Chapter Sixteen
“Tell me that was fun. Go on, tell me. You’ve got to admit, that was a heck of a lot of fun, wasn’t it?” Marty’s hair was still windswept on the ends and showing the imprint of the helmet he’d been wearing as he’d enjoyed his scooter adventures, as he called them.
Ares managed to avoid the helmet imprint because a god had to have standards, but he wasn’t going to deny that playing around with Marty, outside on scooters, was definitely more fun than he’d ever experienced before.
“I’ll have to take you to Hawaii with me,” he said, so relieved that they’d gotten through their play and Marty was unscathed – that was a happiness boost in itself. “I’ve got a house there, and I like to surf. Is that something you’ve tried before?”
Marty quickly shook his head. “No, that’s in the sea, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever been on an actual beach before, let alone in the sea – there always seems to be a lot of it.”
“You’ll be safe with me, and that will be perfect, another new experience for you.” Ares was pleased he could have something else that he could add to his mate’s bucket list. Picking at a bread stick he’d added to the table when he’d zapped up an early dinner, he said, “Have you given any more thought to that sugar daddy comment from earlier?” Hopefully, he sounded casual about it.
It might be an old god thing, or perhaps in his case an ancient god issue, but Ares had been edgy and unsettled about the comments that were made, despite having fun on the scooters. Going to buy Marty’s new favorite thing had technically been their first outing. While Ares was aware of the differences between him and Marty in physicality and age, he’d forgotten that in public, other people ascribed values, morals, and judgments - which was even worse - to the things that they saw but didn’t necessarily understand.
Marty shrugged. “I still don’t know what a sugar daddy is. It sounds like someone who controls all the sugar, but I imagine it’s a term for something I don’t understand. Do I need to know what one is?”
“Technically no, because we’re mates, and it doesn’t apply to us. But being seen with me might cause that comment to come up again in the future.” Ares wondered how best to explain. “A sugar daddy is somebody who will go out with a much younger man – showering that person with gifts and giving them money.
“Society’s perception is that the younger, and usually hotter-looking person wouldn’t be with the older person unless that man had money. For some people, it’s a badge of honor. Older men don’t have an issue flaunting their wealth, and for some younger people, they get a lot of benefit from having someone help them with expenses for whatever reason. But it really doesn’t apply to us at all,” he added quickly. “I just don’t want you to feel insulted if anyone made that assumption about our relationship.”
Marty peered up from his plate, his eyes twinkling. “Are you sure it doesn’t apply to us? I mean, when we were out today, you bought me a scooter that I could never afford. I can also guess that most people who would look at us as a couple and perceive you as the older being.” He collapsed into giggles. “Of course, they’ve got no idea how much older you are than me,” he added, “but that’s none of their business. But yes, now you’ve explained, I can see why people might think that about us, and that’s all right.”
Ares resisted sighing. Societal norms and expectations were still something he struggled with at times. “You’re not my sugar baby. I am not a sugar daddy. I have never been a sugar daddy. I never wanted to be, and I never will be,” he said firmly. “My issue, and the only reason I’m bringing this up, is because some people, like that man who spoke to you in the scooter shop today, aren’t very respectful of relationships they believe are based on financial transactions.” Ares wasn’t quite sure how to phrase the next bit, but it was nagging at him, and he felt it had to be asked. “Would you feel more comfortable being out with me if I looked younger or less like I do now – more normal, perhaps?”
Marty pushed aside his plate and as it still had food on it, Ares guessed his mate was that shocked at his question. I had to ask, can’t you see? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with me in public.
It was as if Marty was reading his mind. “Why would you think for a single second that I wanted you to look any different than you do now? People don’t do that sort of thing.”
Ares had a feeling he might be swimming in uncharted waters. “Gods can change the way they look – not their godly image, but their human one. This persona you see here,” he waved his hand at his hair and face. “This is the look that I chose for myself when I first walked among mortals, eons ago. Back in those days, especially being the God of War, I couldn’t afford to look young and pretty like Athena or Apollo, for example.
“I needed to look like I was a man of substance - that when I was on the battlefield, I was somebody who would be respected. Young, fresh-faced warriors don’t command any respect on the field. They’re pretty much treated as battle fodder. And so, I needed to have a look that commanded respect when I was in those situations.”
“And?” Marty raised his hands. “I don’t see anything wrong with the way you look. I would probably prefer not to see you in a battle situation because I’m likely to faint at the sight of blood, which could be embarrassing for you. But dressed in casual clothes rocking your man-about-town look, you give the impression of being a super-confident man of an uncertain age, who knows what he likes and goes after it. I think it’s awesome because if I’m with you, then it’s clear the thing you wanted to go after was me. Does that make me a superstar, too?”
“You’re definitely the superstar in this mating.” Ares chuckled. “I suppose that’s the point, or maybe I’ve lost the point. The thing is, I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about our relationship when we’re out in public together. I don’t want you hurt by anyone being rude or saying horrible things, and with me looking the way I do, that might happen.”
