Sharon
A residential enclave within the district, Elysian Estates is an exclusive neighborhood where gods of prosperity and mortal elites reside in lavish mansions adorned with gilded accents. The estates overlook ornate gardens and offer a panoramic view of the district's splendor.
Daniel
It was no bombshell for Eros to show up unannounced. He preferred it, really— glances of his unanticipated arrival were alarmed or bewitched, taken by the lure of his eyes or the appeal of his clothes. The servants that tended to Plutus's dazzling estate had seemingly become adjusted to his sporadic presence. There was a particular way that he knocked on the door, as if his attendance was a code to translate. His visits, once infrequent, were less and less spaced out in his fondness. Where others displeased him, Plutus remained as a consistency of satisfaction— and *Oh*, how Eros loved to be satisfied.
⠀
The home was lavish, in ways that differed from his own. Eros found that the exterior did not compare to the grandeur that remained inside. Much like Plutus's saintly soul, it was trimmed in gold and cohesively decorated. Whilst the cash–keeper preferred glimmering golds and cleanly whites, Eros's own lodgings were littered with clashing patterns, reds, blacks, pinks— somehow, he made it appear comely. Eros found elegance in a sleazy corruption, and Plutus seemed to cherish it in purity and structure. If one looked closely, traces of Eros could still be seen, even in its strict tidiness. From a silken robe in one of the god's closets that Eros claimed as his own, to the irrepressible scent of roses snuffed in Plutus's bedsheets, he could not fully be extinguished.
⠀
"Miss me?" Eros greeted the housekeeper with a cherry lollipop in his mouth and a grin, as sugary as the candy itself. The man only gave Eros a placid expression. He lacked the immense levels of attraction that most felt for the god, knowing what Eros and Plutus did behind closed doors. Still, he could not help but feel the tug of his magnetism, as aglow as the sun.
⠀
"Yes, sir. Plutus is currently in his chambers—"
⠀

"Oh, good. That is where I like him."
⠀
He wore polished loubotins that clicked upon impeccable, marble floors. Eros would say that pink or red were his colors, but really, what couldn't be pull off? His abdomen was garbed in a velvety shirt of pale pink, with a boldly cut v–neck that left space for his necklaces or the lips of another to grace his skin. Necklaces, bracelets, rings, even the barbell that pierced his tongue— they were all articles of silver, that benefitted his faultless complexion and weaponized him discreetly. This evening, however, his arrows were of no use. He did not need to enchant the god that was mutually ensnared by him.
⠀
The door was halfway open, and Eros entered without a knock. A choker of pearls fell just down to his collarbone, and Eros touched it briefly. The largeness of Plutus's bedroom left a tufted, one–arm sofa in a corner, and Eros took residency of it immediately. The god of love only glanced in Plutus's direction, hardly concerned with whatever he was occupied with.
⠀
"Plutus, doll," Eros stretched his limbs with a sigh, with the crook of his neck resting at the arch of the sofa's armrest. He plucked the heart–shaped lollipop from his mouth, staring upside down at the god. His tongue was sweetly stained red from the treat, and his eyes were accentuated with black liner. His legs were crossed, and he refrained from having his shoes touch the sofa's fabric out of awareness. "I've been dreadfully bored, haven't you? I might wither away without a bit of fun."
Francisco
*Slow to arrive, but quick to leave.* That's what everyone said about Plutus, the God of Wealth. Many assumed him to be lame because why else would it take so long for one's hard work to bear fruit? Or their luck to change? Others assumed he was busy because wealthy men - and gods - must have a lot to do to have so much money, right? 

In truth, most of the time it was because Plutus couldn't be bothered. He took his time in almost every aspect of his life - slow to wake, slow to get ready, slow to walk. Time was a useless ticking noise in the back of an empty room. To an immortal, it wasn't important. 

But to Plutus, it was even less so. 

That morning, he still hadn't left his bedroom. He was dressed in a long gold robe left open at the front to expose his torso and loose black shorts that reached his knees. Curls still wet from his shower, they were already showing signs of rebellion as they stuck out in different directions. 

