Author's Note: If you're reading this, I'm happy to see that you stuck with me! Compared to the first part, it was much harder to write and had to undergo several revisions because I'd been also been working on a modern-day, original story and my brain just couldn't bridge the time gap. I'm pleased with the final result, and once I got back into the zone, I had a lot of fun writing it.
"I confess, in that aspect, I am not wholly innocent," he answered with another roguish smirk, "yet I do not view my actions as immoral. Since I am speaking bluntly, I will further admit that I find no sense whatsoever in the concept of marriage…" He was being more open, this was true, but he withheld the intensity of the disdain he actually felt for it, thinking that it would do little to further ingratiate himself. "Being bound to one person, and them alone for all of eternity…how utterly repressing and dismal." As a product of the most dysfunctional union in all of Olympus, his philosophy was only more strongly reinforced: with marriage came unhappiness. Though they had differing opinions on marriage, her thinking the idea of it wonderfully romantic, a means of expressing one's unyielding devotion to their beloved, the latter part of his speech echoed her own sentiments exactly.
Then, as if he were privy to her thoughts, he added, "Would immortality not be meaningless if every passing day was filled with the same tedium? I merely offer my services to those who seek to lead more…thrilling…lives."
"And you wish you serve me, my lord?" she crooned, a suggestively arched brow accompanying a playful smile. Her pink, previously violet, orbs glowed all the more brightly, in turn making the flames of desire in his belly leap all the higher.
Ares could not recall an instance when he hungered for a woman as fervently as he did her. Again, he grappled with the impulse to devour that sensuous mouth of hers, far more insistent than the first occurrence, and had to twirl her out and away to keep himself from succumbing to it. Aphrodite had contoured so expertly to his torso that when she was but an arm's length away, he felt almost bereft at the loss of her nearness. And yet, he spun her again, and then again after, nearly hypnotized by just the sight of her. She was a vision of unfathomable beauty, so self-assured in her movements, so graceful, so willing to yield to his masterful command of her body, which he further exerted by drawing her unwisely back to him, crushing her into his chest with such forcefulness—not an inch separating them— that the love goddess gave a surprised gasp.
"To answer your question, I wish to worship every inch of your magnificent form, use my bed as your temple," her escort breathed, almost hoarse with lust. He stared down at her with a gaze of molten gold, his expression absolutely feral, and unbelievably erotic. A surge of yearning raced down her spine to intensify at her core, leaving her tingly all over. His pelvic bones rubbed enticingly against hers, as well as the start of something far more tantalizing, the evidence of her effect upon him, which throbbed in time to her own sudden, aching need. Those around them ceased to exist; it was only him and herself; meeting his passionate embrace was all that mattered. "I cannot resist your allure for much longer. Come with me to my quarters," he urged. Though his lips did not move at this insistence, she heard him clearly in her mind itself.
An appreciative round of applause gave way to another song, jerking her sharply from her reverie, reminding her that she was still in the midst of the dance floor, where all could see her inappropriately entwined with a man who was not her husband. Gingerly she wriggled free of his tight grasp, though only out of necessity; she rather enjoyed being so close to him: the heat of him, those rock-hard muscles. Already, she anticipated that tongues were set wagging, and inwardly cringed. With any luck, as the evening wore on and drunkenness came from the amount of wine consumed, the sight of the pair of them in each other's arms would be forgotten; her secret life—married to one god while gracing the beds of others—would remain as such.
I will gladly, but let us reunite in the hallway in a short while, she suggested soundlessly. Can you imagine the scandal we would create if we were to leave together, especially after all of Olympus has seen us in each other's arms?
The war god looked less than pleased with the suggestion; his chiseled features betrayed nothing, though she could see the frustration at being denied instant gratification in his smoldering eyes. So there was a hidden side of her charming cohort. Some might have regarded this quick impatience as a warning sign not to get involved with such a volatile god, but she viewed it as a compliment of sorts, knowing that it was only because he longed for her so greatly.
As you said, our fellows have already seen us, and they no doubt will discuss it, so why not give them a story worthy of such gossip? Something far more outrageous will come along to amuse them shortly after, as it always does, and our offenses will be forgotten. If anything it would be I who bore the brunt of the rumors, he assured her, which is of little consequence to me.
