#soyl

You're distracted by the shifting of light, a willow tree, hanging over the water, perched near the water's edge, throwing long lines of shadows over the boat and him. You look up, captivated by the sunlight for what always feels like the first time.

The feather-veined leaves touch your shoulder as the boat moves through the long hanging branches. A soft hush as the leaves scrape the side of the boat, and then you're inside its protective curtain.

It's darker here, and your eyes work on overtime trying to readjust to the drop in light intensity.

And then you see it.

A small square of red blanket in the distance, on the small jutting of land beside the roots of the willow tree. A wicker basket, a bouquet of flowers, an array of pillows. A picnic.

Designed by him, is your first thought, that brings heat to your face and delight to your heart.

You turn back to look at him, smiling, not willing to hide the absolute pleasure you feel because of him. You want him to know- that he's made you happier beyond reason.

The boat comes to a stop beside the land. The boat rocks as Will gets out, and extends a hand out to you. You stand shakily, one hand reaching for him, and the other on your bag. He pulls you up easily, and moves to the blanket. You toe your shoes off, watching as he settles himself on the blanket, his cloak parting down the middle to give you a glimpse of his bare abdomen, and the trail of hair that dips into his pants.

You kneel beside him, the blanket is so soft that you feel no hardness of the ground below.

You settle beside him, the basket between you, and watch as he removes his mask. You simmer with heat looking at him. The breathtaking planes of his face, the wild order of his hair, as if he used his fingers to push it back fairly recently.

"I brought wines, and different things to try with them."

He opens the wicker basket, and begins to methodically unpack things. All manner of fruits and cheeses, some cuts of meat that smell delicious and various dried fruits and nuts.

Left behind, are an array of small glass bottles you can only assume are the wines.

Will presents a wine glass to you, keeping the other in his hand, and you blink in shock.

The glass is hand painted with tiny roses and swirling green leaves.

"This is beautiful." You murmur, examining the glass carefully. "Did you make these?"

"No, I had them made a long time ago, but they have never been used until today."

What a shame, you think, saddened at the thought of two beautiful glasses, gathering dust in a cupboard somewhere.

He tugs a small bottle out of the basket, and pops it open, pouring a bit into your glass and then his.

"I wonder if you can tell which fruit I've used, just by the flavour?" He asks.

You shrug, giving the ruby coloured wine a sniff before taking a sip. It's sweet and tangy, and you love the flavour, but you can't give him an answer.

"I have no idea." You say with a smile, and he returns it, with subtle curve of his mouth. He raises his glass, taking a slow sip.

"Pomegranate." He finally says, and you look down at your glass.

"How very Hades and Persephone of you." You tease, "Un-less you're not familiar with that myth?"

"Myth?" William asks, leaning back onto one elbow, biting into a small block of cheese, before draining his glass, "I knew Persephone. Intimately. Before she met Hades."

Your mouth drops open.

"What?" You gasp in disbelief.

His eyes dart to yours.

It's the first time he manages to look shy about a topic.

"I mean, yes? We were.... occasional lovers."

"Is she beautiful?" You ask, curiously, trying not to be jealous of his time with a beautiful goddess lifetimes ago.

"Quite." He answers simply, "And Hades isn't too bad himself, they make each other better."

"That's amazing." You respond, lost in thought, looking at your little reflection in the wine.

"Here," he says leaning forward, lifting a strawberry to your mouth. You take a bite, sipping the rest of your wine, appreciating the flavours.

You hum in delight.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" You say, midway into your third glass of wine. Cherry wine this time, a beautiful pink colour, swirling in your glass. You turn and reach for your bag, tugging the pretty book of architecture out.

"I was- ah- wondering about what types of styles you liked. Just curious."

You move in close to him, until your shoulders touch, placing the book on your lap and opening it up. He peers interestingly into the glossy pages.

There's images from every era, and he runs his fingers adoringly over some of the pictures, telling you small tidbits of what he liked and didn't fancy too much.

"They're all lovely in their own way," he says, when you point out that he hasn't said he dislikes any. He even appreciates the modern architecture with its minimalistic designs.

"Considering that you like every season, I don't know what I was expecting." You tease, dropping your head onto his shoulder.

He lets out an amused laugh.

"Alright, Alright, I think one of my favourites has to be this." He says, pointing to Japanese styled architecture, images with curles roofs and sliding doors and beautiful gardens. You take in what he says and murmurs your appreciation for his choice.

"I like this," you say, showing him images, of rustic architecture, with a rough, aged, natural design, topped with cozy fireplaces.

"Of course you would, it's like you were born to live in a forest."

You blink up at him, in something of surprise and self-realization.

"Is it the forest?" You murmur out loud, saying it more to yourself than to him.

"Or is it just....away."

His eyes are warm and filled with understanding.

"Maybe both?" He whispers.

And then you can't take it anymore. Pushing your body higher, to press your mouth to his. You sigh in bliss as you meet his mouth, before drawing back to allow him a choice. A chance to say no to the desperate mortal aching for the taste of a god.

You make a sound of satisfaction when his lips chase yours, his body melding seamlessly against you. His arm wraps around your waist, and he curls into you, so that you're pressed securely to him, as if he can't bear the thought of being separated from you for another moment- or so you hope. His other hand cups your cheek, and you can't resist sinking your fingers into his hair. He moans into your mouth, and you swallow the sound gratefully, taking the opportunity to gently caress his tongue with yours.

It's the very first taste of him, and your reaction is pure instinct. You tug him closer, until he's leaning over you, captivated by the taste of his tongue. It's the sweetest ambrosia, filling your mind with the very essence of him. Each taste you get reminds you of something different, warm chocolate, delectable peaches, sweet wine, until you're pleasure drunk on the very taste of his tongue. You suck his plump bottom lip into your mouth, tugging at it gently with your teeth until he's hissing, his large hand palming at your thigh over your jeans, and you wish you'd had the forethought to wear a dress today. His hand drifts higher, to cup your rear, his tongue exploring your mouth just as eagerly, just as fervently as you explore his.

Kiss after kiss- you know what he can taste- the cherry wine, and of all the things he's offered you today, you think his mouth pairs the best with wine.

The kisses slow after you've had the feverish need sated for each other, and what's left behind is no less sizzling. The pace may have slowed down, but the passion only increases with time.

The wind blows in your ear, the water makes its gentle swishing sound, but it's William that steals your senses.

He pushes you back, and you go willingly, until you lie against the soft blankets with his body on top of yours. You tug at his cloak, unlacing it and half pushing it off his back so that you can catch the feeling of his smooth skin. You run your nails gently over his shoulders and into his hair, loving the way he groans in response to your wandering hands.