Gerovit, a more than three-thousand-year-old immortal Slavic god, glared annoyingly at his pulsing member. As every year, it stood proudly, waving triumphantly at springtime once again. If it did not threaten to cause him perpetual pain, he would snip the thing off, no other thought against the idea. Still, the dreadful thing thrived while he suffered.
The calendar announced 20th March twenty-twenty exactly twelve hours ago. Another soul-mate calling to torment him, winding him into insanity; however, he did not dare move from the comfort of his cold bathwater embracing his clenched, weakened muscles. Even if he burned from fever and sweat covered him from head to toenail, he would remain; He would avoid yet another soul mate, presumably some other brainless chit who blushed at every syllable he pronounced.
For centuries, his curse forbade him ruling the Slavic region during the spring as a proper duke, proper and capable god should do. Gerovit was reduced to employ and instruct others to carry out his responsibilities, preparing for the most productive and the busiest season of the year. The demigods were pristine, yet his guilt was endless. No words could explain the endless appreciation for his duties; a noble hero of the spring, worshipped by many Slavs, became a coward, hiding from the very sun.
He withstood two miserable springs locked inside, choosing to suffer the deficiency of a soul mate willingly, gladly. Another three months of this evil season awaited him.
Not that he was planning to survive that long.
Nevertheless, Gerovit was ever so grateful for running water, ice and owning perhaps the most enormous bath in the Orava Castle. As every year, he was to suffer through the baths every hour, possibly twelve hours a day. It was painfully obvious, he had not come out of the tub since yesterday. His prune fingers throbbed painfully, however, the pain was almost soothing as he slid his eyes towards the ceiling, garnished with archaic, Christian paintings.
What a paradox indeed.
The Christian Archangels called them the peacock dukes, him and his six brothers. Hated on them since the beginning of Proto-Slavs in seventh century BC, and yet, he still had their perfectly painted faces on his bathroom ceiling; the room he occupied the most.
If only they saw him throbbing for touch, the pure archangels would be disgusted, perhaps they would die of that exact disgust. Gerovit almost laughed at the absurdity of his thoughts.
The room was soundless, soberly silent, even his laboured breathing could not destroy its clutches. Gerovit, however, enjoyed the silence more than he did the voices of his regrets, the memories of the cruel words of his ex-soulmates or even any meaningless chatter. The silence was his succour, and he embraced it lovingly as he fastened his eyes tightly for a couple of minutes. He meditated, forgetting his troubles even if it was for a mere small moment.
'You know, Gerovit, you look pale. Perhaps we should buy you a tanning bed?‛
Gerovit opened his relaxed, deep-set electric-blue eyes and lazily lifted his head from the headrest. Sweat droplets covered his forehead profoundly, and his tightly clenched mouth was prominent. Even shivers were bothering him at that point in time.
He glared at the interruption of his peace as one of his brothers, Dugnai, who was carrying a tray filled with perfectly arranged food, walked inside the spacious marble bathroom. Even coffee and sparkling water were adorning the colossal oval dish.
'You seem overly eager to visit me every hour. Are you sure you don't want a taste? I can make some extensive leakage of cum if you want,‛ Gerovit said tightly with a smirk.
'Stop being obnoxious. You should be glad at least one of your brothers bothers with you. Those other fuckeries are who knows where, and I am stuck here with the servants while you are here bathing twenty-four-seven.‛
'Fuckeries, is not a word brother,‛ Gerovit said jokingly, observing his brother's misty grey eyes twitch with annoyance.
'It is now you Twit, get over it. Seriously though, do you know how lonely it is? Talking to the servants is like talking to a wall, very empty.‛
Gerovit could not help but roll his eyes at his brother's complaining. While he was in constant suffering each spring if he did not find a mortal soulmate, who would most likely die within months of their first encounter, the others were free of curses. Mayhap his six brothers were forced to carry one demon each from the deathly sins, but unlike him, they were curse free. For them, it felt more like a pleasure each time they became their demons.
