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The Gorgon's Head	By : DrkVrtx Category: +G through L > Kid Icarus Views: 8624 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not Kid Icarus or its characters and am making no profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 1-i.
- 2-ii.
- 3-iii
- 4-iv
- 5-v.
- 6-vi.
- 3
- 4
- 5
The hot springs: a place of rest, relaxation and rejuvenation. Most of the time. Not so now, at least for Pit. For his goddess, however…
Steam hangs in the air, rising heavily from the surface of the golden pool. Pit removes his sandals before entering the room. He cannot afford even the merest scrape of their soles against the stone tiles. He treads ever so lightly afterwards, utmost care taken as he places each step. The steam is thick enough to almost hide his hands from before his eyes, but Pit would know the way even without their aid.
To each of his senses this place is all but familiar. The fragrance in the air is of honeysuckle, delicate blossoms swaying with a light breeze, a favourite of the goddess half submerged in the waters of the pool.
Once, Pit would bathe with her. Palutena never objected; she encouraged it, in fact. Her fondness of the hot springs grew from his own, after all. And he was and still is a boy to her, wrapped in innocence. How fortunate that Pit can hide himself beneath the water, when eyes linger and begin to trace curvaceous shapes. He drifts away from the goddess in the pool with him, moving further away as they continue to bathe together, until Pit can dwell no longer in her presence but for the stiff ache between the thighs and fear of being discovered.
But the goddess is so lax when she sinks into the soothing heat of the spring. Arms spread to either side of her, elbows resting on the edge of the pool; head tilted back with eyes closed, lips almost if just parted; her verdant tresses spill around her face and shoulders, pooling thickly into the water and onto the stone behind her. And of course, Pit sees so clearly before his mind's eye, her chest pushed forward with supposed invitation, the creamy swell of her skin glistening with drops of liquid crystal, half submerged in the water. He feels a twinge between the legs as he creeps forward.
With the remembrance of her habits in mind, Pit moves with exceeding care now as he nears the pool. Sometimes the goddess piles her hair atop her head, wrapped in place with a towel, but not always. The last thing he wants to do is tread on it, giving himself away. The reasoning is not singular; as Pit moves closer and squints to pierce the steam, he catches his breath. Palutena has let her hair flow freely.
She sits in the water as she always does, with her face ever so slightly tilted upwards, arms to either side of her and, Pit would imagine – and hopes, eyes closed. Moving with a severe crouch since entering the room, he hesitates before beginning to rise to his feet proper, relieving the ache from his thighs, for if the goddess bathes with her eyes open, she will surely glimpse his reflection over the top of her head in the pool. But, though every sense tells him he must not take a risk so needless, so foolish, Pit, standing so intimately in Palutena's presence, cannot help himself.
He convinces himself that he will just take a peek, nothing more, only a quick look. Pit's conviction is fleeting. Standing above her, leaning forward perilously to nudge his view over her head, Pit can only stare down at the ample cleavage of her breasts. He doesn't blink, even as he feels his eyes tighten, that strange sensation that both blurs and sharpens his sight. Something pounds through him, from his chest right down to his cock, growing rigid beneath his chiton. Pit has himself in hand without the knowledge of how and when it happens. And then his eyes, or rather his attention, shifts to Palutena's vibrant crown.
Her hair is always so full of life, falling when she stands tall to the back of her knees. Shimmering under the sun, stirred by a breath of wind, Pit can only be entranced, has stared with such intensity whilst walking in her shadow. Now, as his hand grips hard, hot flesh, Pit almost falls there and then to his knees.
Curiosity yearns to slay him on the spot; what if he could stroke himself to completion with his goddess' locks instead? Wrap them around himself in substitute of his fingers. Oh, he is so tired of the same, dull sensation, that singular burst of ecstasy that lasts only a moment. Her hair is soft, more so that the finest spun silk, so richly thick. He could gather her into his lap and...and why not? She would feel nothing, would not know, surely. Save for perhaps the fierce tug on her scalp, and the smell of his sweat, and his tight, gasping breaths as his legs tremble after pleasure crashes through him.
Pit bares his teeth and, with great, painful effort, reins himself in.
He turns his eyes to what lies on a raised block behind Palutena's elbow instead.
The sapphire stone floats an inch atop the staff, fixed in place by a force Pit does not understand. But he understands the staff itself, what it can do and how to make use of its power. He will take it to the Vault, steal it from his goddess' side in order to craft a body for her fallen sister. Palutena will suspect nothing; she has misplaced the staff in forgetfulness before and enlisted Pit to help her find it. On this occasion, things will be no different.
The angel is halfway out the room when the goddess begins to softly hum. He becomes stone, eyes pulled wide as Palutena makes known to him that his presence has never been a secret from her. He remains frozen for almost a full minute before sensibility returns to him. She has not called his name, nor turned with the sloshing of water to find him with her eyes. She hums merely for her own enjoyment, a tune as familiar to him as this room.
The years fall away and for a moment Pit sees himself, so small and young, letting the goddess bathe him. She tips the pail slowly over his head and he screws his eyes shut, water trickling down from his sodden mop of hair. And when he opens them again, the goddess is smiling down at him, radiating warmth that has nothing to do with the heat of the pool.
Something cold and slimy grips Pit's stomach, makes him hate every inch of his being for the feeling that consumes him at the mere thought of his goddess, makes him press his perverse eyes tightly shut, as if the mere pressure could squeeze them out of his skull. But then he feels the cool shaft of the staff clutched in his hands.
It's not his fault; it's not his fault. Did he tell her to strip and bathe naked with him, to tempt him daily with her beauty, with her smell, with the way her hips sway as she walks? She is ignorant of his pain, of his need, blind to the fact that no longer is he a boy she must take care of. Pit is a man, and he burns with such desire.
Why should he not sate himself?
And if he cannot…cannot truly satisfy of all his fantasies, he will at least vent his burning passion. It will drive him mad otherwise, drive Pit to act on the most base impulse of all. He forgets not the vision of himself upon the steps of the temple, utterly wild in front of the whole city, rutting like an animal. So he takes the goddess' staff and flees, from the room and the melody of her voice. The Vault calls to him and his manhood throbs.
Medusa's promise rings in his ear.
- 3
- 4
- 5
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