Apollon didn’t look forward to travel on this occasion.

His yearly snow-and-skiing holiday in the Hyperborean lands was certainly something to look forward to, when he could get away from it all for a short while, at very least. He was never nervous leaving Delphi in the hands of Dionysos while he was gone; after all, he knew that, even if he held the biggest orgy EVER there in his absence, he at least wouldn’t trash the place.

This was something else altogether. This was a “family reunion” of sorts, but one which the extended family would not all be attending. (Tragic, really, as he would have loved to spend some time on Olympos at that season.) This was a “family vacation” of sorts, when they’d be getting together for a short while at their time-share in Naukratis. His mother would not be there, nor would his twin sister (and in any case, Artemis had her hands full these days, working in close connection with Kybele and doing a bang-up job of being constantly mistaken for a Jewish virgin).

And strange though it sounds, Apollon didn’t like the location at this time of year. The midday sun on the Canopic branch of the Nile was worse than the most heinous tales of Sekhmet sober, and all he could think about was Phaethon and his spectacular demise. He was a winter-holiday type, not a sun-holiday fan. And just as high tourist season was swinging into full gear, he’d have to be there, and be traveling.

Unfortunately, Golden Arrow service wasn’t an option for this trip either. If he was going, it would probably involve Helios; and, he at last made up his mind, he WAS going, so Helios was duly notified. Then, two weeks before, he changed his mind; then a few days later, he changed it back; then, the following week, he changed it again; and finally, after spending a long time on the phone with his father Zeus after a flurry of text messages, he felt guilty enough that he decided he would go no matter what. When Helios got the news, he met the decision with as much equanimity as any of his previous confirmations and cancellations. “Great! I’ll pick you up that morning!”

“Thanks. Incidentally, what are you driving these days?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see! Bye for now!”

Perhaps it was his memories of the past that made him anxious. There was that time when Typhon was raging abroad, and many of his extended family members took an extended vacation in Egypt—if “vacation” is the same thing as “enforced exile”—and he himself had assumed the form of a raven. But wearing black in a country known for its hot sun, and not being able to bring a change of attire, was miserable, to say the least. That had to rank up there as the worst vacation ever. Whenever he thought of Egypt, he thought of that incident, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

Fortunately, this time he did have enough notice and leisure to pack a suitcase properly for the occasion. But, like many nervous individuals who learn to be ready for anything, he found that he was over-packing—a shale grey casual suit for the cocktail party, a more formal white suit with a long jacket and a golden yellow collarless shirt in case they went out for a fancy dinner or a night at the opera, three haute couture but nonetheless informal shirts (each costing an economic-crisis-inducing amount of money), his very fashionable pre-stressed jeans, the impeccable cargo pants, the nice messenger pants (a gift from Hermes last Thargelia), the white linen pinstripe shorts, the more psychedelic board shorts with the big green snakes on them (a gift from Asklepios on the same Thargelia), seven tank tops, four pairs of shoes, six pairs of socks, five belts, eight pairs of underwear, and (because there was still room) several swimsuits ranging in coverage from form-fitting boxcuts down to a white semi-sheer thong (which Hapi sent as a gag gift for Thargelia, but Apollon personally found incredibly sexy)…and, it was just an overnight trip. If anything about this trip was going to be stressful or uncomfortable, it was not going to be his lack of clothing at any conceivable occasion.

Apollon heard a horn outside. It was not a human’s expelled breath through a ram’s horn, it was something that probably resulted from a person pressing too enthusiastically in the middle of a steering wheel.

He went outside, suitcase in hand, and saw Helios in his latest chariot: a gold Humvee. Helios was waving proudly from the driver’s seat, and the same, ever-loyal, ever-present horses, Aktaion, Lampos, Erythreus, and Philogeus, were reined to the front bumper. Helios rolled the passenger side window down.

“So, what do you think?”

“A Humvee? Really? I mean, seriously…”

“Yeah, it’s nice, isn’t it?” His response was like Helios thought he was the center of the universe, not noticing at all the sarcasm in Apollon’s response.

“Helios, what will the other gods think?”

“Probably that they’re jealous and they wish they had one themselves. I can’t wait to see the face of Re as I drop you off—he’ll turn green with envy!”

