There'll be time enough to explain exactly what he's asking Hythlodaeus to look for later. For now, Hades focuses on trying not to writhe too much as his lover's tongue draws his pleasure out in slow, languid strokes. The last thing he wants is for Hythlodaeus to choke in the middle of his work. Is this torture? He would be willing to classify this as torture. He has no other words for the excruciatingly slow pace and thorough attention paid to him.

Fingers flexing against the mattress and toes curling, he takes in deep, steady breaths and slowly lets them out again. Either by accident or design, his lover's fingers brush right over his prostate and a frisson crawls its way up his spine. His body jolts and he cries out softly.

"'Daeus..." he breathes out, not even fully conscious of doing so. "'Daeus..."

His cries only grow louder and more ardent as time passes. The harder Hythlodaeus goes, the tighter his loins wind. It swells hotter than any furnace, deeper than the pitch black touch of his god. He doesn't know if Hythlodaeus intends to push him all the way, but he welcomes the fall.