Entry tags:

aphrodite, ares

Lovers Rock
Who: Ares and Aphrodite
What: at least 2000 years of pent up sexual tension
Where: The Empty Grave, Samuel's truck, Samuel's poor apartment
When: 10/31 - 11/1 9 p.m. until the break'a break'a dawn
Warnings: Dood, so much sexing. Just. So much.
Notes: 1. Continued from here.

2. Aphrodite is in her full aspect - so if you want your characters to get amorous during this time period, this is a pretty good excuse for them to get down (like they needed one)!

3. Also worth noting: Enyalios is one of Ares' ancient titles; it means "Warlike" or "Lord of War." Areia is one of Aphrodite's ancient titles, and it means "of Ares" or "Ares'." :D

*******

Only one room they passed bothered with a door, and it was here they stopped. The sign lettered STAFF gave Ares not the slightest pause. Luck found it not only unlocked, but manned only by a single stocky security guard. "Out," Ares snapped, and in a fit of stammering confusion, the man fled. The moment the door was closed Ares pressed his lover to it, slipping her from his shoulder with a gentleness his impatience had belied. His hands slipped around her shoulders, impatiently reaching for zipper or clasp, as with marked effort he tamped down the urge to simply tear the dress from her tanned flesh and have done.

That gentleness made her smile, and so she leaned up to kiss him as she reached behind her, guiding his hand to the tiny, delicate eye-and-hook and zipper of the dress. Slowly, she guided his hand down as she kissed his lower lip; soon enough the dress slid from her shoulders, and once she'd stepped out of it, she tossed it toward the desk. Her underthings - the slip, the long-line bra, the panties - were easier, and then, she was nude but for her garters, stockings, and heels. Dite laughed, relieved at the smoothness of the skin between Maricelia's legs, and looked up at her best love, eyes twinkling. "It seems we're not in such a barbarous age after all, my love," she told him, moving forward to press her nude body against him before going to work on his clothing.

As she pushed his shirt up, slender hands moved greedily over every inch of exposed skin, and she leaned forward to kiss his chest, to press her mouth to his nipple, teasing it with sharp little teeth as she pulled away the offending fabric. As she went to work on his belt, she pressed hot kisses to his muscled stomach, her fingers moving with instinct born of years of Lia's practice. Nipping at his flesh, she pulled his pants and underclothes down, then smiled at what she found, looking up at him. "My Enyalios," she grinned, then took him in her mouth.

Long fingers tangled in her hair, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over her cheek as he watched her lips move over him. Her name escaped him on a sigh, his own contented grin gleaming in his downturned gaze. Impatient, he pressed his hips toward her, pushing him further past her lips. He toyed with one dark lock of hair, winding it around seeking fingers, tugging sharply with his next shallow thrust. "I want more, Areia," he groaned, only just managing to check a petulant bucking of his hips. He felt her tongue slide over him, her hands teasing and stroking at tender flesh, and ached to feel her closer still. Leaning down to her, he fitted one hand to the smooth plane of her back, short nails dragging red lines as he studied her kneeling mortal shape. The taut curve of her backside, the line of her garters, thin and delicate, drove him mad. "That dream was not enough."

He pulled her up to him, withdrawing from the soft press of her mouth with a slow roll of his hips. His hand gripped her arm too tight, leaving in its wake a pale and fading imprint of his touch. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead his lips pressed with bruising force to hers, his tongue shoving over hers, tasting himself beneath the warm sweetness of her. His arousal pressed hard to her slick, bare skin, held just shy of pushing into her.

Without missing a beat, she opened her mouth to him, her tongue sliding under his, her arms winding up around his neck. Her body pressed flushed to him, a little moan spilled from her mouth to his, and she slid her leg up, up, moaning again as she felt the heat of him against more of her skin. She pulled herself closer to him, hiking her leg up even further. Her tongue slid over his, then back under, her breasts pressed tight to his chest. This was what they'd dreamed of, what she'd longed for, what she'd missed so painfully, even in years of oblivion. "My love, my love, my greatest love," she murmured against his lips before she kissed him again, sucked his lower lip, slid her tongue over his once again, almost delicately this time.