The midlife crisis of a sun is never a pretty thing to watch, and Helios was no exception. This had been going on for centuries, and was not in the least helped by the fact that he had at last eclipsed Gaia as the acknowledged center of the solar system (conveniently forgetting, of course, the more recent revelations that there are suns beyond number in the cosmos). After that, it was conspicuous consumption central around the solar palace. Even so, at least the horses looked somewhat proportional to this vehicular monstrosity; back when it was the solar Spanish galleon, or the solar ocean liner, or the solar bullet train, or the solar Space Shuttle, the horses looked insufferably silly tethered to the front (not to mention quite overworked). Apollon tossed his suitcase into the back seat, sat on the passenger side, and before his door was fully closed, they were off.

He wondered who else might be there. Aphrodite was on break from filming her latest television series, Porneia in the Polis, and she’d definitely be there; father Zeus of course, and his principal wife Hera (who, though she seemed to bear no resentment toward Apollon, nor his mother or sister, was still a bit overbearing in her hospitality); and his half-brothers, Kastor and Polydeukes, who he always mused would add up to a full brother if they were combined together, but he certainly preferred them separate. They’d no doubt be waiting at the end of the driveway when they got to Naukratis to see Helios’ horses. Maybe if things got very uncomfortable, they could go for a late-night row on the Nile with Apollon, and if things were very VERY uncomfortable, perhaps a case or two of that good red Egyptian beer would also go with them. But as for others, he wasn’t certain. This uncertainty vaguely disturbed Apollon, but also excited him slightly. He was not in Delphi, he couldn’t foresee—or even predict—what was going to happen.

He could hear his father’s booming voice in his ears already. “Son, I really think you should consider going into the lightning business.” Wasn’t it good enough for him that Apollon was doing the oracular thing? “I’m proud that you’re carrying on that family tradition, but this is different. I’m not going to do this forever, I want to retire, and since Zagreus didn’t work out the way I had hoped, I need someone who I know will do a good job, someone who has never let me down. Don’t let me down now, son, don’t let me down.” They’d had this conversation a hundred times before, and it was only a question of when it would happen again.

It was mere seconds since he shut the door, and they had already arrived. Apollon remembered the old days, when his arrival at some location would have been preceded by some of his old staff—the Muses, the Graces—preparing the way for him and organizing the festivities to honor his epiphany; but these days, they all had careers of their own, successful corporations to run, lots of projects in the works. These days, Apollon was mostly on his own. He still made sure he visited all of his old boyfriends at least once a year, and those were occasions to celebrate, even if it were only Apollon and whichever boy it was doing the celebrating. But these get-togethers were different, where he was one god among many, and some people at the party might not even be kind enough to introduce themselves if they were standing in front of him…

Morpheus had been right, though. Apollon’s need for popularity, and to be the center of attention, wasn’t fair to all of his extended family, and didn’t square with his wishes to be overlooked by his father when it came to certain things. He was ambivalent about it, and sometimes he just wanted to lash out and attack someone, like he did in the old days. Morpheus pointed out to him last week in their session that in this sometimes unpredictable wolfish madness, he took after his father. And Apollon knew he was right. He was more like his father than he cared to admit; and, just maybe, it was flattering that his father wanted to give him those extra responsibilities. It might not be so bad to be king, as it were. There was a reason Morpheus was so highly regarded when it came to being a therapist, and he was worth every drachma—and he’d better have been, at a hundred thousand of them an hour!

Not five seconds had passed since they were in Delphi, and Apollon already missed it. The surging Nile certainly had its charms, but would never be the soft trickling of the Castalian Spring and the sounds of the wind across the peaks of Parnassus. Like he had guessed, Kastor and Polydeukes were there, waiting for them—or, more accurately, waiting for Helios’ horses—and Apollon got out of the ridiculous vehicle, retrieved his suitcase, and stood there in silence as his half-brothers ignored him in favor of Aktaion and Philogeus. They looked different this time: Kastor had let his hair grow almost over his eyes, and was wearing an almost-too-small black t-shirt and ridiculously tight and low black jeans with a studded metal belt (and was that a lip ring?), while Polydeukes had bleached his hair blond, had it cut high and tight, and looked as much the jock as he ever had in his white tank top, red basketball shorts, and white reversed baseball cap.

“Hey, boys.”

“Oh, hey Apollon!” Polydeukes turned and smiled at him, but Kastor still stroked Aktaion’s mane. Polydeukes socked him hard in the shoulder. “Hey, dummy, say hi to Apollon!” Kastor rolled his eyes, turned toward him and said in the most dejected and unenthusiastic voice possible, “Hey.”

“You’ll have to excuse him—he’s doing that ‘emo’ thing, ‘I’m not okay,’ and all of that. I swear, some people just never get over dying …”

Apollon tried not to laugh. He knew Melpomene had been busy producing lots of younger bands those days, but he had no idea this would become popular among his family.

