#fromolympus

Carlo felt at ease with Renato. Their shared European roots, at the very least, helped give them a more direct link than with some of the others. The Italian even spoke fluent Spanish which made communication even easier —he really was an Angeleno after all— and better yet, it meant he could indulge himself some dirty talk in the other man's Mother tongue.

"SI, papi... qué rico—"

His strokes are methodical, but not languid. A real personal trainer through and through. He's used to fucking people with an expectation of luck bestowed upon them as well, and it's not a passive experience. It needs to be intentional. And if he's gonna have sex with Renato, why not throw in a bonus for him? Friends help friends get lucky, literally and figuratively.

In Grant's short time here, he picked up on something that perhaps shouldn't have surprised him: the children of each God all seemed to have specific stereotypes associated with them. He noticed this among all of his fellow Demeter-ites; a certain down-to-Earth quality one would expect from such a figure. The children of Aphrodite, on the other hand...

It would be rude to call them "whores," especially given Grant's side hustle, at the very least all of them were alluring and sensual. So much so that even a straight man like Grant couldn't ignore them

That's what he told himself when he found himself jerking off for Alejo. In some ways this was no different than what he did for his OnlyFans subscribers, but actually having someone watch do it in person, someone he didn't plan to fuck afterward...

This didn't make him gay or anything, just to be clear.

While he didn't participate in this years Games, he was more than eager to join in on the partying that took place afterwards. The Games were just an excuse for half of the island to get shit faced drunk and party on the beach, nobody really kept tally of who won or lost every year anyway. It was a reminder for them all to have fun between all the training they had to do and saving the world. 

Dorian was sitting on the beach besides one of the many fires that had been lit, a guitar in his hand and idly playing it with no rhythm or reason. “Crimson red like the blood that floods our homes, sapphire blue like the waves that wash away the bodiesssss.” He started singing, to himself more than anyone else, it was no secret that Dorian wasn't anywhere as musically inclined as some of his brothers.