgive me for being so late with something so long overdue?" When he perked a brow, it was with purpose. It was the punctuation at the end of a sentence. "A child of mine was in dire need of guidance and took all of my focus. Who knew fatherhood could be so rewarding?" There was no lack of pride in his voice for his Aurora. A sweet girl with limitless potential. "I believe she is the only thing that could have kept me from visiting earlier." Not many knew why Apollo had suddenly fallen from the face of the realm, but there were rumors. Some scandalous, entrancing lover, or perhaps blackmailed by some great shame. The truth was that he had finally found something beyond himself worth devoting his attention to. After countless years, even old gods could grow. 

"Maybe you will entertain the thought of making me look better by going with me to this ball Aphrodite is throwing together? I know you would be doing ME the favor, but I have been known to be worthwhile company from time to time." He paused before adding. "There will be dinner in that, of course, and another more intimate outing should you desire it." She remarked on his work of poetry, and he gave a sheepish sort of shrug. While he could play the innocent, they both knew better, yet he was convincing. He was a patron of the arts, and acting was not outside of his repertoire.

With a slight sway, he pushed back against her hand, to bring him closer to her face. It showed his strength and gave her light touch proper purchase on the expanse of muscles that had been beneath her fingertips. "Yes, but were they worthy?" A quick adventure to look upon her lips while inside of her bubble hinted at hidden thoughts, but he retreated as promised, and as gracefully as a dancer, he bent back and rolled to his stomach, making proper adjustments to lay how she asked. Within seconds, he was settled, his arms hanging by gravity's whim from the side. It was not the traditional position, but depending on the side she took, she would feel the gentle graze of a knuckle upon her leg. Something small but electrifying. 

"So, a spa." The question was implied, but she did not have to wait long for him to expand. "You ever were the healer. Soothing the weary soul." Beneath her touch, she would feel the tension of a god's stress melt away. There was a pause before he spoke once more. "How has the last decade treated you?"