He stood at the open door to his bedroom balcony, leaning against the frame as he peered out over his ridiculously massive courtyard. The gardeners were hard at work pruning and planting, and Plutus watched them with little interest. Instead, he used that time to indulge. In one hand, he held a nearly finished glass of red wine. The other, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. He was just taking a drag when he heard his door open followed by sharp tapping of footsteps upon his white marble floors cracked with gold which spiderwebbed across the tiles.

He snuck a brief glance over his shoulder to spy his new company, smirked, and then looked away before his glance was noticed. He blew the smoke out through a smile as he listened to his lover take up the couch across the room. 

"Fancy seeing you here," He said, his voice etched with sarcasm since it wasn't an unusual occurrence. He finished off his wine before turning around, leaning his other shoulder on the opposite side of the door frame as to better admire the God of Love from that angle. 

And what an angle it was. 

Eros was spread across the couch, his beautifully sculpted body shown off through low-cut shirts and tight pants. There was plenty to admire about the god, but Plutus started with his chest which was revealed by a low-cut shirt and adorned with several necklaces. His gaze trailed up to Eros's face where he watched those red lips pop off of the lollipop just in time for him to speak. 

"*Always,* He responded as he slinked into the apartment like a lazy cat. "At least until you arrive. Then things tend to get interesting." He crossed his room to the mini bar near the couch, reaching down to softly drag his fingers across Eros's chest along the way. "Drink?" He circled around the bar and poured himself another glass, waiting for an answer.
Daniel
The chime of Plutus's voice, deep and tempting, infused the vast chambers with a familiarity. His eyes that were closed in repose fluttered open to see that the deity was looking at him. Like a bird of paradise, Eros flaunted the most eye–catching of feathers, and found a potency in the curiosity of others. From a distance, Eros was sure that Plutus smelt divine, and wished to perch his nose in the crook of his neck for reassurance. Where Eros was bestowed the gift of a faultless youth, it sharpened with a smile. He twirled the lollipop in his hand, with the artificial taste of a cherry lingering on his tongue.
⠀
The response was what Eros anticipated, and as if the two of them were fated to remain close, Eros was not disappointed. Lover, friend, or foe could not deny that Eros brought stimulation to a room. With the physique of his mother, he accepted lechery. However, his tongue was his father's, bleached in guile. He delighted, vexed, and aroused. His tongue could be pointed with pine needles, or it could be immersed in costly silk. The god's skin morphed like the chameleon's scales, but one thing remained true— he was never without spirit.
⠀
"I'll take a glass of... *Mmh*, surprise me, you know what I like." The touch on his bare chest brought him out of his cat–like state, and his eyes stalked Plutus's shadow with intent. Eros was not there to swathe Plutus with his touch, but he would never decline it, either. His fingers remained like a phantom to his flesh, and it beckoned Eros to slowly raise himself up from the sofa.
⠀

Eros stood at the bar alongside him, now, observing. He supposed it would be less of a surprise as he scrutinized Plutus like a feline with its minuscule prey, but he succumbed to curiosity. One of his fingers looped through a curl, still wet, that was notably poking out near his ear. As Eros suspected, he smelt clean, and his flesh was warm. The visibility of his skin was not lost on the god of desire. He wanted a taste of him. Eros planted the lollipop back in his mouth in order to satiate himself.
⠀
"I can only entertain myself for so long, until I must come knocking on your door." He twirled the lock of his hair along his index finger until he gently released it, bouncier now with his touch. The same hand hovered along Plutus's arm, and the tips of his fingers grazed the arch of his bicep through a robe of gold. His touch was so feathery that it could nearly induce drowsiness, and the look on Eros's face was one that men fought wars for. A beauty that held promises, that put mortals on their knees.
⠀
Eros maneuvered the lollipop to the left–most side of his mouth in order to speak eloquently. "Won't you host a party, darling? It has been too long. The clubs downtown are all too predictable." His form was invasive to Plutus's, nearly leaning upon him, now. He came with wishes, but his affections for Plutus remained true. "I can make it up to you..." Eros trailed away, into the deep, deep waters of lust. He knew that it would not be necessary, but lacing his words with sweetness was a lasting specialty.
Francisco
One might say that it was too early in the morning for alcohol, but Plutus would vehemently disagree. No hour in the day was a bad time for drinking. He woke up and poured himself a glass of wine - sometimes something harder just to dull the ache of a godly hangover - and he had a drink with every meal as well as in between. If he were mortal, it would have been considered a problem, but the one useful thing his mother gave him was conception with another god so that he were born one himself. 