“It’s all right, Polydeukes—I think it’s cute.” Kastor suddenly beamed at this, and as Apollon passed the two, he tussled Kastor’s black stringy hair. “Thanks a bunch, Helios! I’ll see if I can get a ride back with Boreas or someone.”

“Well, if you can’t, give me a call! It isn’t as if I can’t go backwards whenever I want!”

“Interesting idea, Helios; but let’s just not go there, shall we?” Helios turned away with horses and Humvee in a wild frenzy of waving, a flurry of laughter, and flash of golden light. Apollon could swear, as Helios glanced toward the Sahara, that he saw a glimmer of sadness in his eyes. With Phaethon long dead, he knew that Helios wasn’t sure who (if anyone) would ever take over for him when he retired. He suddenly thought about his own father and how envious Helios must have felt towards Zeus, and about his own children. Perhaps he’d pay Asklepios a visit in Memphis while he was In Egypt—he certainly had clothes for another day.

Apollon went in to the lavish estate that was the Greek’s timeshare in Naukratis. There were people all over, and the first person Apollon recognized was Amasis, the owner of the timeshare and their host for this party every year, who was not looking particularly healthy. There was a boy leading the old pharaoh, with one arm around his shoulder as the old man leaned precariously on an ornate walking stick. Suddenly, Apollon realized who the boy was: Tutankhamun. Apollon approached the two.

“Greetings, Amasis. I see you’re looking well!”

“You don’t have to lie to me, sonny, I’m decrepit but not senile!” It was so unfair, this Egyptian custom—Amasis’ tomb had not been seen for millennia, and he was thus suffering greatly in the afterlife, whereas Tutankhamun’s tomb was known worldwide, and he looked like he just stepped out of the baths after a good workout.

“Well, even so, I can’t thank you enough for throwing this party again this year. It’s nice to get together with old friends and family, if only briefly,” replied Apollon.

“Nonsense, sonny! I know you’d rather be somewhere else! You just come out of guilt every year because of my benefactions all that time ago! Don’t think I don’t know it either! You’d rather be in Delphi, and I know it…and guess what? So would I! I always liked your people…”

“Now, now, now, Ahmose, don’t misspeak.” Tutankhamun shook his head.

“If I didn’t respect my elders, Tut, I’d smack you across the mouth! Now, where’s that waiter?”

Ganymede, in a ridiculous white collar and black bowtie, with a shiny black vinyl pair of hot shorts (and nothing else), came up to them with a gleaming silver tray. Apollon knew that his father insisted he wear such things at official functions like this, and the prince of Troy wasn’t at all comfortable in it. “Here we are, Amasis: a nice bowl of foul for you.”

“Dammit! This is a party, I want celery sticks! I want crackers! When is that damn Imouthes going to be done with my teeth?”

Tutankhamun looked at Apollon and rolled his eyes as he ushered Amasis away, with a beleaguered Ganymede following closely behind. Apollon noticed the fuzzy rabbit tail on the hot shorts at that point, and felt embarrassed on Ganymede’s behalf. His father was shameless beyond belief.

It was then that Apollon noticed Aphrodite, looking radiant as ever, in a dress that he could have sworn was made from kelp and seashells held together by filaments woven by a golden spider. It was stylish beyond conception, conservative enough that it could have worked even in Rome, and yet there was more of her skin showing beneath it all than perhaps even poor Ganymede in his bunny suit.

“Dolphy! It’s good to see you!”

“Goldie, you’re looking quite the dish!” The two air-kissed on both cheeks.

“You don’t have a drink, Dolphy! We must do something about that. Waiter!”

Ganymede arrived again with a tall flute of champagne, and a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Apollon took the drink, and then inquired, “What are these?”

“Wild boar on flax crackers with cream cheese and olives.”

Apollon looked at Aphrodite angrily, and she returned the look—he was thinking of Erymanthus, she of Adonis.

“Wild boar? In Egypt? Really!” Apollon snapped at Ganymede.

“Look, I don’t set the menu here, I just serve stuff. That’s all I do—SERVE STUFF! Don’t get mad at me, the old cow decided what was going to be served!”

“It’s all right, darling; we’ll have a word with her.” Aphrodite caressed Ganymede’s bare right pectoral, and he seemed to relax a bit. “And by the way, sweetie, how have things been with you and the old man?”

“Tsh! Like he even gives me a second thought these days. Like I said, all I do is serve stuff.”