"Now, Enyalios, now," she whispered, and felt the press of him against her - she pushed her hips further toward him and moaned. "Don't make me wait anymore," she pleaded softly, pressing a sweet kiss to his mouth - then nipped his lower lip.

Her plea was as good as any command. In one single, deep stroke he thrust into her, gasping at the force of it, jarring her body against the chipping, peeling paint of the closed door. His tongue pushed hard past her lips, muting for a moment her plaintive cries. His hands gripped her waist, her throat, holding her to him, stilling her motions where she shifted against him. His nails dug shallow crescents into her hip; his thumb brushed one high stocking, his nail catching on the thin material. He felt the fluttering of her breath beneath his flattened palm, the arch of her throat cupped tightly in his grasp. He said nothing as his lips lowered from hers, covering her breast with biting kisses, taking her nipple roughly between his teeth. With the flat of his tongue he laved her flesh, driving into her with violent, selfish strokes. He could not touch her, kiss her, fuck her enough: He moaned aloud, broken and hoarse, ravenous for every inch of her kept from him for so long.

"Ares... Ares... Ares Obrimos, Ares Thouros, Ares Theritas," she cried as he drove inside her hard, again and again. There was no other god, no other name to call. Only Ares, Ares the Strong, Ares the Furious, Ares the Beastly, and she loved it, never wanted it to end. For epochs and ages they'd been apart, alone, adrift: incomplete. And now, every time he drove between her legs, every time the snap of his hips shoved her into the door again, she was whole again. As he suckled her so savagely, as he held her by the throat, she moaned, hitching her leg up higher still. It had been so long, so very long, that she already felt that tightening in her belly, already begged him, "harder... harder... Enyalios, faster..." his hold on her kept her hips more still than they would have been, but she still rolled them on his length, cries escaping her as she came closer and closer to her climax.

He shuddered at his names on her lips, that mortal voice transfigured by the blessed music he had always known, by everything that was his Aphrodite. Spurred on by her every word, driven further by that desperate press of her hips to his, he gave her what they craved. The heel of his palm pressed to the soft hollow of her throat, feeling the stark and feral beauty of each ragged breath. Bruises blossomed at their hips as he pounded into her, marking the lines where they joined in flesh and bone. His hand tightened at her upraised leg; he smiled at the tearing of her stockings beneath his rough embrace, reveling in that faint and muffled sound. "My Areia," he said, his voice a warm whisper at the swell of her breast. He pressed his teeth to her nipple, worrying at that pebbled flesh. "Come for me." Again and again he buried himself in her, withdrawing as little as sensation would allow. "Let me feel you, Areia."

And she did. The increased pace of his thrusts, that savagery she'd ached for, his teeth at her breast, him - it all culminated in her arms, her leg, her body tightening around him and a sharp cry, her body arching against him as much as it could, her nails digging into his back through the fabric of his t-shirt. "Enyalios, Enyalios," she cried almost desperately as her climax roared through her, deafening her as sensation tore through every part of her from where they were joined to the roots of her hair. Her hips moved, her body clenched around him, and wave after wave of unbearable pleasure brought her back to him, always back to her Ares. "Kiss me, my Enyalios," she said, her voice languid, even as he still moved within her.

An earnest smile quirked at the corner of his mouth as he obeyed. His hips slowed their vicious pace, picking up the rolling tempo her own motions set. He felt the echoes of her orgasm pass through him; he sighed, content, against her swollen lips. The slide of his tongue was gentle, now, his hands loosing their iron grasp. The work-worn pads of his fingers soothed away the marks he'd made, stroking at taut tendon at the column of her throat, tipping her head farther up to him. His eyes met hers, all that remained unsaid shining clearly in that gaze. The next push of his hips moved him deep and slow within her, as if he meant to relearn every inch of her trembling flesh, to know her in every possible way. His fingers slipped through her hair, his thumb brushing at her sweat-damp skin as he kissed her, pressing closer still, seeking ever more.