In response, she almost imperceptibly shook her head, refusing to be otherwise convinced. She wasa relative newcomer to the court, whereas he spoke with the sort of jadedness that suggested he had been in attendance for some time, and while he presented himself as indifferent to how the others perceived him, she would rather be held in a favorable light.
Aphrodite drifted backwards, out of his reach, the tease, seeming to take delight in his suffering. His erection had not yet reached full peak, thankfully, but every muscle in his body was already taut with anticipation, making for a slight bit of discomfort. Good things come to those who wait, God of War, she enticed, her tone honey-sweet. Rest assured that I will make it worth your while.
It seemed that the only way to have his conquest was if it was by her terms. Ares was desperate enough to possess the enchantress that he grudgingly agreed to the conditions she had laid out. While the postponement was inconvenient—in that time, he could have already laid her upon his bed, her dress in a silken puddle on the floor—it was within reason.
Do not keep me waiting long, he growled, yet contrary to how it sounded, it was more a request than a command. Aloud, the portrait of composure, he said, "I thank you for a most wonderful dance, milady," and lifted her hand to place a searing kiss atop her knuckles, looking meaningfully at her as he did. In the next moment, all sense of subtlety lost on him, his imposing physique turned to smoke, and where he once stood remained only the highly polished stone floor; the vast double doors must have been too far a walk to suit his taste, she decided, nothing if not amused. Regardless of the method he used, he had the advantage of being able to slip from the room without notice, a feat that would be infinitely more difficult for her.
To throw off any suspicion that her intent was meeting back up with her dance, soon to be bed, partner, she managed to wait through the completion of the song that had started when she and Ares parted ways and the one that followed. Certain that she had stalled long enough, she edged cautiously closer towards the doorway. Several times though, her process was impeded as she was intercepted by a handful of guests (goddesses with their teeth bared in huge, superficial smiles and husbands clutching their arms meekly, struggling not to make eye contact) offered their best wishes or generously praised her appearance, or the reception, which she herself had had little involvement in the preparation of. Each gracious, albeit distracted, acceptance of such was another small step in her quest for the exit. When she finally reached it, she took one last backward glance to ensure she would not be missed, and near sprinted down the expansive, well-lit corridor.
Rounding the corner, effectively removing herself from the sight of whomever else might emerge from the ballroom, she found the hall empty, and wondered why they had not agreed to a more specific meeting place, and if, perhaps, she had put off their rendezvous for too long and he had lost interest, unlikely as that was.
"I have heard it said that 'good things come to those who wait,'" a low, sultry voice purred in her ear. Sinewy arms encircled her waist with a sense of familiarity as the war god solidified behind her, his mouth moving to press against the joining of her neck and collarbone. "I found the process to be agony, but the reward so very sweet." With that, he resumed his work, peppering the tender area with feather-light kisses.
Shivering with pleasure from the feel of his mouth, she arched her back against him, further proffering her throat, her head nestling into the same juncture on his body. As his fingers splayed across her curvaceous hips, Ares obligingly made his way up the length of it, alternating between sucking greedily, licking, and nipping, unable to get his fill of her, though as he neared her jawline and traveled along it, he resumed his previous method, careful to do nothing that would leave a mark. His path ended as he placed a kiss against the corner of her parted lips, brushed teasingly over them, wanting to make her endure the same excruciating delay of satisfaction that he had. With a forcefulness that he did not expect from one whose gift was love, she caught his bottom lip with her teeth and gave a tug, the electrifying jolt of pain dissolving his resolution to be gentle.
One hand dug, claw-like, into her skin through the fabric of her dress as his most primal desires were unleashed, while the other jumped up to remove the tortoiseshell clip that held her hair in place. He took possession of the long, thick flaxen locks that unfurled, a means of forcing her face upwards and around to kiss her fiercely. Spurred on by passion, she reached backwards, likewise replicating his actions, only she dragged him down to meet her own demands, eliciting a groan from deep in his throat that was equally as arousing for her. Without interrupting the kiss, Aphrodite twisted herself around to face him; their mouths collided with a renewed ferocity as they no longer needed to contort themselves. His tongue pried her lips apart, first engaging hers in battle, before they joined in a dance.
