Work Text:
Niobe stood on the top step of the amphitheater. The ends of her hair brushed against the nape of her neck, the spring air warm against her skin. She looked at Xenia, sitting neatly underneath the awning with a pen in hand, the tightness of her shoulders. She hesitated, feeling the pull of her isolated studio, the comfort of concrete walls and the smell of wet clay underneath her fingernails, the heat of the kiln a comforting warmth compared to the chill of her handlers.
But, it needed to be done. Niobe bent over and planted her hands on her knees, centering herself with a deep breath.
Xenia slighted her head at the sound of her sandals stepping closer.
“Are you busy?” Niobe rubbed at her forearm.
“Is that an actual question?” Xenia placed her pen down, turning to face her.
“Ah— no. It’s just… the dress is ready. You should probably try it on.”
“Oh. Right now, I’m assuming?”
Niobe nodded, shifting onto one foot.
She began sorting her papers, looking for a paper clip. Niobe waited, watching the sluggish movement of the clouds. It was a beautiful day, she lamented, wishing for the blue-green waters of her childhood.
“Lead the way,” Xenia said.
They walked to the studio in silence, past the glass cases of simulacra, into hidden spaces, leaving the two of them to be alone.
“Here,” Niobe carefully picked up the dress and handed it to her. Xenia gathered the detail in her hand, admiring the mirror of molten rock — a tempest underneath the surface waiting to emerge.
“Do you have a place for me to change?”
“You can change here.”
“Well, can you, I don’t know, step out?”
Niobe eyed her then turned around.
“What?” Xenia asked, incredulous. “You want me to change with you in the room?”
She shrugged. “I’m not looking.”
She stared at her back, biting her tongue to avoid another waste of time.
“Fine.” She pulled her dress over her head, careful of her hair. “I thought Greeks were just like Americans when it came to nudity.”
She felt around for the side zipper of Persephone’s dress, pulling it down.
“You’re the one who has us on a tight schedule.” Niobe waved her hand. “Why waste the time?”
Xenia narrowed her eyes, pausing when she stepped into the dress — only Niobe had the gall to push her, always like a resistant dog on a chain. She pulled the dress up over her hips, feeling it cling to her body, then slipped her arm into the sleeve, finagling the zipper.
“Wow,” she looked down at the dress. “Niobe, this is gorgeous.”
“Really?” Niobe’s tone sounded taken aback. Unsure.
“Really.”
Niobe turned to face her, taking in the dress on her, lingering.
“I thought you just painted, I didn’t realize you were so good at costumes too.”
Niobe began toying with the dress. Her quick fingers adjusted the thin red fabric that began at her hips, the flow of blood and fruit, tips of her fingers brushing against the skin of her thigh.
“My father’s a tailor. I spent a lot of time helping him when I was a child.”
“Huh,” Xenia said, imagining her as a child, accidentally pricking the needles against her finger, embroidered art turning into the passion of a canvas. Niobe adjusted the strap over her shoulder then took a step back. “Well, what do you think?”
Xenia smoothed the dress down, past her waist.
“It looks great.” She turned back to her desk.
“That’s it? ‘It looks great’?”
“What? What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Beautiful, gorgeous. I saw your look.”
“My look?”
“You were just eying me!”
Niobe ran her hands over her face. “Can I just get back to my work? I don’t want to discuss this right now.”
“Who says we have to discuss it?”
Niobe breathed out a sigh of relief.
“In fact, why don’t we rehearse? There’s a few more things we need to go over.”
“But, I’m—“
“Get your costume on and meet me down in the throne room. That’s a demand, by the way, not a request.”
Xenia didn’t give her a chance to respond as she left studio. Left there alone, Niobe bowed her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She put all her weight on the palms on the desk, the demand sitting in the pit of her stomach: a Gordian knot she couldn’t begin to untangle.
“It’s fine,” she told herself, searching for her dress. “Maybe she actually wants to rehearse. It’s fine.”