Once upon a time, Gerovit was the same way.
Unfortunately, not any more, all thanks to his "dadio" dearest, who was bored enough to curse him. Instead of quenching his urges whenever and with whoever Gerovit wanted, he was forced to bring love and soulmates into the equation. Now, instead of sex being the purest and most natural thing in this universe, it became a punishment.
Something disgusting.
Something Gerovit did not want any more but still needed like a drug. As if it was the purest of heroin. Indeed, sex disgusted Gerovit because he was forced to love, while his soulmates never genuinely loved him back.
'Thou shalt loue purely whilst thy soulmates shalt lust, wither and die for eternity and beyond.‛ Gerovit recalled his father's words clearly as if it were recited yesterday.
The most malicious words could not describe the prominence of Gerovit's distaste for his father, for, he cruelly destroyed the meaning of a soulmate. Something ever so sacred was wrecked and dirtied as if it was the worst of blasphemies. His father had punished him for something he could not control. He unjustly punished him for sex, dirty, filthy yet ever so natural sex. Triglav had punished Gerovit for mere urges.
All because it embarrassed the father in front of the Christian deities. The ones who spread more hate than the candid pagan Slavs. The only somehow decent was Jesus and the others could burn in their hell; Lucifer would be more than happy to allow them in after the eternal banishment they bestowed upon him. Gerovit could just imagine the party Lucifer would throw, pink balloons included.
'Well, you should get used to me because those fuckeries,‛ Gerovit spat the last part, 'are all lucky enough to be able to live away from this shit-hole.‛
Gerovit coughed as another wave of a complex mix of arousal and pain hit him in his groin. He fastened his eyes briefly until it settled once again, 'at least you have someone to speak with. I only have my dick which will not go down even if I wank seven times in a row.‛
'Why don't you follow them if you envy them so much then?‚‛ Dugnai said with a glare.
'And leave the only doors keeping me from my disgusting soulmate? No thanks. I'd probably stick my dick in a dog or something on the way to my doom as well.‛
'Eww, you know I hate bestiality jokes. Should refrain from those if you want food.‛
'Please. Says the one with a melon kink,‛ Gerovit rolled his eyes, 'now be ever so kind and pass me that lovely tray,‛ Gerovit added after.
'That was one time,‛ Dugnai has mumbled.
However, he obeyed, carefully setting the loaded tray on a table made from Egyptian yellow marble levelled with the bath. Gerovit did not thank him. He merely hoisted himself into a proper sitting position, his face scrunched, reflecting the grave pain as he reached for a panini. At the first bite, his mouth turned into merciful heaven, and the taste buds were its devoted followers. No matter what, his brother's food never compared to another in the universe. He could make even the most boring foods such as a cheese and ham panini taste out-of-the-ordinary delicious.
At least Dugnai used his demon, Gluttony, for something productive. As the eldest of Triglav's sons, he was also the most decent in Gerovit's opinion. Yet even he recalled a time when all brothers were close, prior seven deadly sins settled in their bodies.
'I'm glad you like it brother but please don't choke,‛ Dugnai said with humour colouring his tone.
Gerovit looked down at the tray and realised two paninis were gone, devoured by his greedy acid-filled stomach. A generous portion of a fresh fruit bowl, fragrant coffee and the sparkling water remained. He sighed regretfully. If it carried on like this, he will look more round than father Christmas.
He looked at Dugnai sheepishly, 'if you don't shut up and allow me to eat in peace, I will definitely shove a melon in your mouth. Maybe this time it will choke you instead.‛'Stop with the melon kink jokes already. And please get out of the bath, so you don't end up becoming a plug-ugly merman. I'll put a film on, anything to get away from the brainless servants.‛
Gerovit chuckled. Those remarks about the servants will turn around to bite Dugnai one grand day.