Bed chambers suddenly seeming too distant to suit his purpose, the God of War steered his accommodating prize backwards to the wall. She automatically inched her way up the cool marble in order to straddle him, sleeves of her gown slipping down her arms from the effort, having as little reservation about giving her body to him in the hallway, where they could be detected at any given moment, as he did about conquering it.
So engrossed in the other's unrelenting lips and roaming hands were they that the goddess who had stepped forth from thin air, having taken it upon herself to keep the very thing from happening, went unnoticed. Not one to take kindly to being ignored, nor particularly enthused by sight of them writhing against each other as if not separated by a barrier of clothing, her eyes flashed murderously and a frosty aura abruptly filled the air around them, sapping the passionate heat of the younger deities' entanglement. Ever reliant on his self-preservation instincts, Ares was the first of the two to become aware of the threatening presence—and cursed her for interrupting; he knew without question who it was that had encroached on them.
Deciding that it was in his best interest not to prolong what he was certain would be a hostile encounter, he attempted to detach himself from his newfound lover's embrace with a great deal of reluctance and an irritated growl that was misconstrued as one of longing. (He had been very vocal in his appreciation of the attention he was paid).
Instantly, he was drawn back in, in a fog of incomparable bliss, as the Goddess of Love dipped her head and almost lazily began lavishing his neck with the tip of her tongue. With a firm pull of her legs, she drew his engorged cock to her beckoning entrance, and rubbed herself against him. His eyes fluttered shut and any thought of the unwelcome arrival vanished—right up until he felt her further intrude in his mind. Invisible hands grasped his head, attempting to lead his gaze over his shoulder, in her direction. He was able to prevent her will from overriding his, from being her puppet, but her influence was otherwise so distracting that he found he could no longer enjoy himself, and glanced backwards on his own accord. Only after he acknowledged her with a glare did she withdraw.
It took her partner's uncharacteristic fascination with something other than herself, especially when she was at her most desirable, for Aphrodite to understand the full extent of the danger that she had otherwise been oblivious to. She first blanched as she glimpsed the interrupting goddess, genuinely embarrassed to have been caught in the act of defiling her marital vows, when previously she had found the risk of it erotic, before her cheeks burned violently red when she saw her in full. Unwrapping her legs from around her companion's midriff, she slid unceremoniously down to the floor; her skirts, which had been hitched up past her mid-thigh for easier accessibility, tumbled back down to their more modest, intended length.
No sooner than she had found her footing, did he turn fully around to face the third party. His massive frame served as a shield from scrutiny as she ducked behind him to tidy herself.
"Good evening, Mother. Enjoying the festivities?" he asked, his voice composed, flat even, a dangerous metallic glint in his eyes the only outward sign of his annoyance. 'Mother'?! The word made Aphrodite, who now had not a single hair straying from her magically restored chignon, nor lips bearing any sign of swollenness from the aggressive kisses, flinch as she realized that she had just been apprehended in the arms of her husband's far-superior brother. How would she even begin to atone for her offenses against the heavenly queen? How would she ever be able to show her face in the courts again?
While she fretted, Ares however stood disheveled and unabashed before the Queen of the Gods when many others would have cowered at the fury in her eyes alone. He had inherited those flashing dark brown orbs—to the untrained observer, they could have been confused for siblings, separated by a few years in physical age—but in anger, as opposed to gold, hers simultaneously reflected the bright blues and greens and purples of the peacock, her sacred bird. With aristocratic features, her rich mahogany hair piled high atop her head, Hera had once been positively striking, though the constant infidelities she endured had reduced to a shell of her former glory, albeit making her an infinitely more imposing sight.
She gave her son a withering stare: she would expect nothing less from him, the abomination from her womb. Nevertheless, it required two to become intimate and she had borne witness to her new daughter-in-law acting as quite the willing participant. (He may have inherited his father's lecherous ways, yet thankfully, as far as she knew, not his methods.)
"I suggest you return to your husband at once, my dear," she advised the pantheon's most recent addition, not a suggestion at all, but a thinly-veiled order. Every syllable was chipped from ice and seeped in venom, the temper that could rival her own spouse's kept barely at a heel. "And I would further encourage you to depart soon thereafter on your honeymoon."
