Ares stood with fists thrust against his defined hips, exclaiming in a tone foreign to his own, "Men! Heed the words of your commander this day. Go forth, I tell you! Go... And die in my name, burying your own." Such gravel he had injected into the voice forced him to a halt, clearing violently his throat.
Although, Aphrodite would be disrespecting Apollo's domain if she were to claim that Ares' throat was where her eyes rested. His body- Bare, glistening with sweet perspiration which she delighted in bearing responsibility for, dusted with darkened hair and littered with prideful scar tissue- demanded attention elsewhere.
Shifting her gaze to the puckered ceiling, Aphrodite conjured a response disguised with indifference, "I did not know you wished to spend all your days as a... Ah, how would your tongue express it? A lapdog."
Ares snarled- Playfully, as few men may have dared in her presence- and leapt for her. The consequential chorus of laughter was delirious as he straddled her waist, taking her wrist in his hand. Elevating it to his lips, sharp canines sought purchase in soft, unblemished skin.
She gasped as Ares continued, emboldened, "Soldiers are the heart of any war. You think a man indulging Dionysus in a tent forty miles from first blood claims to serve me?"
"Athena's brood." And Ares watched her chest heave as she spoke, hushed, allowing the words to grace his ears and none others.
He pressed forward, bringing their eyes level, "Soldiers love battle." Perhaps he sought a common thread, something with which to bind their union.
But Aphrodite threw her head backward upon the straw-filled mattress, passable as soft to those with standards unbecoming, "Certainly more than they love their wives, whose shallow pleas and prayers poison my worship."
Flashing him her teeth- No less fatal than his own, but perhaps more natural in colour and setting-, Aphrodite righted herself beneath him. In a single, fluid motion she swept him onto his back, hooking her knee between his legs and receiving a pained gasp in reply.
"As are all," She told him, bearing down, bridging the distance, "Who have loved-" Tracing the cupid's bow of his slack lips with an idle finger, "-And felt love in return."
"You know what, 'Dite?" Ares' manner drew an incredulous breath from her lungs, "I'm beginning to think you and I aren't all that different."
"You insult me." She returned but, by this point, the proximity was such that she could have mopped the sweat from his brow with her tongue, "I hardly set out to measure something as paltry as differences."
Oh and if his eyes- A startling brown, akin to that hue belonging to blood long dried and forgotten- were not fogged, unfocused as they attempted to witness her. You could call the emotion 'Hunger', if you dared risk restraint. Even to equate it to the man who has traversed the desert for forty dates without water or woman, food or friend... Alas, you, my dear, underestimate not Ares nor the lust brewing beneath his skin, but rather Aphrodite.
Some say her effects are maddening, the first beginnings of lunacy, conjured in preparation for Dionysus' conception. Others claim they are truth and justice. More still condemn her to Tartarus for crimes of bewitchment.
I pray you refrain from speculation, for until you are beneath her- Gaze or flesh, it matters not- the imagination merely pales.
@cinematropes, Thank you so much for requesting this!!
Happy Valentine's, all <3 - Rosie
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