“But why is it any of their business what our relationship is like between us?” Marty grabbed the last breadstick out of the basket, and Ares quickly refilled it with a flick of his finger.
“I’ve always known that as a shifter, I’m always going to look younger than I am until I’m super old. I didn’t know until now that you chose your look, but how cool is that. You’ll have to show me your godly form sometime, but then I imagine that’s just a bigger, fiercer version of who you are now.”
Ares nodded because that was true.
“I don’t understand why you’re worried about what other people think, though,” Marty said. “I wasn’t living under a pile of twigs in your back yard because I worried people would be rude to me – they often were, and that’s on them, not on me. I lived that way because I chose to. It’s not easy being unhoused, especially when I just wanted to carve out a little space of my own, where I wouldn’t be moved on.
“There was my raccoon to consider as well. He needs a chance to stretch his legs sometimes, and camping semi-rural like we have been, was ideal for that. But I don’t worry about what people will think of me, because most of the time, I already know.” He grinned. “When we go out, we’ll go out together. The only person whose opinion should matter to you is mine, and for me, it’s yours, isn’t that right?”
“So, you seriously don’t mind what other people think of you?” Now, Ares was curious – he had genuinely never come across an attitude like that before. He wore his worry like a cloak – but that was because no one liked him. On Olympus, everyone worried about their status and their looks and were always comparing themselves with others, constantly fretting that someone was suddenly going to be elevated to a status higher than theirs.
It wasn’t just gods, either. Every other person Ares came across - male, female, or anything in between - had always cared about how they were perceived by others. Marty genuinely didn’t seem to care.
“I haven’t had a person understand me or even want to spend any length of time with me for as long as I could remember. If I worried about things like that, I’d be sleeping under a rock, and I’d never stick my nose out, even at nighttime in case the moon laughed at me.”
“Why would the moon laugh at you?”
“Exactly. Why would the moon laugh at me? Why would anybody else? But more importantly, why would I care if they did?” Marty sat up straighter, the expression on his face sort of looking to one side, his head slightly tilted, which gave Ares the impression he was thinking. And then without saying anything at all, Marty hopped off his chair and came around the table, patting Ares’ knee.
Ares pushed his chair back from the table, and Marty climbed onto his lap and settled in. “Look at us together,” Marty said seriously. “You’re so much bigger than me. You appear so much older than me. Guess what? Both of those things are true. I am younger than you by heaps ,” he flung his arms wide, almost slapping Ares in the face.
“But I’m an adult. And personally, I really, really, really love the silver look you’ve got going on. It’s so unusual, and it makes me smile inside every time I look at you. Why would I want you to change that? Have people really been so horrible to you over the years that hate is all you can see?”
“On Olympus, yes, and before you say anything,” Ares added quickly because it was as if he could see the words forming on Marty’s tongue, “We don’t have to go to Olympus, you’re right. We don’t have to, and I wouldn’t want to take you there, because people will be mean to you simply because you’re with me.
“But it’s not just on Olympus. What happened in the store today showed that. If we go out socializing or frequent clubs and places like that, then more and more people are going to think that you’re with me because I’m looking after you. They’ll get the impression I’m some rich person who is paying you to be by my side, and that’s a rude thing to think about you. I don’t want that to happen.”
“You could dress in raggy clothes like I was when we met.” Marty hooked his arms around Ares’ neck.
“We can’t do that.” Ares wouldn’t consider it in a month of Sundays. He liked dressing respectably. “I want to take you to restaurants, and clubs, hotels and places like that.”
“Then you’ll dress smart, and I’ll dress smart, and people will think you’ve bought my clothes for me, and the joke will be on them, won’t it?” Marty started chuckling. “No money changed hands. Because they don’t know about your flicky fingers.”
Either Ares had lost the ability to make himself understood, or maybe he should just accept that Marty truly, genuinely, and with every ounce of his beautiful soul, did not care. “I just don’t want people being mean to you,” he said softly.
“And I think you’re poking a dead horse,” Marty said. Then his brow wrinkled. “I don’t think that came out right. What is it with horses?”
“I think it’s flogging a dead horse,” Ares said, although he wasn’t sure, either.
“That doesn’t matter, either. Let’s leave the poor horses alone. We both understand what I’m trying to say. The only thing that matters is that we’re mates. I wouldn’t care if you looked as if you were a hundred and twenty and had lost all your teeth. We’re bonded on a soul level, and if people don’t like it, then that’s their problem. What we do, how our relationship works, and everything else like that is no one’s business but ours. Honestly, if you are going to keep worrying, I think you should just shut up and kiss me. That would be a lot more fun. Admit it. I know about fun. I was right about the scooters.”
Ares chuckled as he bent his head to meet Marty’s eager lips. He had no problem with his mate being right, especially when he had such good ideas.