The cuckolding bride bowed her head and gave a sweeping curtsy in response, essentially dismissing herself. Even a newcomer like she knew better than to incite the infamous wrath of the queen; though Hera's punishments pertained chiefly to the mortal women whom she felt slighted by, Aphrodite suspected that she would be more than willing to make an exception, especially given the circumstances. Rather than try to appeal her case, which would have done nothing more than waste her breath, even if she swore solemnly on the river Styx that such an occurrence would never happen again, she decided it was far safer to flee.
Besides, she was unwilling to offer such placations at any rate: she would be doomed to incur the misfortune that came with breaking what should have been a binding oath, for there were few forces were more driving than that of a handsome man, and the war god might well have been the most impressive of any. To not have him would be something she would regret for the rest of her days.
As she sauntered back towards the ballroom, a quick glance over her shoulder led her to realize that she had an audience—Hera making sure she returned directly to her destination with no trickery, Ares rather intrigued by the parting view. To indulge him, she added an exaggerated swing to her hips, smiling impishly to herself, a gleam of pink glowing against their lavender setting, the last dregs of shame chased off by the more overpowering lust for him. Already, she was scheming on how best to lure him to her bed upon her return from her honeymoon. She would have the entirety of it to plot, taking great care to exercise more caution and covertness during the execution.
There would be no more ravaging each other like depraved mortal youths in deceptively unoccupied-looking corridors.
Hera wished it was she who was able to wield thunderbolts so that she might smite the chit who, even after being reprimanded, still flagrantly tempted her less-than-virtuous son with her wiles, made an outright mockery of what she herself represented. Initially, she been wary of the lovely new goddess, the chaos she incited upon her arrival—but then it was not her bastard offspring fighting amongst themselves and Zeus knew better than to attempt anything himself, lest he meet the same fate as their father's father Ouranos—but soon, she found there was usefulness to be had in the latest arrival, and treated her with the cool civility that was unfamiliar to most others. After all, if they were forge a sort of partnership, they would need to be on good terms. In an idyllic world, with love came marriage, and she fully anticipated her temples to soon be filled to bursting with enamored couples seeking her blessing, singing her praises as she graciously bestowed prosperity and happiness unto them.
Now that Aphrodite revealed her true colors, showing the same fickle hedonism as any other, preferring the provocative nature of her line of work, Hera's hopes for some long overdue positive attention were promptly dashed. The occupants of Olympus just did not seem to share their queen's views on the sanctity or importance of matrimony. Several of those residing on its peak had been wedded, including a handful from among the highest ranks, but regardless of social standing, they treated the vows they had spoken as empty words, same as her husband—the almighty king who required more supervision than the most mischievous of children.
Forever bound to a compulsive philanderer, and now denied an opportunity to be appreciated, she would glean a small amount of comfort—and sense of purpose—from being able to preserve the integrity of but one immortal union. Despite its shaky start, Hephaestus' marriage seemed the most easily salvageable, simple enough to correct the weaknesses in it, and perhaps her one chance of doing right by him when she had otherwise failed as his mother. Several variables depended upon its success however: her vigilance, keeping a tight rein on that harlot wife of his, and perhaps most importantly, sending Ares off in search of other pursuits, all the while making him think as if he had done so on his own accord.
With a resigned sigh, the heavenly queen attempted the near impossible: reasoning with her boorish, bullheaded child, not that he could any longer be considered one, towering over her, leering at women, bedding them with the same alacrity as his father.
"Must you stare at her in such a vulgar way?" she asked in a deliberately soft, but genuinely weary tone, edging unobtrusively closer. (She thanked the Fates for the agreeable natures of her daughters, for if she was mortal, her husband and elder son would have brought about the death of her.) The trick to handling him was similar to that of soothing a spooked horse: he was to be approached in a calm, unthreatening manner. Addressing him in anger was practically an invitation to engage in verbal combat—and it was to his opponent's disadvantage, because that was an arena in which he excelled, goading them on and feeding off their escalating emotions, while he himself only seemed to grow more gleeful.
