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There was nothing particularly special about the night they had met, except that she had spent a good part of it running away from the Stymphalian birds Hades had set loose to try and weasel out information about Zeus from her. Even back then, she was sought out for her Olympian status, her insider information into Zeus' inner circle. It was one of the worst things about being an Olympian.

Hardly had she ever met another Olympian, save for the King of the Gods himself. The other eleven major gods and goddesses were dispersed all over the world; it was a wonder Hermes was able to track any one of them down at any time. Although she (hardly) remembered their names, Love knew generally what each god stood for, and she had caught glimpses of them from time to time- they were rather hard to miss in their godly state.

But she, being a mortal-lover, had toned down her immortal powers so she could wander through the crowds of Earth without being recognized. Even so, her beauty was impossible to ignore and thus she never got too close to mortals in fear that they would discover her identity.

At the time it was close to midnight and freezing in the downtown of London streets-or were they Thracian streets? It was hard for her to remember the year or location at all-time was not a relevant concept to a goddess. But she was in a city for sure, oddly void of mortal life as she was running away from the viscous underworld birds of prey. She supposed Hades had done something to the mortals so they wouldn't get in the way of the Stymphalian birds' pursual of his target.

She rounded the corner, the air cold to her lungs, a crippling pain in her chest-gods could not die in the absence of oxygen, but it certainly was a more comfortable sensation to breathe. She continued moving forward at a brisk pace, looking back to see how far the Stymphalian birds had come along. But they were no where in sight; it appeared as if she had evaded them at last. As she turned back to look in front of her, she bumped into something and stumbled forward into it. Or rather, into him.

She blinked several times. Her frantic eyes focused and almost-hysterical laughter tickled her throat. She didn't know who she was looking at, but his breathtaking handsomeness had made her go cold.

Please, please be some sex-starved nutcase who wants to kidnap me and make me your love slave, she begged silently. For the briefest moment, they came face to face. Their eyes locked. Then he broke the stare and brought his fingers to his temple, where it was apparent he had been clawed at by the same birds that she was currently running away from. Such a misfortune that a poor mortal had to get caught in the wild goose chase between herself and the Lord of the Dead.

Her fingertips reached to trace the damage, but he grasped her hand with his own. He leaned down, far enough that the dark ends of his hair brushed feather-light against her face, caught in her lashes.

She had just enough time to take in a breath, to blink, to part her lips before he took them with his own.

Time froze. Her heart ceased to beat. Her eyes fluttered shut.

The cool slip of the small metal loop pressed into her skin as he kissed her.

Urgent.
Gentle.
So slow.
Sweet, soft demolition.

He tasted of cloves and coffee. And of something else. A farawat essence, familiar and yet somehow foreign, too. Something sere and arid.
A little like some.
A little like decay

Ash.

She had no idea how either of them had found a room-much less one with a bed-given the haze they were in. All she knew was that she'd never been kissed like that before - like the shell of her soul had evaporated.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her lashes coppery lines against her pale, fragile skin. He lifted his head, the sight of his dark, disheveled hair, eyes glinting with longing in the lamp light, the gorgeous spread of his shoulders, tapering down to the narrow thrust of his hips, made her heart ache in her chest. She was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. It wasn't because his grip was too tight, mind you. It was just the sudden proximity. And he smelled so good, the scent of fresh coffee and rain clinging to his skin as he leaned in.

She slid her hand down his arm, just far enough that their fingers touched-so lightly that she would have probably hardly been aware of it had she been touching anyone but him; as it was, the nerve endings in her fingertips pricked softly, as if she were holding them over a low flame.

Their hands remained that way all night.

Soft. She was so soft, and warm. So giving as she moved with him. Rising to take him in, the covers shrouding her back as she arched.

He threaded his hand through her hair, tugging her closer. Impulses flowed through her brain - primal sparks leapt gaps - all so she could put her arms around him.

She tumbled into the taxi alone, closing the door closed with a dull thud. The thought that she might never see him again, that she might never know what it would feel like to be kissed by him, seemed unbearably cruel.

She'd let him get under her skin, and now he had started to occupy her every thought.

Pretty pretty please give me some feedback on this story and what course you would like it to take. I was thinking I would add a couple side pairings (Hades/Persephone, Zeus/Hera, etc.) but if you want me to make it Ares/Aphrodite only, please let me know.

You're input is much appreciated. :-)