The Goddess of Love rolled about, purring suggestively and wearing desire all over her face. "Need I a reason to rest in our marital bed, beloved?" she cooed.

"This is not our marital bed. This is my bed. The other was reduced to ash when I lost control of my forge."

Hephaestus never lost control of his forge.

"Oh." Genuinely surprised, the goddess looked closely at the surface of the bed. "Really? I could have sworn-"

"It is a small matter for a craftsman of my caliber to create a fitting facsimile," Hephaestus interrupted. "Even so, it is mine. I would have you rise from it and leave me in peace. With haste, if you would."

Aphrodite adopted an exaggerated pout that only succeeded in drawing a look of disgust from the blacksmith god, and he turned his back to her to busy himself with the task of sorting through some of the various trinkets and baubles he had made. He hobbled over to a chest beside the beige wall and pulled it open. The luminous treasures within added their luster to the dim lighting of his bedchamber.

"Why are you so cruel to me, beloved?" whined the goddess. "Have your passions for me grown cold so quickly?"

"You know that I am not one for your games. If you want something, say so. If you have no request to make, then be gone."

She twiddled her thumbs and glanced away to one of the inert maidens. They really were rather brilliant creations, she thought, though she found it unnerving how closely the one that had caught her eye resembled her.

She shook her head. "Well, since you insist, there is one thing."

"Another fine adornment for the Goddess of Vainglory?"

Aphrodite scoffed and flipped her burnished locks. "The nerve of you! I rule no such sphere."

Hephaestus chortled. "What a humorous notion that is," he said as he lifted a ring of silver between his index and his thumb to hold it up before his eye. "Must I be the one to educate this foolish goddess?"

"You insult me even as I am present with you!"

"So you would prefer I insult you in your absence?"

"I-. Well, no. Of cours-"

Hephaestus whipped about with a gaze that burned into her like the coals of his furnace. "You think yourself the goddess of all goddesses, yet your function is little greater than the gemstones you wear: a fine trinket to hold, to display, to draw the envy of others. As every treasure not forged by these hands, you are doomed to lose your luster in time.

The Goddess of Love betrayed her station to return his bitter glare, her grip on her affectionate façade slipping with each slight he launched her way. She huffed and pouted and pushed back so she could fold her arms. She crossed her legs over an edge of his bed.

"I desire a weapon," she admitted.

Briefly, Hephaestus paused. "Is that right?" he asked halfheartedly, soon after sifting once more through his belongings.

"Yes. A mortal soldier has proved worthy of my blessing."

"A soldier?"

"Yes, a soldier. The Delphic Oracle has prophesied a great destiny for him, and I wish to present him a fitting token of my favor. Is it not your station to fulfill such requests when the Gods of Olympus come forward with them?"

"Aye, it well and truly is," spoke Hephaestus, who seemed to calm somewhat with her admission. He shrugged, turned, and dropped the silver ring back into the chest. He then gripped the first thing his hand could reach--a stark black necklace inlaid with rubies--and tossed it at Aphrodite. The goddess only scarcely managed to catch it before it struck her full in the face.

"There you are," he said curtly. "Give that to the boy, with my regards, of course."

Aphrodite held the necklace out from her, her delicate eyebrows drawing together as she studied its features. She held it close up to her face, then extended her arms again. "What is it?" she asked.

"A necklace."

"Well, obviously. What kind of necklace?"

"It’s an onyx necklace."

She narrowed her eyes at the intransigent God of the Forge, who managed to conceal just how much he was enjoying his little game. He smirked, she glowered, and for a while, neither spoke. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to break, Aphrodite broke the silence.

"In the name of Ouranos, out with it!" she exclaimed. "What blessing does it carry? How was it made? What does it do?"

"I crafted it atop my lofty forge on Etna," Hephaestus responded. He performed a grand, sweeping gesture, squinting and frowning as he told his tale. "Oh, I hammered and huffed and hewed and hawed, and I toiled through the day and night. And when Helios next gave his light to the vast continent, I stood triumphant, for I had forged a necklace of grave infernal power! He who wears it, immortal or not, can never die, nor even be harmed, for it is blessed of Hades, hammered into being from the very shit of Cerberus himself!"