His mother's voice was lacking its usual severity, but the God of War nonetheless started somewhat at being addressed. Inspired by the vision of perfection that was the love goddess's retreating backside, tightly encased by her dress, his mind had become pleasantly occupied with fantasies of seeing her in her unclothed splendor, which then graduated to images of her performing various…acts…for him, and he had managed to forget about Hera's presence anew. He bristled in indignation at being twice interrupted in the midst of something far more appealing than receiving a lecture. His dalliances were of no concern to her, whatever she might think.
Since physical release eluded him, courtesy of that maddening advocate of fidelity, it was she who would become the recipient of his mounting irritation.
"Have you not realized by now that my every action is meticulously calculated so that I might better bring you humiliation?" Ares snapped, whirling around to face her, his irises burning the precise color of freshly-forged gold as he seethed. "Particularly when Zeus is otherwise engaged with one of his whores and therefore unable to shame you himself." His father was such only by blood, never in name, and certainly not in actions, largely inattentive to his legions of children, save for the precious Athena. Their rivalry alone was enough to promote familial rifts: while his half-sister likewise presided over the domain of warfare, she was adored by the god who sired them and granted an advisory role, whereas he had grown up regarded as an embarrassment, which later evolved into absolute hatred, a sentiment he himself echoed. Yet the parent could he tolerate somewhat more was the one whom he was often crueler towards.
"As you are being a hindrance to me, rather than hounding him as per usual, I can only assume that he has since slunk off to lay with another," he added with as much spitefulness as he could muster. "With your subjects regarding you as a frigid harpy, I cannot say as I blame him for seeking fulfillment elsewhere." Folding his arms as he said his piece, he studied his adversary's haughty face to determine whether he had affected her.
Hera accepted the oral assault with a learned expression of apathy, a defense set in place from years of maltreatment: she would otherwise never have been able to endure the man she genuinely loved publicly adoring all others but her. In time, she came to realize that feeling sorry for herself accomplished nothing, but when she retaliated accordingly, her behavior was seen as inherent cruelty. Her carefully crafted façade of imperviousness seemed almost to provide an excuse for her husband to stray; who could love a woman so cold and unfeeling, thought their subjects, long before Ares incorporated it into his tirades. He reminded her most frequently though, a guaranteed means of bringing her pain, for such words still stung as much after the umpteenth time hearing them as they did for the very first.
"I cannot imagine that he has not capitalized on the opportunity," she responded flatly, the colors of the peacock in her irises fading into a neutral brown. "There are beautiful women here in abundance, all more than willing." There it was, she thought with an internal grimace, practically an invitation for him to go and sow his seed elsewhere, even if the last thing he needed was encouragement.
For an extraordinarily satisfying moment, the war god could only blink dazedly at her, so stunned—even confused—by her comment that his anger was temporarily forgotten. The glorious silence was short-lived however.
"Now they are 'beautiful women'," he queried once his initial shock wore off, though his suspicion at her uncharacteristic behavior lingered, "when previously they were nothing more than 'tawdry, filthy, groveling…" With relish, he rattled off a few more of the disparaging adjectives the Queen of the Gods herself had used to describe Zeus' paramours in varying bouts of rage. "…whores'? It sounded almost as though you meant to persuade me into following your husband's example. I wonder, what could have possibly led you to alter your stringent philosophy so dramatically? Surely it not could be that you are trying to lure me away from my dear brother's wife, in an attempt to redeem yourself."
He abandoned his feigned contemplativeness and sardonically inquisitive tone to sneer, "Personally, I feel you lost your right to call yourself his mother when you tossed him over the mountainside, left others to raise him, and let us not even touch upon the subject of my own upbringing, but I digress. No, the only thing that you have accomplished here is filling me with a renewed desire to have his consort for myself…and I will."
The unfairness of the situation set him on the warpath: his repulsive, deformed brother was granted not only the hand of the most glorious of women, but also their mother's partiality. He wanted neither for himself, not the oppression of marriage, no matter how alluring the prospective wife, nor any of the tenderness that had been withheld since his youth, but damn if he was going to let anyone else have what he did not. As far as he was concerned, sleeping with Aphrodite was now as much an act of vengeance against the family members who wronged him, as it was a personal conquest.