“Well, here, let me give you a little something.” Almost as shameless as Zeus himself, Aphrodite reached down the front of Ganymede’s hot shorts. The young immortal’s eyes nearly popped out of his head with surprise and the look on his face went blank but happy. “There! Now, later tonight, I guarantee you’ll have a hotter time with His Brilliance than when the eagle snagged you!”

Ganymede blinked about ten times rapidly, and a hint of a smile crept over his lips. “Thanks!” he whispered hoarsely, lowering his tray to waist level to hide what was protruding beneath and walking rapidly and rather stiffly back to the kitchen.

Apollon tried to recover the conversation. “So, putting all of that aside for the moment, how have things been?”

“Oh, you know how it goes. Hundreds of dating websites, some more specialized than others, and yet the only thing that seems to work every time is Craigslist—and even then…!”

Apollon smirked. “Still, the quizzes are fun.”

“Aha! Just as I suspected! Have you had your hands in those, Dolphy?”

“Why Goldie? You’re accusing me of such a thing?” Apollon faked shock to a degree that Dionysos would have given him his own personal goat as the prize for the performance.

“Dolphy, come on! I know you’re big into this whole ‘Know Thyself’ thing, but these are really ridiculous. ‘What Twilight character are you most like?’ Really!”

“If people aren’t going to do things the right way, then at least they can work within the structures of this time, no matter how silly they might be…or, rather, how silly they, in fact, most certainly are.” Apollon rubbed his fingers against his shirt and looked down as he continued. “Besides, I’d talk if I were you—Craigslist.” He looked Aphrodite directly in the face and raised an eyebrow. “Need I say more?”

Aphrodite smiled, shrugged, and changed the subject. “Well, have you seen my new show?”

“Porneia in the Polis? No, I don’t have television in Delphi.” Apollon left out the fact that he didn’t need television in Delphi, because he could see absolutely everything there; but he knew that Aphrodite wanted to brag a bit, so he let her.

“Well, you must come over sometime! In fact, if you’d like a cameo in an episode, I’d be delighted to arrange it, darling! Producer, director, writer, and star has its privileges, you know! We’ve got Kybele as the dedicated business woman who has a child despite her lover being castrated; Helen as the perfect little rich wife, who leaves her first husband for a more risky second one—and let me tell you, that’s a stretch!—; and, we’ve got Hebe as the star, sort of. Well, she’s really into shoes. But then of course there’s me. I’m the publicist who sleeps around a lot.”

“Goldie, I’m sorry to raise this issue, but I thought this was supposed to be a dramatic comedy.”

“Oh, it is, darling, it is! It’s hilarious! Sex and relationships are an endless source of amusement and hysterical laughter!”

“Actually, I meant the ‘drama’ part. I thought, in other words, that this involved actual acting, you know, like pretending you’re someone or something else?”

“Oh, please, Dolphy! Acting? That’s Dionysos’ thing, and anyway he’s not in the show. But you really must come and see us shoot it sometime!”

“Well, I’ll think about it.” Apollon paused, and thought of Rhodopis, the high-class call-girl that caught the eye of Charaxus, the brother of Sappho, all those years ago. She was intimately connected to Aphrodite, and yet her gratitude went to Apollon, and for it Delphi was well off in iron spits for many years. Now that would have made for an interesting dramatic series, but Aphrodite would never produce it—too much resentment over his outshining her, he mused quietly.

“Goldie, I need to have an audience with His Brilliance and Her Married-ness, I think, but I’ll catch up with you later.” Aphrodite air-kissed Apollon again before he walked through the crowd. All of the world with its mass of humans and their mundane problems looking for advice were far more interesting to Apollon than the endless family drama that was the daily lives of the gods.

At last, Apollon made out his father in the distance. He had that unmistakable mane of salt-and-pepper hair and that well-groomed beard, and those piercing blue eyes as clear and blinding as ever, but he really needed a lesson in proper attire for such occasions (as if his insistence on Ganymede’s outfit was not an obvious sign of that). He was wearing a purple Hawaiian shirt with green oak leaves and streaks of yellow lightning through them, and very light grey, far-too-baggy cargo shorts, and flip flops. Flip flops? Hera was next to him, looking for all that like a housewife of the mid-1960s, with a bob haircut, a while lily just above her right ear, a short sleeved tight magenta blouse with brilliant blue peacocks on it, and turquoise trousers with a huge white belt. Still, she had the figure and the grace to be able to pull it off, somehow.