Even as he kissed her, she returned his smile, looking into his eyes and holding onto him as though he might disappear in the next moment. She gasped as he pushed deeper into her, her eyes closing as she wrapped her arms tight around him, as she rocked her hips to that slow, irresistible rhythm. There was so much she wanted to say, so many things she wanted him to know - but that was only for her sake. He knew. Every touch of his hand, every kiss, every stroke made just how well he knew very clear. And so instead, her fingers laced through his short hair, she slid her tongue over then under his, and she rolled her hips against him, languid and sweet, her body tightening every time he was fully inside her as she undulated on him.

He felt her body clutch his own, drawing him back to her with each unhurried thrust. It pulled a low and purring moan from him, muffled by the press of her lips and the warm pass of her tongue. He longed to draw this out, to keep them both hovering on this blissful precipice until it grew too much to bear, but too soon impatience - and more, raw love and lust and need too long restrained - got the better of him. His arm slid around her, circling close at the small of her back, lifting her body to his from the door; he guided her down to meet his next deep thrust, his fingers splayed against her naked skin as he pulled her onto him. The motion made her gasp, and that tension inside her coiled ever tighter. So clearly he felt the rocking of her hips on his, the crush of her breasts to his chest, the touch of her hands where they held him close: He drew a shuddering breath, breathing in the scent of her, exhaling a desperate, senseless plea. "Dite, I-" With a sharp snap of his hips he drove deeply into her, still then save for the shuddering orgasm that overtook him utterly, leaving him breathless and trembling.

His climax set off another for her, more languid, but just as lovely, tightening her hand in his hair, her arm around him. As close as she could, she held him, pressing her lips to his cheek, his temple, as he shook against her. "I love you, my Ares," she whispered, holding him inside her, never wanting him to leave. She pressed more soft kisses to his face, his throat, releasing a shuddering sigh at the warmth of him. Nuzzling him just next to his ear, she hummed, the fear that their time might be short starting to sink in to her consciousness. The thought left an empty pit in her stomach, and she clung to him even more tightly. "My heart, we should go back to one of their homes," she said quietly. "I want to be alone with you. I want to feel your skin on mine."

Her qualifiers were welcome indeed, and eased somewhat his reluctance to leave her. He would sooner stay here with her, half-dressed in some fabricated human hovel, than withdraw and risk losing once more her close embrace; but the promise of more, of long hours spent in one another's arms, was enough to persuade him. With careful hands and small, soft kisses he lowered her from him, watching both their sweat-slick bodies as they parted. "His," he said, looking up to her. The impish cast of his grin promised nothing good, at least for his human counterpart. "I imagine your Lia has too much that might be damaged." That made her laugh, and she nodded. He kissed her again, his palm skimming light across her side, her hip, the flat of her stomach, as he drew away. Quickly he tended to his own mussed clothes, setting himself to rights with no particular attentiveness. He showed more care as he gathered up her own wrinkled costume, returning to her side with it held gingerly in his hands; for her torn stockings, however, there was no hope at all.

With a little cluck of her tongue and a smile, she looked down at the ruined material and unhooked first one, then the other from her garters. Dressing wasn't as difficult as it might have been - she remembered things that Maricelia knew, and armed with that knowledge, was able to fasten the long-line bra without too much trouble. In short order, she was dressed, and didn't look much worse for wear - except, of course, for her hair. The dark locks fell in loose waves around her face and between her shoulder blades; Maricelia's red wig was somewhere... else. There was nothing for it, though, and so she took her lover's hand and kissed him once more before leading him to a side exit Lia had known about. They took Samuel's truck, and her Enyalios seemed to enjoy driving quite a lot - especially with Dite sliding her hands and mouth over certain strategic parts of his anatomy. By the time they arrived at Samuel's apartment, Aphrodite was ravenous for him again, and the door was barely closed before she was kissing him again, walking backward as she pulled him toward the couch.

What began on the couch continued on into the kitchen, the hall, the bathroom. It culminated, hours later, in Samuel's surprisingly well ordered bedroom, the pair of them tangled in sweat-damp sheets, a trail of shed clothes, fallen pictures and overall disarray marking their raucous wake. Ares felt the dull ache of his exhausted mortal shape, but only dimly; it was a distant thing, passingly familiar and not at all unpleasant. He shifted on the sheets, his shoulders rolling against the mattress, prodding in his way at these small, well-earned wounds. His arm pulled Aphrodite closer, holding her tight against his faintly heaving side. "Oh, my Areia," he sighed, smirking as he kissed her temple, her cheek, the soft curve of her shoulder. "I love you. And I have missed this."