Wherever Thanos was, she knew he was watching her: his presence fixed on her back following her navigation through the sets, her dress a new form of skin, molding her into a new person, someone grand, someone who doesn’t grow lost in the darkness.
The throne felt cool in her hand as she palmed the curve of the arm, lulled into a contemplation; three colleagues, all dolls that she could push and pull, bend to her will. The world, her stage, the narrative fitting her like the dress, she told herself every day.
She sat upon the throne, the fiery set an indulgence on her part. She tipped her head back, rubbing the arm.
The footfalls of Niobe’s steps were near-silent over the bubbling lava. She carried her script in hand, approaching her with a look of confusion.
“Okay. I'm here. I’m not sure why we can’t practice where we normally practice,” she muttered.
“You really don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“Why you’re here,” Xenia motioned between them. “In my throne room.”
Niobe stood there, gripping the script in her hand.
“You’re so scared. Don’t you trust me?”
“Trust isn’t how I would put it.”
Xenia laughed and she failed to see the humor in it. Perspiration began forming on the back of Niobe’s neck, lava's heat enveloping her. Xenia had not broken a sweat.
“Forget the script.” Xenia said. “Put it down.”
Niobe looked at the collection of papers—corrections lined in the margins, the frustrated comments for her only. She leaned down to place it on the ground.
“Now,” Xenia patted her thigh. “Come here.”
Without hesitation, Niobe walked over to her, standing before her, watching Xenia observing the plush shape of her body until she met her, the flickers of the set lights of the Underworld reflected in her eyes.
Niobe smoothed her dress behind her and sat herself down.
“This is embarrassing,” she muttered.
“Hmm. But you’re still doing it, aren’t you?”
Xenia’s fingers traced the line of her neck leading to the shape of her shoulder.
“I don’t want to know what’ll happen if I don’t.”
“You think I’m that cruel?”
Xenia toys with the curly ends of her hair, wrapping a finger around a strand, pulling it, letting it bounce back into place. Niobe shuddered.
Her fingers ran across the jut of her collarbone, following downward until she cupped her clothed breast. Niobe let out a sigh.
“See?” Xenia cooed. “It’s not so bad.”
Her lips were against her shoulder, moving to kiss the exploded flesh of her back. Niobe’s eyes fluttered shut then let out a strangled cry when Xenia sunk her teeth into her skin, hissing when she began to suck.
“You’re going to leave a bruise—“
“That’s the point,” Xenia murmured against her. “You can cover it up with make-up.”
She pushed her thumb against the indent of her teeth. Niobe groaned, arching into the hum of pain-pleasure. Her teeth dug into her shoulder, harder than the first bite, revelling in Niobe’s gasp, against her tongue at her skin: sucking, licking, a breath of a laugh. Another push of her finger, the grope of her breast. Niobe’s head lolled back, the punishment endless through her gasping breath, painful, aching.
Xenia’s fingers dipped into the slant of her top, scraping her nail against soft skin, searching for the shape of her nipple placed between two fingers, brutally pinching at the nerves. Her other hand slipped up her leg, circling the inner space of her thigh. Niobe’s body tensed, her weight a marble statue.
Heated kisses, fingers working moans out of her, teeth scraping, Xenia teases her—pressing against her clit through the fabric of her underwear. She found pleasure in her whine, the hot breath of laughter ghosting along her spine.
“What a good girl,” she breathed into her ear, using her fingers to slide her underwear aside, exposing her cunt. Niobe closed her thighs shut, brow furrowing at the sensation of Xenia encircling the hardened nerves, an agonizing pace.
Niobe moved her hips into the touch.
“Oh,” she sighed, the moan caught in her throat.
“You don’t have to be quiet,” Xenia said. “It’s just us.”
Her finger teased at her cunt, rubbing at the wet flesh.
“Please—“ Niobe begged.
“Hmm? Please what?”
“Stop teasing me,” she strangled out. “Just make me—“
Xenia sunk two fingers inside of her, twisting them in the soft maw of her walls, parting them inside of her. Niobe moved into the touch, leading herself into the ache of release. Her body moved against Xenia, gripping her forearm.