He took another puff of his cigarette before pressing it between the right side of his lips to hang onto it which allowed him his full range of movement. Hands free, he picked out an expensive red wine procured from his nephew's stock, its vintage aged to perfection. Plutus spared no expense when it came to alcohol; cheap was not in his vocabulary. 

He poured a generous amount in a gold-lined glass and slid it across the counter right into Eros's hand. Their fingers grazed briefly before he pulled back to refill his own. 

"From my nephew's vineyard. Enjoy." He traded the cigarette for a sip before he continued to smoke. "I would hardly call what you do *Knocking,* But I suppose the sentiment is appreciated." He, of course, didn't mind that Eros barged in unannounced, though he pretended it was a bother. His voice might have been deadpan, but his expression was amused.

"But sure, babe. I'll entertain you." He could think of plenty of ways to do it, but he didn't expect Eros to come with a suggestion. He raised his eyebrows as he finished off the cigarette and smothered it in an ash tray. "So it's to be *That* Kind of entertainment." His lips twitched into a smirk as Eros leaned into him. He didn't pull away, instead allowing his lover to press against him as he lifted his arm to run his fingers through his hair. 

He thought about the possibilities - of types of parties or ways that Eros could "Make it up to him." Not that he had to do much, but the fun was always appreciated. 

"Mn. What kind would you like?" He asked as he continued to feather his fingers through the God of Love's hair. "And at which one of my houses?" He had one in almost every major city, after all.
Daniel
The glass was taken into his palm without averting his gaze from the structure of Plutus's face. Eros took a distinct delight in charming Plutus, and no, it did not take much— but the effort was a silent rule to their game. The god treasured beauty of the flesh, and Plutus had been molded with such caution and care. With a dashing batting of the lashes, Eros observed the stick of nicotine that held itself between plush lips. He was well–acquainted with those kisses, tasting of imported cigarettes and stained with a shade of wine. Encouraged, Eros lifted the glass to his parted lips and took a sip. He was not nearly as impassioned for it as Plutus was. Eros, shamefully, found love for the mortals and their plethora of mixed drinks. He had a sweet tooth, with hankerings that did not cease at candies and cocktails.
⠀
The dryness of his voice left Eros enticed. Where Plutus was impassive and droll, Eros compensated in animated expression. With ease could he become the glamour–scaled serpent among uncut fields, but he preferred to wear his emotions as though they were articles of lavish jewelry. Mortals found his visible, shifting charisma to be enthralling. Of course, when he became inevitably fatigued by them, their hearts were debilitated and recovered with unreliable sutures. Eros would advise that they should be grateful— it was a blessing, to carry the grief of a heart shattered by a god so beautiful. He was not to be kept, but he would gift them savored memories.
⠀
"I did knock, ask your man at the door! Would you rather me come in through the window?" The lollipop was diminishing in size, and he bit what was left of it into crystallized pieces on his tongue. "It would be romantic, but I have never been the best climber. You'll have to suffice for this, for now." His humor was much more vivid and apparent, though he was not without Plutus's wit. Eros smiled with his teeth, and the hand that was tracing over the god's arm fell to his side.
⠀