'I'm not kink-shaming,‛ Gerovit laughed, 'but fine. As long as it's not one of your boring cooking shows, I don't mind a little change.‛
'Cooking shows are not boring,‛ Dugnai retorted and abruptly left the bathroom.
Gerovit chuckled at his words and shook his head, not minding one bit the chilled relationship he had with his brother. He would have got out of the bath straight away, however, hesitated when he felt a strange power rip through the steamed atmosphere of the bathroom. It seemed more arduous to breathe barely for a mere second until his lungs cleared once again.
'Do you know how fucking difficult it is to get through the impermeable layers of this castle, man?‛
Gerovit sat frozen in the bath as he stared at Himeros, the Greek god of sexual desires. The creature was practically naked, his silvery, transparent, feathery wings the dominating feature of the man, alongside the pale purple eyes and funny diaper-looking underwear. His body well-defined, his hair a lovely shiny blonde and his skin a porcelain white, clear of any blemishes.
'And where the fuck are we?‛ Himeros's brother, Eros asked as he appeared next.
Standing next to his brother, Eros wore ordinary clothes, a tailored suit and a red tie which strangely matched his ruddy, tousled hair. The similar purple eyes had appeared kinder yet Gerovit knew better than to trust the Greeks. They consisted of an arrogant and selfish community of gods.
'Orava castle.‛ Gerovit answered, yet doubted they grasped what that was.
As guessed, their purple eyes narrowed in confusion, and they stared at him as if waiting for him to elaborate, 'you know. Slovakia?! You should find out where you are teleporting to, before actually doing so.‛
'Well sorry for not knowing all the countries in the world,‛ Himeros said.
'A person would expect someone who lived for millenniums to open the world atlas at least once in their existence,‛ Gerovit said. He could not believe he was engaging in a casual conversation with strangers in his predicament.
'What does that Titan have to do with anything?‛
Gerovit looked surprised as he glared at Himeros. He was becoming piqued with the two, 'tell me, oh so important Greek deities. Why did you feel the need to grace me with your precious presence?‛
'Don't appreciate your sarcasm pagan,‛ Eros said.
Gerovit realised who was slightly more clever from the duo, 'aren't we all pagans, though?‛
'And please get out of the bath and put some clothes on! I'm struggling to maintain a rational conversation while your dick is hanging out for fuck's sake,‛ Eros exclaimed.
'I see. You should get out of the closet while you are at it. Even your consort will be relieved to get rid of you,‛ Gerovit said sardonically.
Eros frowned and clutched Gerovit's helpless arm tightly, swiftly hauling him out of the bath. It looked virtually effortless as Eros tumbled him on the floor and busted Gerovit's head on the marble step next to the tub. Gerovit felt truly weak, his immortality almost faded and non-existent. He could merely stare at Eros, his eyes dull and fading away just as his slowly withering body. Gerovit had known he was allowed a week at most before he turned utterly mortal.
And to turn mortal meant certain death, for, no one had ever seen a thousand or more year old mortal still well and breathing. Once Gerovit's last cell turned mortal, he will turn to a rotting corpse. Unless someone developed something to transform corpses into zombies, he would remain deceased.
Gerovit dreamed of that blissful moment every solitary night he closed his eyes. He dreamed about his death. He dreamed about his escape from the loveless existence. He dreamed about simple, perfect, non-existence.
His dream so close, Gerovit could almost touch its coarse texture.
'Fuck, you are way too weak. Get dressed and meet us downstairs,' Eros said and threw an orange towel he picked up from the floor at Gerovit's face.
Gerovit glared at him and continued to glare at the same spot even when the door of the bathroom closed behind the obnoxious brothers. Typical Greeks, causing drama wherever they placed their arrogant feet. Once the pain in his head ceased as his injury finally healed, he picked himself up. His annoying penis still stood proud, unpleasantly reminding him of its relentless presence, as he wiped dry with rough strokes. His skin was almost raw when he finished and threw his orange towel on the polished marble floor by his feet.
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