Languidly, Dite had draped her arm over him, happy to oblige his desire to be closer. This was as it was meant to be - bare-skinned, wrapped close in each other, love-slick and spent, but never quite sated. Sweetly, she nestled closer to him, nuzzling his neck. It was strange, the way this mortal body affected her - she felt a bit tired, perhaps a little sleepy. But she refused to sleep. Every moment she slept was one less moment she was with Enyalios, and she wanted not to waste one second of their time together.

"I have too, my Enyalios," she said, arching up to delicately nip his earlobe, then kiss away the little bite. "I love you so much." It was with trepidation, then, that she took a breath, and held him tighter. "How long do you suppose we have?" she asked.

He shook his head, the soft motion lightly brushing past her lips. "I don't know. I didn't expect this much." And he hadn't: They had both felt that inexorable pull toward one another, drawing their human hosts together in spite of all their stubbornness, but the thought of regaining full control had until tonight seemed an unlikely hope. What this meant for them now even Ares could not guess. He drew a deep breath, exhaled on a heavy sigh, suddenly given over to an introspection entirely unlike him - neither god nor mortal man. "This cannot be all we get," he said, his voice laden more with grim determination than any real certainty. "I need you to know, Dite, that he cares for her. More deeply than he'd like."

Nodding, she held him closer, as though if she clung to him tightly enough, they couldn't be separated again. "I thought that might be. Our Lia certainly cares for him, as much as she tries to push the feelings aside." She sighed, then kissed his collarbone. "Perhaps we shall push them together and they shall stop being quite so difficult," she smiled, confident. Perhaps they might keep control of these forms - perhaps they might not. But if they could compel their silly mortals to set aside their fear, she and her Enyalios might once again be together, and with more certitude. Fear was natural enough, she supposed, as it was one of the children of love and war. A wan little smile appeared on her face at that thought. Again, she kissed her lover's neck, softly pressing her lips to a little love bite she'd left him on his magnificent throat. "Don't leave me," she said softly against his skin, for a moment almost childlike in her plea.

"Never, Areia." His arms wrapped around her, squeezing her in a brief, tight hug. The sorrow in her voice set an answering ache in his chest; her fear too closely reflected his own, and he would have given much to know it was unfounded. It took all his arrogance and pride to carry on, to make a promise he was yet uncertain he could keep. "I've found you now, and I will always find you, no matter how many lives it takes." His smiling lips pressed to her temple. "And for now..." He tipped his head down to hers, his tongue flicking out across the Cupid's bow of her mouth. His hand moved from its chaste place at her arm to the curve of her breast, fitting close against her as he toyed with her nipple. He met her upturned gaze, his lips brushing hers with every word. "There's nowhere I'd rather be."

It was a wonder, what his touch could do; how much comfort she could find in his embrace, in the slightest touch of his lips to hers, in his hands on her bare skin. Her nails pressed lightly into his neck before she dragged them down his chest, over his skin, as she kissed his lower lip, slid her tongue across the seam of his mouth. "They'll love each other. His spirit is bound to yours," she kissed him, "and hers to mine," she kissed him again. "Every time they're together, I feel closer to you." She pressed herself into his touch, and her hand moved down to clasp his length, beginning a delicate stroke. "They'll see," she whispered against his lips, her smooth leg sliding over his. "They already half-love each other, and with them so close, we'll only get closer," she said, kissing him for longer this time. "My love," she whispered against his lips.

With a shift of his hips he pushed himself into her hand, smiling at her sweet assurances. He put his trust in her: none better understood the workings of the heart, whether of god or man, and Ares was certain that between her influence and his persistence this life would see them together once more. He smiled, nipping teasingly at the corner of her mouth. "And until then," he said, flashing a wicked grin. He shifted against her, her slender fingers still encircling him, his body held close to hers as he moved above her. "We can have their fun for them. Perhaps they'll realize what they're missing."