"While I make her mine in every sense of the word, Hephaestus…" He spat the name like it was the most vulgar of curses. "…can at least be consoled by the knowledge that he holds your favor." The outline of his form grew hazy, as though he meant to teleport himself off to undoubtedly do something drastic.
"Do you truly him see as competition?" scoffed Hera, knowing that as the dignified elder, she should not have allowed herself stoop to his level, but then again she was in need of a foolproof way to catch his attention—that and he had an inherent knack for getting under one's skin.
Her ploy worked: abruptly, Ares returned to his solid state, looking murderous.
While she would have liked nothing more to sink a few of her own barbs into his miserable hide, make his deficiencies known—in that sense they were very much alike—that would not be beneficial to her mission. She had one chance left to reason with him before he inevitably disengaged himself.
Truth be told, both of her sons were an embarrassment: the offensively homely but extraordinarily gifted Hephaestus, the incomparably handsome but atrociously bloodthirsty Ares. The immortals were superficial creatures and it was the latter who better met their lofty standards.
A deep breath enabled her to say what she needed to. Most all of the gods, and goddesses for that matter, save for the ever-modest hearth-keeper Hestia, could be softened up, made more malleable through the use of well-placed compliments. "There is no contest to which of you is superior. You surpass him in strength and far outstrip him in physical appearance…" His looks had been the basis for comparison when his brother was born. After bearing the most attractive of any of Zeus' male offspring, she had come to expect nothing less and got the shock of her immortal life. "You have any number of women at your disposal; do you think the same could be said for him?"
In response, Ares made a noise somewhere between a snort and a scoff, nevertheless happy with the direction the conversation had taken. Unexpected as it might have been, he never tired of hearing praise, particularly when the contender for his second least favorite sibling was being derided in the same breath.
"The only reason he has a wife at all is because of…unforeseen…circumstances involving that accursed throne. The arrangement is beneficial for both: there will be no fights on Olympus for her hand, whereas he will have a companion." He seemed calm enough to be receptive of her request. "I ask only that you stay away from her, that you grant him this small victory, let him keep that which otherwise would never be his…" Hera had not realized her mistake until his eyes, which had cooled to their regular shade, again burned hot. Why in the name of Khaos did 'victory', of all things, an implication that there was a battle to be won, have to slip from her lips? "Courtesy!" she bit out. "I meant 'courtesy'! So help me, Ares, if you lay another finger upon her…"
The God of War had become selectively deaf to all but his clamoring need to prevail over his newfound foe. In an amusingly ironic twist, it was their mother, on a mission to persuade him not to take Hephaestus' wife to warm his bed, who had pitted him against the blacksmith god when he would otherwise have remained fairly indifferent, not even actively pursuing Aphrodite unless presented with another opportunity. Now he had no choice but to possess her—delivering the deathblow in a manner of speaking—and would not rest until he had done so.
"For there to be a victor, one's opponent must first admit defeat," he proclaimed. "I assure you that I intend on doing nothing of the sort." Before the queen of the skies could so much as open her mouth in protest, he evaporated, twin embers left blazing in the faint cloud of smoke.
Author's Note, Pt. II: The character I had the most difficulty writing was Aphrodite, in part because I'm naturally an awkward person. (In high school, whenever I would see my crush, I'd become unbelievably clumsy and drop everything I was holding, and God help me if he actually talked to me!) I let a friend read over it as I was still writing it, and she thought I'd made the Goddess of Love too kind...but in my defense, I can't have an air-headed slut as my female lead or I'd go crazy. Personally, I think she'd be very aware of how others perceived her, and likewise be more sensitive to others' emotions.
On the other hand, Hermes, Hera, and Ares (him especially) practically wrote themselves. I just hung on for the ride. Hera might have come across as bit of a nag, but I do like her...you've got to give her credit, staying faithful to someone like Zeus. I'll also add that while this pairing is more traditional AresXAphrodite, I wouldn't necessarily say they're my OTP, especially since I've indulged in more than a few AthenaXAres and HephaestusXAphrodite fics. I'm fairly open all different pairings so long as they're believable.
Anyways, please let me know what you think. If I had to choose between fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies or a review, I'd take reviews. Virtual cookies for everyone who leaves me one!
-Impersonating Sugar