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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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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.

"Hey." There's only mild surprise in his tone. He felt that. Other than that, there is only the slightest pause in his ministrations before his hand finally drifts between her legs, stroking her gently.

"What?" Well, that's what she intended to say, but it comes out more like, "Whaaaaa--" and dwindles into a soft groan, a brief tremor surging through her in response to his fingers.

"Oh, Tartarus," she swears, hips arching up against Clark's hand.

There's a brief flicker of a smile at that, if only because now she knows how he felt just a few minutes ago. And since she seems to be enjoying it, he'll just continue his attentions, while his lips find her neck again.

Enjoyment is a pale word for what she's feeling right now, when every nerve in her body seems to be centered on that tiny area between her thighs, each stroke producing another burst of liquid electricity. After a few minutes, all she can do is squirm underneath him, hands having dropped to fist helplessly against the sheets.

Which, Clark thinks, is probably a good sign that it's getting time to move on. He's getting more than a little impatient himself. He withdraws his hand and shifts over her, finding her mouth with his own again. And then he slowly draws one of her legs up and around his waist.

Indeed. Eirene would agree, were she capable of coherent speech. Shifting under him again, positioning herself just so at his behest (and kidnapping a leg is definitely a 'behest'), Clark is assured of a smooth joining when he decides he's ready.

Except perhaps for that tiny little surprise awaiting them both when he does thrust forward.

A behest, an unspoken request for permission. Either way, it's most certainly a signal. And since Eirene has offered no measure of protest, Clark takes a deep breath, gives her another lingering kiss and then starts to press inside her, slowly, but purposefully.

Eirene really isn't in the mood anymore for this slow stuff, if the rain-and-roses scent so heavily weighing down the air is any indication. She thrusts her hips forward smoothly, needing him inside her like she doesn't remember needing anything before, and groans into his mouth.

Right before something tears, prompting her to freeze and emit a tiny gasp. That is not supposed to be there.

Clark stills immediately, eyes widening in concern.

"Did I hurt you? Do you want me to stop?"

Eirene doesn't speak for a moment, that twinge of pain was really the last thing she expected, and just catches her breath.

Then, sounding somewhat embarassed, "Clark. You just took my virginity." Pause. "Which I haven't had for millenia."

"Oh."

That doesn't answer his question, however. "Should we stop?"

"Well...." Eirene scrunches up her face, looking at him intently. "Might as well take the rest of me. Unless ... you don't want me anymore."

"I want you." They wouldn't have gotten this far if he didn't, and he's not about to change his mind now. Clark shifts marginally, half out of necessity to adjust his weight and half experimentally to see how she'll react. "Just... tell me if you want to stop."

The pain is already fading, though the shock value won't be gone for some time, and Eirene automatically adjusts to him and the new position. "Never. I want you, Clark. I want us."

"Okay," Clark breathes out softly, lowering his head to pepper kisses along her jawline. Then, after another slight shift, he starts to set a slow, easy pace, one hand caressing her thigh.

That produces a soft groan, head tilting further back to give him better access to her jaw, and, coincidentelly, her throat. Just in case Clark wants to hear his girlfriend purr. She's slower this time in finding his rhythm, for her body is newer to sexual sensations than she thought, or knew, really, but after a few minutes she finds her groove. Their groove.

"I love you."

It's definitely groovy.

Clark takes a few moments before answering, if only because he just doesn't trust his voice to speak immediately with all the sensations running through his body. "Love you, too."

Awesomely groovy.

And this time, once she has adjusted, for the most part, to him; on top of and inside her, it's suddenly okay to take things slowly and work towards driving one another crazy one thrust of their hips at a time. Her teeth find his shoulder again after another minute, tongue sliding across the fading marks right afterwards.

That will pull a groan from deep in his throat and cause an off-tempo thrust, though not too forcefully. Despite current circumstances, Clark's hold on his control is still intact, to some degree.

The force, any of it, doesn't phase Eirene in the least, except perhaps as a measure of his strength potential, which really just amounts to letting herself go a little bit more with bucking up and meeting him equally.

It takes another couple of minutes before her brain recovers from the initial burst of fireworks going off throughout her system, but eventually she remembers how to speak.

"Blessed Olympus, you are .... incredible," in a near whisper, her lips nuzzling against the spot where neck and shoulder meet.

Eirene may remember speech, but Clark doesn't, quite yet. He's still running high on sensation and whatever hormone type things Kryptonians have (and it is different, somehow, not that he could ever explain how).

Eventually, however, he leans his head against hers, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I think you're the one who's blessed," he hoarsely whispers back.

She's not in the mood to argue, verbally at least, and turn this into a contest of wills. There are better things to do with the competetive nature she usually hides, but the euphoria keeps trying to bowl her over. Her hips rock up more forcefully, testing to see how much more she can let go, and lifts her chin to capture his mouth with hers.

His tongue, poor thing, will end up a temporary prisoner of her teeth. Once or twice.

The kiss is returned very willingly and Clark matches the amount of pressure from her hips with ease, possibly even upping the ante himself.

His tongue is sacrificed for the cause, but he will have his revenge. Likely in the form of a hand trailing down the side of her body, stopping briefly to draw those circles over her hip again before his fingers reach their final destination between them.

Edited 2008-08-05 03:31 (UTC)