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The Gorgon's Head	By : DrkVrtx Category: +G through L > Kid Icarus Views: 8623 -:- 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.
- 1
- 2
The gentle slope of her hips, curving upwards to the slim tuck of her waist. A smoothly toned stomach, the generous swell of her chest, all shrouded in pure, chaste white; an ankle length garment of fairy light, silky material, running through one's fingers as easily as water, should one's touch be permitted, or perhaps subtly passed off as accidental. The dress splits at the hip, the left side, baring the creamy flesh of her upper thigh with the faint breath of wind. An innocent tease, drawing the eye, causing it to linger on long, supple legs before the dress falls back into place and the goddess turns her gaze upon him.
And Pit looks up, smiling with enduring grace as he walks at her side. Her longer stride gives him legitimate reason to hang back, just a little. An unblinking gaze is fixed on the luxurious train of hair that tumbles down from her head, verdant like the fields of summer. Her locks are richly thick and bounce lightly in time with her stride, stealing the angel's breath each time he takes it.
He is faithfully at her right hand when Palutena stands upon the grand steps of her temple to look out over the city. This day, this morn, with the sun's warmth sprinkled liberally upon them all, Pit aches. His smile as the goddess comments of the brilliance of the day ahead does not reach his eyes. He is standing so close to her, the air sweetened with her perfume, floral and feminine. Her voice is smooth, like honey, sweet to his ear. And then, in front of the entire city, she sets a hand atop his head and lightly runs her fingers through his hair.
Like a boy.
Palutena murmurs softly, only for his hearing, that she is so glad to have him beside her. Her captain. Her champion. Her angel. The war is over and they have won, and her hand slips from his hair to his shoulder, drawing him against her side.
Like a boy.
But he is not a boy anymore. Pit aches, with a man's passion and a man's need.
His cheeks are inflamed as the goddess makes him lean against her, like the child she sees him for. Praise be that his chiton fits long and loosely over his body. Palutena is warm and soft, and Pit is tall enough to just tilt his head in towards her chest. Not too much – the city is watching, and he is a man, not a boy. Not a child. But as they stand there together his eyes begin to wander, and surely it is by virtue of a miracle that his hands do not follow them.
Pit aches. He throbs. He shifts his legs minutely, to make himself less conspicuous. Teeth clench and his jaw locks tight. He turns his eyes to look out over the city, and tries to drag his thoughts with them. But today, on this bright morn, Pit just can't. They are chained fast to the goddess, who holds him close and tempts him unduly. And then a spike of raw heat shoots through to his core, flaying wide open his mind's eye, and what he sees serves to make Pit jerk upright, pulling away from Palutena. He manages to pass it off as something trivial, harmless, and makes his polite excuses before fleeing her presence.
Pit tries not to move too quickly, feeling the goddess' gaze on his back as he walks back towards the temple. Once he gets inside, where countless angels go to and fro their daily business, he struggles to keep his gait as natural as can be. It is difficult, when the sight that his mind's eye indulges in is so vivid, so much so that he can almost touch it, almost taste it.
His seeking mouth pressed against soft lips, tongue pushing forwards to breech them.
Dredged up from some dark, primitive corner of his soul, Pit watches himself succumb at last and, gripped in an impulsive, snarling, decidedly masculine impatience, pulls Skyworld's goddess to the ground, straddles her body – which has driven him to such madness, and then mounts her, right there on the steps in front of her holy sanctuary, with the eyes of a thousand denizens upon his rutting backside.
Pit almost staggers through the halls of Palutena's temple, driven on by the strength of the vision. Stiff weight lurches between his thighs, constrained painfully by tight undershorts. No matter how he tries, his will alone cannot placate it. Pit heads for the hot springs to cool off, an inexplicable notion, but the angel knows himself. Or so he thinks, for he shortly realises that his feet betray him.
They lead Pit to a destination that makes a hypocrite of him. He knows that he should not, must not go there, and yet he yearns powerfully for this place. It is the only way he can cause to fade the vision that almost cripples him, right there in the corridors of the temple. So (and not quite with reluctance but emerging enthusiasm) Pit lets his feet carry him forth, to the one place in Skyworld that he tries steadfastly to avoid.
The vaults, where the spoils of war reside.
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The Gorgon's Head