The inflection of his voice lulled Eros closer, and his body was halfway against him, now. He hummed with Plutus's hand enveloped in the softness of his hair, thrusting him into lethargy. "Mmh, it doesn't have to be. What would you have me do for you, handsome?" It was raunchy in nature, but it did not need to be— Eros was likely to do as Plutus desired. The god of love was prone to the mannerisms of a minx, tempted by the possibility of punishment. Still, he nourished a slight favoritism for Plutus. Unspoken, but apparent. It could be seen in his eyes of blue, glimmering like the stars.
⠀
The god set his glass aside. His hand crept between the silk of Plutus's robe and to the softness of his abdomen, holding him there. Plutus was hot–blooded and soft. Eros would know his body with his eyes closed, yet he could not satiate his fill of him. He knew the placement of his birthmarks like bygone scriptures, but Eros was too tactile to go without a feel. A reminder. He would be nothing without the sensation of foreign flesh beneath the spell of his hands.
⠀
"A provocative one, of course. Something... Colorful, and only crowded with exciting faces. There must be a dress code. That is why the city clubs are so horrendous." His voice was edged with vexation at the thought. His hand gradually came up to the god's chest, touching his collarbone. Eros leaned inward, as if he wanted to kiss him. His voice fell to a whisper. "Whichever one would grant me an easy exit to get you to myself when the fun has died down."
Francisco
The space between him and Eros was a familiar dance. Not one many would recognize by sight - a waltz or a tango - but one of seductive words, playful banter, and soft touches. One that was practiced in public and in private, for all to watch and envy. They played off of each other like dance partners who had practiced together for years. Neither missed a beat. Neither stole the spotlight. And both knew the other's moves like their own. 

Plutus's lips twitched as Eros defended himself, not bothering to stop him. Instead, he tried to distract him by sliding his hand down his lover's body, feeling the muscles of his arm, his sculpted abs, and then finding a place to rest on his hip. Tugging him closer, Plutus leaned in and pressed a few soft kisses on Eros's neck. 

"Darling, you know I'd take you through my door, my window, my chimney and . . . Where ever my servants enter." He spoke between kisses. "You're the one surprise I like to barge in on me." He punctuated his words with a little bite before pulling back to meet Eros's eyes, gold peering into beautiful blues. 

It was easy to get distracted with the God of Love. His beauty surpassed that of all other gods and goddesses alike, but his eyes were what made Plutus weak in the knees. It was a trap he willingly fell into every time they locked for longer than a few seconds. Centuries enjoying each other's presence didn't diminish the feeling.

"I think you know exactly what you can do for me." Not that it was a necessary trade for his services. Plutus would gladly throw a party, especially one requested by someone he liked. His jaw tightened as he Eros slid his hand under his robe to return the touch, his hand warm to the touch. 

He closed his eyes and listened to each request with a contended expression forming on his face. He imagined the colors - royal purple and royal blue with gold trim - always gold - and he and Eros dressed to stand out among the dark colors, vibrant and bright and made to be seen. 

When he opened his eyes again, Eros's fingers had traced their way up to his collarbone. Plutus clenched his jaw and waited for a kiss that didn't come. "I'll make a few calls." His voice had become low, breathy. "Here should be fine. I don't feel like traveling far today." 

Usually a patient man, Plutus couldn't resist speeding up to get what he wanted. He closed the gap between them to press a passionate kiss to his lips, grunting in satisfaction.
Daniel
Eros knew the sensation of a frenzied touch as mortal men knew of inevitable death. He had known desire from birth, and could not go without the lingering eyes of longing, calling to him in silent tongues that he understood best. On those very few nights that he slept alone, he felt bare, in ways that closely demanded discomfort. It was his mother's offering, to be eternally adored. Eros trespassed the space of others as if he had conspicuous ownership, and beckoned beings into his bed fervently. The god's silken sheets were a sanctuary, the eradication of distress and monotony. He smelt of the bloom of a well–kept garden; Eros was the gifted bouquet that could not wither, and admirers tucked their faces into his flesh as a reminder.
⠀
Quietly, Eros understood that the touch of Plutus was one of exceptional eccentricity. It, truly, kept Eros feathery and besotted. The contact of his divine hands was weighted with something especially carnal, and in their balanced state as equals, Eros felt enlivened. The god of love stared up at him with enough temptation to induce nausea— pupils large and engaged, lashes full and idyllic. He felt more of a likeness to a sculpture in the arms of Plutus, properly admired and seen. The lips upon his neck were a remedy for the short time Eros had spent without him. With a pleasured smile, he tilted his head to encourage his embrace. Eros would have been made content to present himself at their lush party dressed in bites and bruises. It was the indication of a sentient desire, and he wore it without shame.
⠀
The bite was not brutal enough for the reception of pain, but it was enough to rile him. He hummed when Plutus recoiled, with eyes that fluttered open, unaware that they had blissfully closed. Eros traced little shapes into Plutus's skin, reminiscent of faraway stars. The foreign hand to his hip kept him stimulated, and Eros would have sealed such insufferable distance with a kiss if it weren't for his continued dialogue.
⠀

