Like most of Apollo's bad ideas, it starts at his sister's encouragement.
Both of them are lounging out in the sun, reclining in twin divans, in the cloistered courtyard just outside Apollo's palace.
Artemis is drinking nectar from a golden goblet, while Apollo picks at the grapes growing from an overhead vine -a gift from Dionysus on account of one of Apollo's many victories, long forgotten in a sea of other godly achievements.
"I still can't believe she would rather be turned into a laurel tree than be my lover," Apollo says shaking his golden head with a dispirited sigh.
His sister scoffs from the other divan, supporting her head on her open palm.
"That's what happens when you give chase to women who have sworn themselves to me." She grins. "All her life she has been hoping to court my favor, making herself worthy and desirable of me, what makes you think she would settle for less?"
Apollo throws a grape at her head, which she dodges skillfully.
Ever since they were born, the two twins have loved each other as fiercely as they have competed. With both of them well-matched in strength, divine gifts, wit and beauty, it has been their greatest source of amusement throughout millennia to triumph over the other in the arbitrary challenges they set for themselves.
Competitions over lovers are a favorite past-time, although Apollo often grumbles that Artemis' preferences unfairly limit the playing field.
"You know if we were disputing a man I would be the clear victor," Apollo says, an arrogant tilt to his chin. "A mortal man who can resist me is yet to be born."
With a golden head of shoulder-length ringlets, dark blond eyebrows set over almond eyes as blue as the Aegean sea, a straight nose above generous red lips, all his features sculpted from the finest marble, perpetually frozen in the charming bloom of youth - Apollo's beauty is unquestionable.
A perfect mirror to his twin sister's moonlit loveliness.
Where Apollo is light, Artemis is shadow.
Her skin as dark as sable, glittering with the powder of crushed diamonds every time the sun shines on her, like the stars against the night sky. A head of tiny springy curls, framing her lovely face like a soft, dark cloud. Her eyes are wide and humid, the colour of flowing honey, framed by thick lashes, brushing softly against her high cheeks when she lowers them in amusement.
Her full lips, the color of dark cherries, shape themselves around a wry smile as she says, "I'm happy to leave the menfolk to your tender mercies."
Apollo scoffs. "Mine, Dionysus', Uncle Poseidon's, Aphrodite's, Hermes' and the least tender of all...Father's."
While competing with Artemis is always fun no matter the outcome, Apollo can't say the same about competing with the other gods.
He can still feel the phantom pain of the slap Aphrodite landed on him when she found him fucking Adonis. To say nothing of the temples she burned down with his worshipers inside them.
Imagine feeling jealous over Adonis? The man sees more use than the public baths.
But Aphrodite is notoriously difficult to argue with, so Apollo spared his breath.
While he considers the merits of paying another visit to Adonis, the wicked vines of an idea take root in Artemis' mind.
"I know how you can put this whole matter with Daphne behind you," she says, drinking the last of her ambrosia.
Apollo angles his head towards her, giving her his full attention.
"No one would question your prowess as the ultimate seducer of mortals if you got a kiss from Ganymede," Artemis says, mischief curling in the corners of her lips.
Ganymede is Zeus' single most treasured possession. The only human to have been given the gift of immortality, the only to live among the Gods in Olympus, and sit at Zeus' side during meals, pouring his wine and ambrosia.
The mere mention of his name is enough to send Hera into a fit of rage, and for that alone Apollo feels some fondness for the mortal youth.
He's well aware of the Trojan Prince's ethereal beauty, and would be lying if he said he never coveted it for himself.
But if Apollo doesn't mind going against Aphrodite to tumble Adonis once or twice, risking his father's wrath is another matter altogether.
Maybe Artemis would be able to survive it unscathed, on account of being Zeus' second favorite child, but Apollo doesn't think he'd be as lucky.
If anything, Artemis and Athena might just be Zeus' favorites because they have absolutely no desire to bed Ganymede.
Something almost no other Gods can claim.
Apollo narrows his eyes at Artemis. "Are you trying to get me dismembered, sister?"
She rolls her eyes. "Don't be dramatic, Father is away in the mortal realm, which is why I'm suggesting it."
Apollo dithers, on the brink of a very bad idea.
With a sharp smile, Artemis pushes him over.
"Come on, brother, don't say you don't want to. This might be your only opportunity." She wiggles her eyebrows. "I'm even being generous, it's just a kiss, I could ask you to fuck him before awarding you the title."
In the end, Apollo can't resist the siren call of a challenge.
"One kiss," he says holding up a single finger in front of his face. "And then you have to concede that no mortal can resist me."
Artemis nods kicking her legs back and forth over the edge of the divan, smiling like a child about to see the granary catch on a fire of her own making.
---
Ganymede lives in Zeus' private chambers, never allowed out unless at supper time to serve Zeus, and only when Zeus is in Olympus. Otherwise, food and drink are brought to him, either by Hephaestus' metal automatons, or by one of Aphrodite's winged children, on account of being, well, children, and therefore presenting no threat to Zeus' property.
Apollo and Artemis are only able to sneak into Zeus' palace due to the years they spent roaming and running its halls as children, filling it with their bubbling laughter when Zeus' relationship with their mother Leto was still amicable.
It takes them no time to find Zeus' room, the gold floor giving way to the courtyard on the west side, weeping willows and cypress trees swaying gently in the cool breeze from behind the large marble columns.
Ganymede is sitting on a swing tied to two of the palace's columns, his back turned to them.
He turns around when he hears them approaching.
His beauty is truly unmatched by any mortal in the world.
His graceful swan's neck betrays his royal lineage, his skin like burnished bronze glows under the warm sunlight, as smooth and unblemished as honey. A halo of short bronze curls frames his exquisite face and delicate cheekbones. The sinuous curve of his upper lip alone could drive a person towards madness.
Belatedly, Apollo realizes this is the closest he has ever been to him.
Having previously only seen him from across the dining table at meals, sitting by his father's side.
"No one is allowed here," Ganymede says, his voice ringing like fresh spring water bursting forth from the earth. "Please leave."
With a last bored look at the two of them, he turns around and resumes swinging slowly back and forth.