Geovan's Proposition: Chapter 2

Geovan’s Proposition: Chapter 2 by Pragmaton

The world was crashing all around him. The cacophony of a thousand waves exploding made Cyrus want to cover his ears, but he could not move. The sound rang and echoed as he felt like his body was forced in every direction before violently colliding into something.

Eyes tightly shut, he could feel himself pinned there, unable to move. He held his breath for as long as he could, knowing the embrace of death awaited him, coaxing and cooing him to let the water fill his lungs and be done with it. Thinking of his family, friends, and village, Cyrus took a sudden intake of breath. Hopefully his place in the underworld would afford him the chance to see them again someday.

With a gulp of fresh air that was simultaneously a gasp, Cyrus realized he wouldn't be meeting with Hades this day. He gasped several more times, heart rate racing to provide oxygen to his entire body. He felt his legs go weak, but the force pinning him upright kept him from collapsing altogether.

Upright? His head was spinning while trying to orient himself. Yes, he was upright, he could tell by his toes brushing against a cold floor. As his eyes adjusted, he felt an undeniable warmth reverberating through his body, mitigating the shivers he felt from the icy ocean's grip just moments prior.

His eyes focused on something reddish brown...dozens of fibers littered the wall he was pressed against. The wall itself was a light tan and almost pliable; his hand, pinned inches from his face, clenched slowly around a mass of those fibers, feeling the soft give of the light surface.

A gruff chuckle above snapped Cyrus out of his daze, making him suddenly alert, heart beginning to race again.

"Easy little one," a voice said, slight tone of concern in those words. "I can feel the blood rushing through your veins from here. Such a fierce heart for one so small and young."

Recognizing the voice, Cyrus slowly began to tilt his head up. The flesh-color wall continued for two to three feet, bulging outward in a rounded arc. Geovan's wide, familiar face peered down at Cyrus between two grainsack-sized pecs, drooping outward to each side of the fleshy arc. Hardened nipples of size of clenched fists bobbed lazily at the furthest edges of those giant, soft mantits, just out of reach of Cyrus' hands.

He shook his head incredulously, trying to get his head back into the matter at hand. Geovan grinned widely, smile and chin almost entirely obscured by the curve of his massive pecs and belly, the latter of which Cyrus was currently being held against by a hand the size of a buckler shield. Cyrus seemed to melt helplessly, all fears and worries leaving him weak and exhausted.

The relief that washed over him must have been palpable on his face, because Geovan chuckled again while lowering his other hand down to Cyrus' head. He gently tousled Curus' hair with an amazing amount of control for such a large hand, using two fingers to lightly massage his scalp. Despite everything that happened between them, Cyrus could not help but feel warm and protected, held against a massive body that smelled of salt and sand.

"You held your breath quite a long time, my boy," Geovan murmured in a soft growl. "I'd say the length of time rivaled some of the best sea warriors I've known, many of them still thriving and training in Elysium as we speak. Just what I'd expect from the one I've chosen to be my concubine. Resilient, and toughened by my domain."

His smile broadened suddenly, swelling with pride like a proud father who had just witnessed his son finally learning to swim on his own.

Somewhat embarrassed, yet still indignant, gods be damned, Cyrus replied.

"So. You just watched me hold my breath, coming to terms with my own mortality and whether or not I'd see my family again."

Geovan's smile faded. Cyrus felt a sudden increase in warmth as the air stifled around them. The belly he was held against heated considerably, as Cyrus noted that Geovan's face reddened.

Oh gods, Cyrus thought. Did I not learn my lesson last time?

Cyrus cringed in his compromised position, waiting for the hammer to drop, either to be flung away or crushed against the massive paunch.

But it never came. Geovan's face remained impassive, though his reddened face remained.

"I can see...I still have a lot to learn about socializing with mortals. I...regret my actions."

He slowly lowered Cyrus to the ground, making sure to gently slide him down his belly so as to not accidentally drop him. Cyrus' toes touched the ground, as his hands leaned against Geovan's soft, yet massive underbelly for balance. Geovan was still naked, though his prodigious overhang that could fit a fully grown steer covered his genitals. Cyrus stared up, up, up at the nearly 8 foot tall behemoth when the realization hit him.

Geovan wasn't mad. He was embarrassed. The god's eyebrows were slightly knitted, as if worried, though it was difficult to tell initially. After making sure Cyrus was safe, he spoke again.

"After I thought I'd had sent you prematurely to the underworld, I was so relieved to see I had caught you before my... presence overwhelmed you. Seeing you, small and trembling against me, you looked almost peaceful. I didn't want to interrupt. I didn't realize you were holding your breath, although it seems I was a fool to think otherwise."

Geovan turned away suddenly, normal steps still feeling like stomps that shook the floor slightly. His gargantuan rump shook and jiggled, almost seeming to cause visual tremors of their own with each meaty shake.