“Dolphy! It’s been so long! Mwah!” Hera kissed and hugged Apollon in a somewhat ostentatious manner, and yet he knew that she was utterly sincere. “You must come and visit us on Olympos one of these days!”

“I will, Hera, I will.”

Hera whispered quickly in Apollon’s ear. “Your father misses you, and can’t stop talking about you.”

“Well, son, it’s good to see you.” Zeus nodded and put out his hand.

“Oh, come on, dad! This is not a Mithraic family!” Apollon threw his arms around his father, fully a head taller and considerably wider than himself, as if he were Olympos itself in a bad shirt. Zeus gave in, and embraced his son.

“So, son, I’d like to talk with you, but maybe we can wait until later. Hermes is out in the back manning the barbecue, and I think you should come and stake out your piece of the ox before all the good bits are gone.”

“Dad, can I ask you something meanwhile?”

“Of course.”

“How is Kastor? I mean, the whole emo thing is cute and all, but I’m a bit worried about him. Polydeukes doesn’t seem to be very happy with the whole thing either.”

“Hmm, yes. There’s no accounting for such things, I’m afraid. He’s immortal, and of course I respect that; but you know as well as I do that he’s not really mine the way Polydeukes is. Uncle Poseidon has done well with looking after both, of course, but Kastor just isn’t like us at the end of the day. Tyndareus was his father, and nothing can change that.”

“Dad: they’re identical twins. Kastor is every bit as good as Polydeukes.”

“Well, perhaps, but he died, and it’s only because his brother loved him so much that he’s even here at all.”

“You know, you’re a real jerk when it comes to dying. You snatch up Ganymede so that he never dies, and yet because he was mortal at one point, you’ve got him waiting tables for you. Zagreus dies, and then all bets are off for who succeeds you; Kastor dies, and you can’t be bothered to take an interest in him. No wonder he’s depressed! And if that weren’t bad enough, Hermes fools around with Polydeukes, and yet not one of the gods pays any mind to Kastor, despite him being every bit as attractive as his brother. I’m really surprised you didn’t just eat him when things started to work out poorly.”

“Apollon! Really, this isn’t the time or the place for this conversation!” Hera was visibly shocked and taken aback, though no one else was paying attention, and Apollon was not declaiming. Even in anger and criticism, he was moderate.

Zeus actually looked hurt, and for the first time in ages, was introspective. He looked down at his flip-flopped feet, shook his head slowly, and was silent.

“Look, dad, I love you and I will praise you forever, but it would be nice if, just once in a while, you looked at things from a perspective other than your own all-knowing one. How do you think Ganymede feels? How do you think Kastor feels? And just because your children didn’t castrate you—though heavens know we all thought about it from time to time—or you didn’t eat your own children, still, that doesn’t mean you automatically get the ‘Father-God of the Aeon’ award.”

“So, son, what are you suggesting?”

Apollon didn’t know what came over him, but in his excitement, he began to speak without fully knowing what he might say next. “It’s nice to have this party every year, but why don’t we actually use this time for something, I don’t know…useful? Why don’t you try and get to know Kastor a bit more on this occasion? Why don’t you put aside thoughts of all your lovers (despite the children of several such affairs being here in front of you), and pay attention to your wife like you should on this day? As nice as it is to have a party for everyone here, why don’t we make it more about ‘us’? I mean, let’s face it, Aphrodite has enough money right now to buy and sell most of the cosmos without making a dent in her bank account. Why can’t she be convinced to actually buy this estate, rather than having it be a time-share that isn’t really our own? I’m sure Amasis would be fine with that, and I think it would make things a lot more interesting with our Egyptian friends. Why don’t we actually,” and here Apollon gulped a bit before he continued, “act like we live here rather than just vacationing here? You know, get rid of the pork, start treating the justified and deified dead like they’re our equals rather than our inferiors…why don’t we even drink Nile water instead of importing our own? It might be a real learning experience!”

Hera, though not opposed, was in some disbelief. “But I thought you didn’t like Egypt, Apollon.”

Apollon couldn’t believe he was saying it. “It’s not a bad place—anyplace can be home as long as you act like it is. Any Typhon is long gone, so let’s leave that whole mess behind us. Let’s actually try and make this a home, and make ourselves a family, rather than whatever it is we have going now.”

Zeus began to smile slightly. “Hmm. So, this occasion might be a housewarming party?”

“More than that, dad—it’s a homecoming.”