Her fingers went in deeper, knuckles rubbing against her clit; the sharpness of teeth, of the pinch of her nipple, the sound of her wet cunt as she pushed in and out.
“Is that better?” She said, tone drenched in honey. Niobe unfurled against her, whining for a release, begging in the way her hips moved in quick circles.
“Keep going. Xenia, please.”
Xenia buried her face in the crook of her neck, taking in the sweet scent of her skin evoking citrus trees and the salt of the sea, something too far from her own memory to witness. She kissed the slope, the length of her jaw, holding her close.
Niobe’s body stiffened, voice shuddering in her orgasm. Xenia drove into her comedown, sliding her fingers out, encircling her clit. Her body melted into her, a sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead.
“Get on your hands and knees,” Xenia whispered.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Niobe turned to look at her; Xenia smile was cruel. She moved from her grasp to stand before her.
Xenia straightened her posture and watched Niobe position herself onto her knees, planting her hands on the hard floor. Xenia traced her brow, the bridge of her nose, and rested on her lip, watching the downward turn of the corners of her mouth.
“You look so cute like this.”
Niobe scoffed, her round eyes boring into her. Xenia ignored the response and pushed two fingers into her mouth, letting Niobe taste herself. Her soft tongue lapped at the pads. Xenia pressed in deeper, forcing her to suckle at them.
She watched her from above, parting her thighs, then pulled her fingers out with a pop. Niobe licked her lips, swallowing her own taste, coaxed over by Xenia.
She brushed the dress from her thighs and Niobe crawled closer, pressing a kiss on the inside of her knee, the firm muscle of her thigh, pulled closer by Xenia’s hand at the back of her neck.
Niobe nudged her clitoris with her nose, taking in her scent, salt and sweat. The flat of her tongue drank her in. Xenia sighed when her eyes flicked up to her, her gaze growing darker, ice growing down her spine.
“Niobe,” she breathed out, head lolling against the throne. Niobe watched the fall and rise of her chest, the part of her lips.
She pushed her tongue inside her, gathering her arousal, moving into Xenia’s fingers tangled in her hair. Xenia’s moan grew louder, echoing off the walls. Niobe's tongue tended to her clit, leaning further into her.
“Niobe—“ Xenia moved her hips into her ministrations. The crescendo of her moans rose up, rolling her hips into the orgasm, fingers scraping against her scalp, pulling her closer, singing her name over and over.
Her body relaxed as Niobe planted her behind on the backs of her heels.
“Do you need me for anything else?” She said, voice dripping in disgust.
“Don’t be that way. I appreciate you making the dress.”
Niobe stood and crossed her arms. “You’re welcome. Can I go back to my work now?”
Xenia rested her cheek on her propped fist, taking her in. Niobe set her jaw.
“You can go back to work.”
Without another word, Niobe turned around, leaving a chill run over Xenia’s skin.
Niobe sped her walk, seeking the isolation of the studio — to watch the gloss of paint over clay, to forget Persephone, forget Demeter, any reminder of having to be in the same room with all of them, to be something other than a failure.
She was startled from her thoughts at the squeeze of Thanos’ hand on her bicep, jerking her towards him. She looked up at him with round, terrified eyes.
He regarded her, looking at the flush of bruises along her shoulder. She tugged her arm to no avail.
“Let me go!” Her voice was full of tears. It was her shame to live with — she refused to let him have any say about it.
His face was tight. “I don’t care what you do.” He released her with a shove. “Just don’t get distracted.
Niobe rubbed her arm, still feeling his bruising grip. She ducked her head and went on her way, holding back the cough of a sob.
She drank the water from the faucet, spitting out the taste of Xenia that lay in the back of her throat, watching the water circle down the drain. She wiped the dribble of water off her chin. The taste of her still lingered in her stomach.
She buried her face in her hands, gulping down deep breaths, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes. She gathered herself— swallowed her sob and straightened her back, leading herself to her work table. The paintbrush in hand was her only comfort.
Someday, she hoped the fake would be real.