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The Athens Gate Hotel is one of the city's shining jewels in the hotel industry. Tonight it has been taken over by several hundred dignitaries in preparation for the opening ceremonies of the 2004 Olympic Games on the morrow. And by 'taken over' the narration means it; both the ground floor reception room and the rooftop garden have been invaded by A-list guests, including movie stars, ambassadors and several deities.

The guest of honor is one Thallo Eirene, whose status wasn't something she was aware of until arriving at the hotel, and someone tried to whisk her away for a photoshoot with some of the other celebrities.

(It was a very reluctant photoshoot on her part.)

Now, she's ensconced in the garden with her date, mentally counting down the time they still have to suffer through before she can make a graceful exit and run away from all the media attention. The dress she's wearing isn't exactly helping with her attempts to be a wallflower.

"Your Holiness." Eirene glances up at the latest intruder, and smiles pleasantly. "Your Holiness. Thank you for coming, sir. I know that your followers are pleased to see you out and about."

That's right. She's talking to the Pope.

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Have you ever heard a goddess growl? Clark gets to, about the time his finger slides past her ribcage, eliciting some squirming because she just can't keep still anymore, and his touch is slowly driving her crazy. A thumb grazes across his chest again, direction haphazard due to the highly distracted state of her mind.

But she is trying to give as good as she's getting.

"Well," he sighs softly, resting his forehead against hers. "I think we're going to have to get rid of the robe. It's just too much in the way."

It takes a few seconds to process that, possibly due to Clark's close proximity. "Okay." She's not going to argue, or ask if he's sure, because her brain isn't working all that well, and he'll go only as far as he's ready to anyway. Eirene does sit up halfway a moment later, trying to avoid bumping heads, and reaches down to undo the knot the rest of the way.

Edited 2008-07-30 16:56 (UTC)

His attention remains on her face for a moment when she settles back down, and then slowly, a hand reaches over to draw the robe further down her shoulders. When her arms are free fro the material, he leans in and presses a light kiss at the base of her throat.

Any shyness she's feeling about being -- literally -- disrobed in front of him vanishes half a second after the kiss, when all she can smell is the scent that's singularly Clark, and the heat from his body is sending hers into overdrive. About all she can manages is an intake of breath and restless shifting of hips.

Edited 2008-07-30 22:18 (UTC)

There doesn't appear to be any shyness on Clark's part anymore, which is unusual in and of itself, but also is a good indicator that he's perfectly okay with what's happening. Of course, he is instigating it for the most part.

To that end, he kisses his way back up to her mouth and a hand eases its way along her abdomen, fingers brushing lightly over her ribs.

Eirene is rapidly getting to the point where she can't hold a sane thought in her head, squirming beneath his mouth and hand until the need to be as close as possibly overrides everything else and she reaches up to wind an arm around his shoulder. "Clark..."

There might be enough heat in that one word to power Gnome, Alaska for a week.

"Eirene," he replies in a very similar manner, between kisses. "What do you want me to do?"

Her heart is pounding so loudly that Eirene can barely hear herself think, which is just as well, fingers trailing down the center of his chest almost of their own accord, and further, until her palm settles over his arousal.

"Make love to me."

Her touch makes him forget to breathe for a few moments, though he can't stop himself from pressing back against her hand. When his senses - or what's left of them - do return, he catches her gaze, studying her face intently.

"Are you sure?" It has to be asked.

Everything seems heightened; the sensitivity of her skin, the way his breath echoes in the space between them, the fact she can actually hear his heartbeat... all of these narrow her concentration to Clark alone.

"Yes," she belatedly hears herself whisper, not quite sure how she's managing to talk when it feels like her breath has been halted, "but if ... if you aren't, then ... I'll need a few minutes to ... recover."

Clark can do this. Clark wants to do this, and right now he can't think of one good reason why they shouldn't anymore.

"I'm sure," he tells her softly, lowering his head to kiss each of her cheeks in turn.

Her eyes close involuntarily, hand sliding away from his groin as her hips roll up to replace it, also despite a vaguely concerted effort not to move. Two deep breathes do nothing to combat the warmer, fuzzier feeling taking over, either.

"Come here," Eirene finally manages.

Despite that Clark still has his jeans on - even if they are becoming uncomfortable at increasing levels - he can still feel the pressure of her pressing up toward him, and it takes his breath away again, briefly.

And then he does as asked, settling himself into her arms.

His weight is oddly comforting, enough that she slides her hands around his waist and nestles her cheek against his chest, still keeping her eyes closed. Eventually, she shifts underneath him, more restless than she'd like to be.

(But then Spring is all about moving forward, isn't it?)

And then both hands slide down to settle against his rear and press down - at the same time her hips buck up gently.

He can't help a gentle groan at that, and then turns his attention back to her amazing mouth, kissing her insistently as his hands slide up and down the sides of her body, warm flesh skimming over warm flesh.

Fire. It crashes through her system, electric flames licking everywhere his skin, his hands, touch her; goaded on with a clash of tongues, to the point where it takes just over a minute for Eirene to squirm beneath him again, a sharp intake of breathe dissolves into a near-mindless groan.

That's a good noise, Clark knows. A hand cups one of her breasts, kneading and stroking the soft mound gently as his mouth continues its assault on hers.

Then the other gets a turn, and this tim, his mouth trails along down her throat to pick up where his hand just left off.

It's officially time for Eirene's brain (where she keeps the common sense and logic) to take a hike, cheerfully handing over motor control to her basic instincts.

Which is probably why Clark hears a low burst of Greek before her torso twists up against his mouth and hand, her own fingers sliding away from his rear to drag nails up either side of his spine.

Hears, yes. Understands... not so much. Not that it really matters at this point, because what he's getting out of that verbal outburst is that he's affecting her in a pretty big way.

And he's okay with that. So Clark will continue what he's doing for a little while longer, before a hands starts to wander down past her chest, brushing over the soft skin of her stomach before resting to draw light circles over her hipbone.

That would be a correct assumption. Even so, after the initial reaction, Eirene is tamping down on what remains of her fertility-inspired instincts, because she doesn't know yet what Clark likes and dislikes.

Her hips moves slowly under his touch, echoes of belly dancing, though a whimper sounds quietly -- despite her intentions to let him explore.

Clark isn't entirely certain what Eirene likes and doesn't, either, but he's willing to take a few chances. As he feels he already has and so far, so good.

His grips tightens on her hip, thumb stroking down toward her thigh as his mouth moves to capture her own again.

"Eirene..."

There's a second whimper, hinting that she's more than likely enjoying what his thumb is doing to her flesh. And a third, emitted soon after his tongue finds hers, prompting her hip to roll under his hand again. And possibly teeth to catch against his lower lip.

"Clark..." Someone's heartbeat is speeding up again.

Edited 2008-08-03 01:36 (UTC)

Both of theirs is and it's at about this point that Clark's had it with his jeans. His other hand finally abandons her chest and slips between them to start fumbling with the button and fly on his pants. None too expertly, but it should get the job done, eventually.

The moment her lips are free, Eirene reaches down to cover his hand with hers, briefly. "Let me. Lie on your back. Please." Some sanity is returning, and he'll be the better off for it. Or, rather, his pants, should her decide to humor her request.