"Agh!” Aphrodite hastily threw the necklace to the ground and drew back as if it would become a snake to strike at her. While she beat her hands against the surface of the bed to free them of any unwanted residue, Hephaestus lost himself, bursting into a hearty round of laughter that nearly shook him from his footing. He limped backwards to lean against his armoire for extra support, freeing up a hand to wipe from his eyes the tears eventually brought on by his mirth.

Not at all amused, Aphrodite slid off of the bed and stomped away from it. "How dare you, you foul oaf! I touched that abomination with my bare hands!” She hastened to his fountain to cleanse herself, scrubbing her hands emphatically in the pure spring water.

"Quite so!" Hephaestus said through his laughter. "You can rest easy. As I said, it is just a necklace. I forged it from coal and iron in my spare time. It’s nothing special at all."

Viciously, the goddess shook the water from her hands and turned on her heel to face Hephaestus. "I have had quite enough!" she said. "Will you make my champion a proper gift or not?"

"You know that I do not forge weapons for mortal hands. My works are produced by undying hands, and only undying hands should possess them. At best, I could give something to you, and you could let another borrow it for a time. But, I will not."

Still chuckling quietly, Hephaestus tightened his grip on his cane as he struggled over to his now empty bed. He dropped onto the soft, silky surface in complete surrender, his muscles colliding with it like a sack of heavy stones dropped onto the dirt. Peace and comfort washed over him. He sighed and he moaned, his cane slipping from his grasp. Aphrodite watched him intently. Teeth of pearl pressed down on her soft pink lip.

"Why not?"

"You know very well why not. You come seeking the fruits of my domain while I still have yet to enjoy the fruits of Love. You ask and take and never give. If you desire my favor, then perhaps offer me yours."

"Like so?"

Hephaestus inhaled sharply, surprised by the tender caress against his rough and hairy abdomen. The goddess was upon him before he could blink, one hand on his chest and the other curling through his hair while the rest of her immaculate form pressed longingly against him.

Tense muscles turned to butter as he inhaled the subtle fragrance of Aphrodite’s hair. She smiled gently, nuzzling against his burly shoulder. "Shall I earn my prize, beloved?"

The weight of countless years of fatigue was made manifest in Hephaestus’ prolonged groan. He squirmed, but did not move away. "Why do you torment me?" he asked.

"Is it torment to lie beside your wife? Am I not entitled to hold my husband close?"

"A thousand times we have lain here like this, and a thousand times I have been left wanting. I tell you and tell you again, only leave me be. I want nothing of you, and you will receive nothing from me."

"You speak of denial, love," she whispered, "and yet, I can hear desire in your voice. I can feel it in your aching bones. I can nearly taste it.” She brushed her lips against him, and he inhaled again. He chanced a glance at her, and when she raised her face, he shot up suddenly.

"No!" he exclaimed. "It is finished. I have long since conquered such weakness. You speak of the longing of Ares, or Zeus, or even the odd Messenger. I have risen above such petty passions. You hold no sway over me, beloved."

He turned so that his lame leg hung over the edge of the bed, still weary, but unwilling to lie beside her. "Leave me before I lose my temper."

Aphrodite’s face fell. She pushed up and supported herself on her right hand, her features darkening until she was staring daggers into the back of her lame and dispassionate husband. "What do you want?" she asked him.

"I want you to leave," he replied.

"That’s not what I’m asking. I came here to secure your promise to craft a weapon for my champion. Despite your pretenses of condescension toward mortals, I know that you have lent your gifts to mortal men before. If you do not want me, then what do you want from me? What will it take to earn your favor?"

The low rumble of the forge god's laughter elicited a raised eyebrow from Aphrodite. She leaned over further in an effort to see his face, to determine if his laughter indicated a sudden change in temperament or an early warning that he was near to snapping. He felt her move and turned away from her, thought better of it, and turned back. Sure enough, he showed off coal-stained teeth and a brightened gaze, though his laughter rang bitter against her ears.

Aphrodite's frown only grew more pronounced. "Have I amused you?" she asked.

"Quite so, dearest," Hephaestus replied. "Surely, you can see the irony."