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"Um, Dusa?"
"What is it?"
"I was wondering, if we could…try something."
"Ooh! What did you have in mind?"
"Well, I guess first, I wanted to ask about your snakes…"
Zagreus concentrates on breathing: in, and out, in, and out. The pressure around his neck is mild: undeniably present but harmless. The scaled skin is warm, muscular, alive; very unlike the knotted ropes around his one wrist and both of his ankles. A forked tongue tickles his ear. He tilts his head up to glance at his single tied up hand.
For a millisecond, Zagreus considers escalating the whole thing faster and harder than they had planned, drumming up a similar anticipation to when he ponders the Pact of Punishment. However, the sound of Hypnos honking about his unseemly, accidental death in his own bedchambers flashes through his head. Any flickering impatience is immediately snuffed out. He takes a slow, deep breath through his nose.
"I-is this good?" Dusa asks.
"Mm," Zagreus hums.
He gently taps the snake with his free index and middle fingers. As Dusa leans in for a deep kiss, the snake tightens its grip. At last, this is what makes his head start to float.
Zagreus gasps into Dusa's mouth. His legs tug involuntarily against the ropes. Spots of light begin to permeate his vision. (Stars? Is this what Orpheus sings of?) His body seems to rise and fall into the bed. A primal, mortal anxiety crackles under his chest—something that he can't reassure with the conscious knowledge that this is all intentional and controlled; it thrills him. He takes note of these seconds, willing his memory to not let it be forgotten later in the vast eternity he has ahead of him. Blood thrums in his ears, and his dick.
He moves his hand down and strokes himself. The touch jolts his body back into focus, but still unsteady, like his organs are scattered puzzle pieces. His body seems to rise and fall into the sheets. His tenuous breaths turn into shaky pants. His thighs quiver. Zagreus keeps his strokes slow.
He briefly wonders what his face looks like. Unfortunately Zagreus can only see a watery vision of Dusa's expression. Still, he observes some blush and his heart thumps in joy. He licks his lips and she lets out a yelp. Nice.
He lets go of his dick, wet and hard, and pats the snake with a single index finger.
"Are you sure?" Dusa says, less nervous but sweet as ever.
"Yes," Zagreus wheezes. He smiles.
The snake tightens more and now Zagreus really can't breathe. A millisecond later, fangs pierce his veins: a sweet, hot snap of pain. His dick lurches at the sensation without climax. It's a different snake here, he can tell from the angle. As a deeper oozing, icy sting spreads throughout, the first snake loosens its grasp on his neck and the second dislodges its maw from his skin.
Zagreus feels it first in his neck and shoulders. Not quite frozen but he can hardly raise his head. It's like a sunken stone. His breath still comes in and out, easier now but trembling.
Then the cold sting spreads to his arms, his abdomen, his legs. There's a moment in which his entire nervous system ratchets up—even the weave of his quilted blanket becomes unbearably abrasive, and he can't even arch his back away—and then tamely slopes down to a bruised haze. Between the fire on his feet and the venom in his veins, heavy tides of heat and chill come in, and out, in, and out.
Zagreus can't help but flip through the myriad of afflictions he's previously endured. It's not as if the boundary of difference lies in pure agony versus pure pleasure. The crack of Meg's whip was maybe the most welcome, but it was invasive, breaking through his skin like an eggshell. This fever blooms from the inside, roiling among his organs, as if trying to burst out through his sweat. Maybe similar to the Styx Poison in trajectory, but that was foul, rotten; this is alive, electric, and devastatingly so. And yet, his body is a petrified figure. Though unlike his time with the gorgons of Asphodel, his flesh is not slate, but a heavy, vibrating engine of spark and ice. It all leaves him breathless and drunk.
Though his dick is still erect and throbbing, he can barely lift his free wrist to attend to it. However, Zagreus thinks to himself that if he died right then and now, even before climaxing, maybe he wouldn't mind, within these waves of rich ache.
Despite his overstimulated haze, Dusa's voice manages to cut through. "How do you feel, Zagreus?"
His eyes meet hers. Ah, love! Her steady, bright gaze penetrates him and he feels exposed, but safe. His mess of blankets is a shrine. Zagreus tries to explain how his body both hurts and relishes but all that comes out is a short, muddy groan. He strains to grin and he hopes it's legible.
"Oh no, oh no, that bite really knocked you out!" she frets. "I really underestimated how potent it would be. I'm so sorry!"
He attempts to shake his head, that he's fine, this is more than fine, that he's never experienced such pleasure of dying, but his head just spasms ungracefully.
Dusa whizzes around in spurts, examining the full status of his body and muttering to herself, evidently unsure what to do next. Without the ability to form a clear word or gesture, his mental status is uncertain to anyone else, and even that doesn't leave much guidance in what to do next. Their shared guess for the outcome had been a dizzy buzz, not this implosion of nerves and motor control.
She takes an anxious, contemplative breath and it makes Zagreus realize he's gasping. Cold has triumphed over heat. His whole body shivers and shudders, horribly sweaty. His tied up limbs reflexively jerk against their restraints, stirring up some visceral, mortal panic again, but now with no pretense of comforting intentions. His brain can only register base sensations now: his heart pounds, troublingly irregular; his fingertips, suddenly numb; his hardened dick remains as such, wet and aching. The venom's drastic shift in mortality would make Zagreus laugh if he had the mental or physiological control for such.
He then feels a kiss on his lips. It's soft and small, but Zagreus savors the gentle, controlled touch among the ruthless sensory miasma. His hand automatically twitches to cup her cheek but it can't make the full journey from its limp place beside his body.
"I—I don't think I ever made an antidote for this venom. I'm not sure what else to do but I don't want you to suffer through this, so, I—Zagreus, I'm so, so, so sorry!"
He has barely a moment to register Dusa's words before a snake whips around his neck in a chokehold at full strength. The snap of his bones is immediate, hard, and excruciating. To his surprise, his dick finally relents—maybe by sheer force or shock—and a raw, shaky orgasm washes over him. Briefly, Zagreus is warm again. A second later, his teary eyes lock with Dusa's. Her gaze this time is not cheerful, but silver sharp and his entire body goes numb—not cold, not hurting, but completely and simply dull.
Somehow, the River Styx collects his broken, stone body.
When he emerges from the Pool, Zagreus pointedly does not meet Hypnos' smirking stare. Thankfully though, he doesn’t let out a single honk, not even a chuckle, as Zagreus passes by towards his bedchambers; the true rewards of friendship.
"Dusa! Dusa, oh please don't torture yourself over this. We both didn't think this through enough. And if I'm being honest, well…there were aspects that I'd like to revisit again."