"I could think of a few things, yes," Eros purred, watching him. He kept a touch so airy that it often tempted mortals to slumber after a night of tireless love–making. He would trace below the divots of their eyes, attuned to their dreams of him that would follow. It was only Plutus, however, that lingered in his dreams. The god brushed the tip of his nose to the other's, with a voice so close and crisp that it demanded intimacy. "Every fantasy of mine would force you to shower for a second time." His hand traced the band of Plutus's briefs, and if it weren't for his inclinations to their back–and–forth waltz, he would have done more than that.
⠀
The depths of the god's voice carved lacerations through the air. It excited Eros, and he wanted *More*. His hand kept a position on Plutus's chest, pleased with the decisions made. An excitable kiss flattened the tension of their proximity— one of his hands touched his neck, with the chill of his silver rings being the contrast to his fleshly warmth.
⠀
"As you desire," Eros took Plutus's bottom lip between his teeth, pulling gently. Their lips reconnected with the motions of shallow water, steady and faultless. His tongue invaded the banker's mouth, enough to provoke frustration. When he pulled away, Eros remained close, a hand reaching to feel the god's curls. He touched him as if he were constructed by the gold that he kept infinitely at his disposal. "Let me show you what I can do for you. Hmm?" Eros slid a portion of the robe from his shoulder to expose his skin, planting a kiss there.
Francisco
Plutus practically devoured his lover's lips with a hunger that bordered insanity. He was starved for affection, but Eros always provided him with exactly what he wanted. What he *Needed.* He found himself getting lost in his familiar taste, in the sensations that filled his body to the core and made him shiver despite the warmth that took over his skin. He only pulled back to take a breath, and even that was too far, so he kept his forehead pressed against Eros's, their noses gently grazing. 

"Then what are you waiting for?" He asked, wrapping his arms fully around his lover's and breaking any distance left between them. "Give me a good reason to shower again." The words came out muffled as he pressed several more kisses to the crook of Eros's neck, leaving more nibbling marks to claim the god of carnal love as his own. 

He felt hands on his briefs and pressed closer, urging his lover on, but was met with disappointment when it wasn't taken any further. He knew the game. Eros was a tease - a foil to Plutus's well-manicured control. Every touch, every kiss, every sway of his hips was a test to patience that the god of wealth claimed to have. Eros always had a way of pushing him to his limits in the best way possible. 

Plutus leaned forward as Eros tugged his bottom lip, and immediately took over the kiss as soon as their lips reconnected. Tongues engaged in a dance for dominance before Eros pulled away again, drawing a longing grunt from Plutus's throat - frustrated, *Wanting.* He was breathing fast and heavy, his heart starting to speed up from the brief contact, and it took all of his willpower not to immediately yank Eros back in for another kiss.

No, he let the god of love have his way as he caught his breath, regained his composure. Eros touched his hair and tugged at his robe all while Plutus's golden eyes followed beautiful blues, lost for a brief moment. He calmed down, reminded himself of who he was, and then finally smirked. 

"Don't just show me, darling," He said as he gripped Eros's hips a little tighter to spin them in a brief dance, switching their positions so that Eros's back was to his bed. "I'm going to need a hands-on demonstration." He shoved Eros back before following him onto the bed, moving to straddle his hips. He leaned over him, his face only inches from the god of love's. "Now. Where were we?"
Alexandra
``. . . Fade to black. End scene.``