Zeus shook his head and beamed. “You never cease to amaze me, son. You know, I really think you should consider going into the—“

Apollon interrupted, “Now, dad, just because we’re a family and will be acting like one doesn’t mean that I’m going to go into the family business.”

Hera looked pleased. “I’ll get Aphrodite, and we’ll make the arrangements with Amasis immediately.”

“But meanwhile,” Apollon cautioned, “not a word to anyone. I want to tell Kastor about this myself.”

Zeus slapped his son on the back, and Apollon stumbled forward slightly at all the might of the heavens striking his shoulder as he walked outside. He saw Kastor and Polydeukes by the pool, with Polydeukes dunking his feet in, but Kastor standing awkwardly with his hands in his jeans pockets looking down and away from his brother.

“Polydeukes, go have a word with dad. He’s wanting someone to go into the lightning business, and I think you might be the man for the job.”

“Really!?!” Polydeukes hopped up in a blink, and was away into the house. Kastor just stood there.

“Hey Kastor.”

“Hey.”

“So, sit down. I’d like to talk with you.”

The moody youth went from standing up straight to sitting cross-legged without bending over, and looked at Apollon, who settled on the ground in front of him.

“Do you like it here?”

“It’s okay, I guess.” Kastor was noncommittal. “I wish we were in Rome instead.”

“Well, how would you like to live here, semi-permanently?”

“Huh?”

“We’ve talked it over, and we’re going to buy this estate from Amasis. It won’t be a time-share any longer, we’ll own it. We’ll all still make sure we’re here at least once a year, but we’ll own it the rest of the time, so we can use it whenever we want.”

Kastor’s eyes widened a little. “So, if we own it, does that mean I can have my own room? And I can decorate it however I want?”

“Of course! Anything you like!”

Kastor smiled, but then suddenly remembered himself, and tried to impress Apollon with his profound depths of sadness. “Yeah, that would be cool. I’m kinda tired of having to always share a room with Polydeukes. In Rome, I don’t have to do that. I get sick of being treated like I’m just like him, you know? It’s really hard being a twin.”

Apollon laughed aloud, perhaps a bit too much. “Gosh, Kastor—no, I don’t know what that’s like at all!”

Kastor looked down, embarrassed at first, but succumbed to laughter eventually as well. “Yeah, sheesh—sorry, I kinda forgot. You must think I’m a big idiot.”

“Not at all! It’s all right, it’s all right.” The two continued to laugh. “You know, you’re awfully cute when you laugh. You’re awfully cute all the time, but especially when you laugh.”

Kastor was surprised. “Uhh…thanks…?!?”

“I’m sorry—does that make you uncomfortable?”

“Well, no, it’s just that I think you’re being nice by saying that. I mean, you’re family, you kinda have to say things like that, don’t you?”

“Did Hermes ‘kinda have to’ get your brother a horse and be his lover?”

Kastor was suddenly conflicted. “Are you asking what I think you are?”

“If you think I’m asking if you’d like to be my lover…” Apollon paused for greater effect, “then you’d be right.”

Kastor smiled in a dazed manner, but then suddenly became grave. “But wait, isn’t that kind of, I don’t know, weird? I mean we’re family and all…” Kastor was definitely the more human of the Dioskouroi, for good and ill.

“Yes, it’s true: we’re family, but it isn’t like we have the same father or something.”

Kastor realized how right Apollon was about that. “Oh, yeah!…Well, sure! But, aren’t I supposed to resist a bit?”

Apollon laughed again. He reminded him of Hyakinthos so long ago. “You can if you want, but I find just cutting to the chase is a bit better. It saves time needlessly postponing the inevitable. Plus, this isn’t human society, you don’t have to play by any of their rules. You’re an adult, a veteran, an independent person; you can do whatever you like.”

“Well, I think I’d like to kiss you.” Apollon was pleased at this reaction. The two kissed somewhat gingerly, tenderly, briefly, and then Apollon put his hand on the back of Kastor’s head, and pressed him into his shoulder in a long embrace. They held each other for a moment, and then stood up.

“There will be plenty of time to get to know one another in every way possible later. But there’s a party to attend to now, and we don’t want to miss the best parts of the barbecue.” Apollon put his arm around Kastor’s lower back, and escorted him back toward the gathering of the gods.

“Oh, guess what?” Kastor seemed rather excited. “Later on, Antinous said he’d like to take us on a boat trip up the Nile. Wanna go?”

“Hmm,” thought Apollon, looking back toward the four-foot-deep pool. “Well, let’s see if we can talk him into a late night dip in the pool instead.”