Truth and Consequence: Part two.

I opened the gates of the saloon, just when Milo was leaving. I somehow admired my Scorpio Saint. Always brave, protective, intelligent and powerful, with an impeccable sense of duty and honor. Milo is beautiful, in every sense of the word. An assassin.

But then again, we are all assassins, in our own way. I, put myself in danger situations more than once, and, by doing this, sacrificed the lives of my beloved Knights in Shining Armors. I didn't want to... I just... In Zeus' holy name, even Saga was a victim of the whole process.

Pause.

Pain.

Enough, Saori. Athenea.

Milo simply looked at me, forced a smile, bowed, and left, leaving Saga and me alone for the first time in days; without contemplation or a second glance. Nothing. I suppose he thought that now, that the damage was done (to my hymen), it didn't matter too much.

The door closed behind him.

I couldn't help but to run towards the wounded form of Saga, leaning against an incomplete pillar languidly, blood falling from the marks Milo had inflicted moments before.

He was gorgeous. Even hurt, and bloodied, cut.

Description time, everyone.

His hair is long to his narrow hips, and messy. Not messy, but... unkept. Rebellious. Even if he would try to brush it, it would still look leonine. Very dark, too. A blueish kind of black...It looks blue beneath certain lights. Violet, maybe? I cannot exactly define the colour, even Gods know I've tried to. His face is handsome in it's imperfection. Angular, with a strong, square chin, and impossibly high cheekbones. His eyes are an almost undescribable green, deep enough to only be compared with jade. He is muscular, yes, but he still manages to be thin, and very nice to look at.

Noone could ever deny that he is a very attractive man, in every way possible.

I lowered myself to my knees, to his eyelevel, and placed my hands on his cheeks, brushing a trail of thick, crimson blood, that went from the side of his head, to his chin, connected with more blood, that went from the corner of his thin lips to his chin as well.

I loved him.

"Saga... I am so sorry..."- I whispered, finally. I was. Really.

"Don't be, Athena. I'm not."- He replied. His voice was deep. Wonderfully soothing, and... sensual. He, himself, was sensual.

"Saori"- I corrected him.

"…Saori"- he repeated, smiling tiredly.

He was destroyed, and it was my fault.

I don't know why I did what I did next.

I helped him to stand and, in silence, we walked towards my personal Chambers. My hand got captured by his', and my shoulder brushed with his upper arm from time to time while we moved together through the greek inspired halls.

When we finally closed the door behind us, I made him sit on my bed. My bed was quite large, by the way. Four or five people could fit in there with no problem, quite comfortably. Therefore, I trusted him to be comfortable enough with his wounds.

After removing his shirt stained by blood and floor dirt, I began spreading my cosmos to it's most warm, gentle level, to slowly, but surely, heal him, heal his wounds, his broken bones, while my hands ventured across his chest for the second time.

I needed to do no more to be taken into his arms, pinned on the bed, and kissed, touched, bitten, caressed.

Noone would know this time. I was safe. He was safe. Nothing else mattered.

I can assuredly say that I had never been so close to heaven like when I was with him.

He knew by now exactly where to touch, to kiss, what words to whisper in my ear, a mix of the paces we both liked so we could both enjoy it, how many tugs to give to my hair, and the way he fit best in my insides.

He, in return, taught me where to caress him, how, how hard I had to dig my nails into his skin to drive him closer to the edge, how to push my hips into his' in the appropiated time, without effort.

I loved him.

I loved the kindness of his tone and the way his hands could cup my breasts fully, his quet laughter whan I said a joke after our love-making, and his strange obsession with the space between my ribs, which he enjoyed to stroke with his fingertips until it tickled. I loved the way we would talk about uneventful days all night long, about our ideas of the future and the other Gold Saints. Our favourite topic was the relationships that were in the Sactuary, specially the one between Shaka and Shaina, that came out after he fell sick and made her, the little firecracker Cobra, nurse him into health against her will, once Shion ordered her to. Bizarre, no less. I also used to make parodies of Deathmask and Ikki for his amusement.

My reward was his laughter, a kiss, and a tight embrace beneath the sheets, things I enjoyed beyond words.

He didn't make me feel like a Goddess, or an adolescent girl.

He made me feel like me. Like Saori. Like the woman Saori. The human. The one beneath the fancy dresses and the neverending calm.

It could have ended there. It should have. But it didn't.