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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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That induces squirming, to no one's surprise, and possibly a noise suspiciously similar to a purr. Clark's hands are multi-talented, it seems.

"Me too."

Eirene lazily shifts against him, stretching up to brush her lips against his forehead.

His fingers work slowly up her back again as she stretches out, and he nuzzles her nose with his. "I hope this is special enough for you."

"Just lying here in your arms is special. So anything else that might happen is just ... what's that mortal phrase?" Pause. Kiss. "Oh, yeah. Just icing on the cake."

"Ice cream on the pie" Kiss. "Double stuff in the oreos." Kiss. "I get the idea." Kiss, and then he nudges her over onto her back again.

"You know, I think the sight of you in those boxers is almost as delicious as a doublestuff oreo. But," she pauses to run a hand down his side, fingers toying with the waistband of his underwear, "might have to experiment. With and without boxers." Kiss.

"Experiment, hmm?" Clark returns that kiss and then offers one of his own. "Should we start with or without."

Eirene appears to give that serious consideration, before her hand creeps between them to stroke him above the cloth. "Your choice, Clark.

Clark's eyes drift closed and there's a low, soft groan in the back of his throat. And this is so not fair, because thinking and decision making aren't exactly foremost on his mind anymore.

"I think," he starts, voice low, "that once they're off getting them back on is going to take a while." Just so she knows.

"Then, I think, in all fairness, if I'm not wearing anything--- neither should you."

Her hand doesn't seem to be moving anywhere, either, because those noises mean he likes what she's doing.

Yes, yes he does. And Eirene will be treated to another noise for her efforts. Clark will also take her word that this is fair, because his brain really isn't functioning anymore. "If you say so."

"I do." She licks along the flesh right beneath his bottom lip, nipping at his chin, and continues what she's doing below until he tells her to stop. Or something.

His head drops down to rest on her shoulder.

"Eirene..." It's more of a gasp than anything else.

She halt immediately, withdrawing her hand. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" Because while Kryptonian male parts seem like human ones, she could have just seriously injured him.

"No," he manages to breathe out and takes the opportunity of where his mouth is to start kissing along her collar bone.

Eirene's breathe hitches, air held captive inside her lungs for several seconds, and then only released when his mouth gets to the edge of that delicate bone. A few moments later, her hand inches back, toying briefly with the waistband again -- before sliding beneath it to find him.

There's that gasp again, breathed in against her skin this time as he presses himself into her hand.

Thumb stroking along his tip, Eirene shifts underneath Clark into a slightly more comfortable position, one where his head can nestle against her shoulder.

Whispered: "What do you want me to do?"

The bed creaks under the weight of his hand bracing himself beside her. Clark doesn't seem to notice.

"Don't stop."

Eirene doesn't care, or didn't hear, the creaking. She's too busy exploring that part of him that prompts more of those low, interesting noises that make her burn. Everywhere.

So she doesn't stop, stroking gently for a few minutes to see if that pleases him.

Edited 2008-08-03 22:23 (UTC)

It does, but only for a few minutes. And then he'll reach down and gently take hold of her wrist. "Enough for now," he whispers against her throat. And then he'll start trying to divest himself of his boxers entirely.

"Okay," she murmurs against the shell of his ear, and watches the attempts to remove the material with interest. Because, you know, he's pressing down against her in the midst of all those contortions. Of course, once she starts whimpering every time his hips jerk, those boxers may just disappear -- and reappear on the floor somewhere when her patience runs out.

It's entirely possible Clark doesn't even really notice that's what happens. He's far too distracted with the complete skin on skin contact and tracing his hands over her upper body.

That's okay. The magically disappearing underwear are really the last thing on Eirene's mind once his hands start exploring. She's going to encourage this all she can by making the appropriate noises; little gasps punctuated by the occasional moan. Although certain parts of her chest ... blossoming is an involuntary thing.

"Don't stop."

Clark has no intention of stopping; not immediately, anyway. In fact, he may slow his hands down a little, savouring every inch of skin they come across and starting to trail down along her abdomen and further.

Eirene's pelvis twists up the closer his fingers drift towards it, moisture beading along a hip bone as she fights to contain the urge to flip her boyfriend over and pin him to the mattress. Slow, however, is what Clark needs in his comfort zone. Her groans might get a little throatier, a little louder.

And his shoulder might actually get nipped.