Cyrus was so hypnotized he almost didn't notice the room he was in. His eyes drifted from the globular cheeks to the size of the chamber they were in. It was enormous! The ceiling was as tall as a temple's, making even Geovan's height diminutive in comparison. The ceiling was covered in pearl-white stalactites of uniform length, radiating in a swirl pattern outward. The impact was breathtaking, and the rest of the chamber did not

disappoint. Large weapons and armor pieces adorned one wall in the cavernous space, while another was decorated with the skulls of fantastical beasts, including one fanged monstrosity that Cyrus could have sworn was one of the hydra heads from legend. He was surprised that Poseidon would have had an opportunity to tangle with the divine beast before Heracles eventually put an end to it. If true, he'd have to ask Geovan about that tale when he had the chance.

Speaking of Geovan, he was making his way to one of the more banal walls of the chamber. The items stored on that side of the room were still fantastical, however. They were the kinds of furniture pieces that Cyrus would imagine a wealthy merchant might have in his home, though several sizes bigger.

A fantastical, beautifully ornamented bed, the height of which went up to Cyrus' chin, was set up against the etched, pearl-white walls. Squinting his eyes, Cyrus could make out etched figures in the walls themselves, reminiscent of tapestries detailing tales of heroes long past, wound throughout the massive chamber and into the ceiling.

Geovan stopped at a chest the size of a construction storage typically used to hold full-size logs. His body blocked nearly the entire gold and silver gilded box. He opened it and the sounds of rummaging reached Cyrus' ears.

"I'll have to let my official guard know that you have arrived," he said, neutrally. "Currently, there are no other accommodations…"

His words trailed off, turning to mumbles that were nearly unintelligible, which was difficult for someone his size to pull off. Cyrus curiously walked

forward, wondering what Geovan was looking for. His eyes widened when he saw Geovan pull out a full-size wooden bed frame like it was nothing, looking similar to the one Cyrus had back in the village. The next thing he pulled out was a matress, not lumpy with hay, but seemingly even on all sides, as if it were filled with the finest down.

Geovan's voice piped up, as if finding his train of thought again.

"I... realize this is still a lot for your mortal mind to take in. They say my brother has a rash reputation, but among the gods, my straightforward and impulsive nature is particularly raucous. It's very hard for me to learn from my mistakes until I've already made them, and by then it is already too late."

It was hard to miss the note of melancholy in those words. It dawned on Cyrus that Geovan took the time to research his living arrangements and needs ahead of their fateful meeting, just in case things didn't work out right away. He was giving Cyrus the option to refuse relations, until he was ready. Or perhaps never at all.

The EXACT opposite of what a god “known” for his rash and impulsive nature might do.

Cyrus took a deep breath, approaching the titanic being just as he pulled out an ornate nightstand and glowing conch shell to gently place on top of it. So focused was Geovan on setting the objects down carefully, lest he crush or damage them, that he didn't notice Cyrus placing a small hand on the back of one his titanic thighs, just below a drooping helping of asscheek. Geovan continued his task, unperturbed. Cyrus took another breath, and pushed into the thigh while squeezing the large, supple surface.

That got his attention. Geovan jumped, back arching, accidentally knocking over the nightstand and conchshell with a clumsy hand while spinning around. Cyrus skipped backward, just barely avoiding a large swath of belly swinging around that almost sent him flying. Geovan’s head stopped before the rest of his body did, the momentum sending the rest of his prodigious assets jiggling forcefully to one side, before swinging back and forth like a pendulum, before settling down. His face frowned upon Cyrus and the unexpected action, both shock and incredulity written upon his features.

Do I dare approach a god in such a way? Thought Cyrus. He knew there was only one answer.

He placed one hand on one of the lower lobes of Geovan’s quivering gut, and pushed. His hand sunk in, though he only made it a few inches before meeting resistance. Soft as it may be, the sheer magnitude of Geovan’s size made that soft fat still ridiculously heavy and therefore, firm to Cyrus’ tiny hands. He pushed even harder, wondering how long it would take before Geovan got the gist of what he was trying to do. He offered a small, secret smile up to the confused behemoth.

Realization slowly dawned on Geovan’s face. Still displaying a mix of genuine shock and surprise at the turn of events, Geovan took one massive, floor shaking step backward. He took another, being guided by Cyrus’ tiny hand that only registered as a pinprick on sensation upon his engorged and corpulent frame. The back of his knee felt the bed, and at this point, he slowly lowered his four-ton bulk onto the edge, as he let Cyrus “push” him onto it. He sat there, breathing heavily, not sure why he was so hot and bothered by this mortal taking this unexpected liberty with him.

Cyrus kept his hand on the giant mound of belly, feeling the tremors rippling against his fingers as Geovan sat down. The musk emanating from his nether region was deep and intoxicating. A different kind of ambrosia lay within. And unless he was seeing things, Cyrus could have sworn he detected movement underneath that godly mountain of mass, of a slumbering beast he had yet to slay.

Cyrus kept a mischievous smile as he looked up at Geovan's reddening cheeks, large lips slightly parted, shortened breaths coming out in husky bursts. His pendulous pecs heaved slightly as his excitement and heart rate rose.

Cyrus had the god of the sea struggling for air, pulled into the depths of his own desires for Cyrus himself.

But Cyrus wouldn't let him up for air; not yet. There was so much deeper they had to go.

"So, my lord," Cyrus began, as he playfully began snaking his hand under the sagging gut, toward Geovan's groin. "How do you think we should proceed?"