#radakano

(AU set in Atlantis, because I can excuse my own historical inaccuracy slash care less about it if it's set in a completely fictional place. I had the hardest time picking a setting for this one, anon.)

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Rhadamanthys, high priest of the largest temple in Atlantis of Hades, Lord of the Underworld, has a problem. His lesser priests are shameless in teasing him about it. Sylphid and Valentine, disgustingly adorable couple that they are, are particularly fixated upon it.

"So, mighty Wyvern, are you still pining for your Sea Dragon today, or have you decided to man up and seduce him yet?” Sylphid saunters up to him, already kitted out for the Rite of Spring.

"Shut up, Sylphid,” he growls, but the other man just laughs.

"Valentine has a new toga for you, to help you look your best for him,” Sylphid smiles winningly. Rhadamanthys is exhausted, having just finished up the rites he was responsible for in preparation for the Rite of Spring, glad that Aiacos is handling their part in the ceremonial part of the festival. He admits having a fresh toga already selected for him is nice.

"Very well,” he grumbles, and Sylphid whisks him away to throw him to the tender mercies of Valentine.

They vanish on him when they actually get to the festival, but he's tired, so he doesn't care. Until he turns a flower-encrusted corner and bumps into the very man he Is definitely not trying to avoid.

"Kanon,” he greets, trying not to notice how beautifully the flowers braided into his hair and wreathing his head in a crown set off his golden mane and golden skin. Bright blue eyes flash with wicked humor.

"Rhadamanthys, well don't you look a moment away from falling flat on your face. Here, have some wine.” Kanon pours some wine from the skin he's carrying into a clay cup, and presses it into his hands. Rhadamanthys tries not to feel embarrassed or flustered, and accepts it with grace, drinking deeply.

"That's a fine wine. Where did you find it?” He asks, passing the cup back after delicately wiping where his mouth touched. Kanon laughs.

"I got it from the priests of Dionysus, where else?” He claps Rhadamanthys’s shoulder. “Late ritual?” He says, and it sounds commiserating. Rhadamanthys isn't sure where this sudden camaraderie is springing from, but he likes it, surprising though it be.

"Yes, I was up several hours before the sun, completing the rites of departure. A solemn ceremony of mourning.” He explains simply. Kanon is a priest of Poseidon, after all, and doesn't need to know all the duties of a priest of Hades. Kanon nods.

“Well, there's more wine if you need it. And there's rumor stirring that Persephone’s priestesses and Dionysus’s priests are arranging an orgy in Persephone’s sacred glade. Spring rituals, right?” He chuckles, and Rhadamanthys eyes him thoughtfully.

"Are you planning to attend?” He asks, aiming for casual and landing squarely in rumbling suggestion as he reaches out and catches a free lock of golden hair, winding it about his finger. Kanon’s eyes fall half-lidded as he regards Rhadamanthys with heavy intent.

"Unless you make me a better offer. I hear tell they call you Wyvern, much like they call me Sea Dragon. Why is that, Rhadamanthys?” He purrs, and his mouth curls in a wicked smirk. Rhadamanthys steps closer, pulling on that lock of hair, and this close he sees he's actually taller than the Sea Dragon, which pleases him viscerally.

"Are you sure you can handle it, golden boy,” he murmurs, dark and smoky and laden with promise.

"Well, if you keep looking at me like that we won't make it to a bed.” Kanon drawls, saucy and smirking. Rhadamanthys bares his teeth in a slow smile. He's been at the festival a while now, has picked up a few things. Including a blessed jar of oil. They're giving them away, after all. Kanon’s wearing a chiton, instead of a toga today, and it doesn't quite reach his knees, the tease. They walk with tension sparking deliciously between them, finishing Kanon’s skin of wine, and the brew is definitely Dionysian in nature. Kanon seems bound and determined to undress Rhadamanthys before they even get to one of their houses. Rhadamanthys pushes him into his house just as he manages to unwrap the folds, and Rhadamanthys just barely catches his purse before it falls with his clothes.

He's barefoot, as is proper on one of Persephone’s holy days. He unties his loincloth and relishes in the way Kanon’s eyes go dark with lust. He pulls the vial free and wets his fingers, pushing Kanon up against the wall with his body, pressing a thigh between his until the priest of Poseidon obediently spreads his legs. He pushes up Kanon’s chiton, and somehow isn't surprised when he isn't wearing a loincloth. He presses his fingers in one at a time, slow and ruthless as Kanon bucks and whines and claws at the wall, swearing at him viciously. Finally he pulls his fingers free and slicks his cock, lining up.

"Ready?” He growls, and Kanon presses back against him.

"I've been ready, Rhada,” he growls, and Rhadamanthys smirks, before driving fully into him, quick enough to make the blond scream for him. “Fuck, Rhadamanthys!” He wails, clutching at the wall. Rhadamanthys takes that as a suggestion and sets the pace quick and deep. Kanon is hot and tight around him, despite ample preparation, and the desperate noises he makes are music to his ears.